#The Golden Spoon Food

[thegoldenspoon1]

Craving Authentic Indian Cuisine? Explore the Best Options Near You at The Golden Spoon Indian Restaurant and Bar

If you are in Edmonton and have a craving for authentic Indian cuisine, The Golden Spoon Indian Restaurant and Bar is the ultimate destination to satisfy your culinary desires. Known for its rich menu filled with flavorful dishes, this restaurant has become a favorite spot for food lovers who appreciate traditional Indian cuisine. The Golden Spoon is a place where culinary authenticity meets modern dining, creating a dining experience that is hard to forget.

A Taste of India in the Heart of Edmonton

At The Golden Spoon, the menu is a journey through the diverse and vibrant flavors of India. Whether you're a fan of the aromatic spices of northern Indian cuisine or the rich, coconut-based flavors of the south, The Golden Spoon has something for everyone. The chefs at this restaurant are passionate about preserving the authenticity of Indian food, ensuring that every dish captures the true essence of Indian cuisine.

For starters, you can enjoy a variety of classic appetizers, including samosas, pakoras, and the ever-popular Dahi Bhalla. The Dahi Bhalla, a dish of soft lentil dumplings soaked in yogurt and topped with tangy chutneys and fragrant spices, offers a refreshing and flavorful introduction to your meal. This appetizer is just the beginning of the culinary delights that await you at The Golden Spoon.

Signature Curries and Tandoori Dishes

The heart of any Indian meal is its curries, and The Golden Spoon takes great pride in offering a wide variety of them. From the creamy, comforting butter chicken to the spicy, bold flavors of lamb vindaloo, the curries at The Golden Spoon are crafted to perfection. Each curry is made with fresh ingredients, high-quality spices, and traditional cooking techniques that bring out the full depth of flavor in every bite.

For those who enjoy grilled dishes, the tandoori section of the menu is not to be missed. The tandoori chicken, marinated in a mixture of yogurt and spices and cooked to perfection in the tandoor oven, is a customer favorite. The high heat of the tandoor gives the chicken a delicious smoky flavor, while keeping the inside tender and juicy. Other tandoori dishes, like tandoori prawns and paneer tikka, offer equally tantalizing flavors for seafood lovers and vegetarians alike.

The Golden Spoon also caters to a wide range of dietary preferences, offering plenty of vegetarian options. Chana masala, paneer butter masala, and aloo gobi are just a few examples of the many vegetarian dishes available, all packed with bold flavors and rich in nutrients.

Freshly Made Indian Breads and Rice Dishes

No Indian meal is complete without a side of freshly baked bread or fragrant rice. At The Golden Spoon, the naan is cooked fresh in the tandoor, resulting in soft, pillowy bread that is perfect for dipping in the rich curry sauces. For a more indulgent option, the garlic naan or butter naan are sure to satisfy.

If you prefer rice, the biryani at The Golden Spoon is a standout. Made with aromatic basmati rice, fragrant spices, and your choice of chicken, lamb, or vegetables, the biryani is a hearty and satisfying dish that can be enjoyed on its own or as a complement to the curries.

A Complete Dining Experience

In addition to its exceptional food, The Golden Spoon offers a well-stocked bar, providing a wide selection of drinks to pair with your meal. Whether you’re in the mood for a refreshing mango lassi, a traditional Indian beverage, or a crafted cocktail from the bar, there is something for every taste. The drink menu is thoughtfully curated to enhance the dining experience and complement the bold flavors of the dishes.

The Golden Spoon isn’t just about great food; it’s about creating an experience. The restaurant’s warm, inviting atmosphere makes it the perfect place for a family dinner, a night out with friends, or even a special celebration. With attentive service, comfortable seating, and a stylish interior that blends modern design with traditional Indian touches, The Golden Spoon creates an ambiance that elevates your dining experience.

Conclusion: A Must-Visit for Indian Food Lovers

For anyone craving authentic Indian cuisine, The Golden Spoon Indian Restaurant and Bar is a must-visit destination in Edmonton. With its extensive menu, carefully prepared dishes, and welcoming atmosphere, it’s easy to see why this restaurant has become a go-to spot for Indian food lovers. Whether you’re in the mood for a hearty curry, a flavorful tandoori dish, or simply want to enjoy a refreshing drink at the bar, The Golden Spoon has something to offer every guest.

Next time you’re craving Indian food, head to The Golden Spoon and embark on a flavorful journey through the rich culinary traditions of India. Whether you’re a fan of spicy dishes or prefer something milder, The Golden Spoon’s menu has something to satisfy every palate.

[sauce-central]

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Credit if used!

[kryllia]

Imprisoned Prince

Yandere Monster Imprisoned Prince x Reader Maid

Art from pinterest (they said ai generated)

You swallowed hard as you stood before the massive iron door that separated you from the monster prince. The torchlight flickered dimly in the dungeon corridor, casting eerie shadows along the damp stone walls. The tray in your hands trembled slightly as your grip tightened. You had heard the stories—the whispered tales of maids who never returned, of those who did but with mangled limbs and lifeless gazes.

Yet, you had no choice. The head maid had assigned you this duty, and disobeying her was not an option. You steeled yourself and pushed open the heavy door, the hinges creaking as if in protest.

Inside, the air was thick with the metallic scent of blood. Your breath caught in your throat as you took in the sight before you.

Osiris Asmor, the monstrous crown prince of Asmora, sat against the far wall, his long white hair a tangled mess, streaked with dried blood. His golden eyes, burning like molten fire, snapped to you immediately. His muscular frame was covered in bruises and cuts, his broad chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths. Heavy iron chains bound his wrists to the wall, but even restrained, he exuded an aura of dominance, of lethal danger.

Your knees almost buckled when his lips curled into a smirk.

"You’re new." His voice was deep, rough like gravel, sending a shiver down your spine. "The last one didn't last long."

You forced yourself to take a step forward, then another, until you stood a few feet away from him. You refused to look at the dried blood near his feet—the evidence of what happened to your predecessors.

"I brought your food," you said, your voice steadier than you expected.

Osiris tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "And you expect me to eat that?" His gaze flicked to the tray in your hands, then back to your face. "Do you know how many times your people have tried to poison me?"

You hesitated. You had heard the rumors, of course. The court was desperate to rid themselves of the monster prince, and subtle assassination attempts had been made. You glanced at the tray, then made a decision. Lifting the spoon, you scooped up a portion of the stew and took a bite.

His eyes widened slightly.

"There," you said after swallowing. "It's not poisoned."

A slow, amused chuckle rumbled from his chest. "Interesting. You're smarter than the others."

He extended his hands, the chains clinking ominously, and you stepped forward cautiously, placing the tray within his reach. His fingers brushed against yours—rough, calloused from years of wielding a sword. You flinched, and his smirk deepened.

"You fear me," he mused. "Good. You should."

You swallowed again, but this time, something about his tone sent a different kind of shiver through you. Something darker.

Days turn to weeks despite your fear, you returned to his cell every day. Perhaps it was the knowledge that if you didn't, someone else would be sent in your place—and they might not be as lucky. Perhaps it was something else entirely.

At first, Osiris was cold, watching you with a predator's patience. But as the days passed, his demeanor shifted. He started talking more, asking questions—personal ones. Your name. Your family. If you had a lover.

You learned things about him, too. How he had been trained in swordsmanship from the moment he could hold a blade. How Asmora was not the barbaric land of beasts your people painted it to be, but a kingdom rich in culture, in history. How he missed the open skies, the feeling of the wind against his skin.

And how he hated humans.

"They disgust me," he had said one evening, his voice dripping with venom. "Cowards, the lot of them. They betray, they destroy, they take what is not theirs."

You had hesitated before responding. "Not all of us are like that."

His golden eyes bore into yours, unreadable. Then, he had smirked. "Perhaps not you."

The change happened slowly, subtly. You didn’t notice it at first. The way his gaze lingered on you longer than necessary. The way his tone softened when he spoke your name. The way he clenched his fists when another guard was present, as if barely restraining himself.

Then, one day, you arrived to find his chains shorter. Someone had adjusted them, limiting his movement even further. He was furious.

"They think they can break me," he growled, his muscles flexing as he yanked against the chains. "Fools."

Your heart pounded. You set the tray down, about to turn away, when his voice stopped you.

"Come closer."

You hesitated. "I shouldn't—"

"Please." The word was foreign on his tongue, almost unnatural.

Against your better judgment, you stepped forward.

Faster than you could react, his chained hand shot out, grasping your wrist in a vice-like grip. You gasped, eyes widening in panic.

"Do you know what you've done to me?" His voice was a growl, but there was something else there—something raw, something desperate. "Every day, you come here. Every day, you speak to me as if I am not a beast in chains. And now…" His grip tightened. "Now, I cannot stop thinking of you."

You tried to pull away, but he was too strong.

"I will escape," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "And when I do… you will come with me."

You shook your head, fear spiking through you. "I can't—"

"You can. You will." His golden eyes burned with obsession. "I will not leave you here, among those who would use you and discard you."

Tears welled in your eyes, but not just from fear. A part of you—deep, buried—felt something else. Something dangerous.

"Do you understand?" His lips nearly brushed against your ear. "You belong to me now."

A shudder ran through you. You hated how the words made your stomach twist.

"You’re insane," you whispered.

His smirk returned, though his eyes remained deadly serious. "Perhaps. But I will have you, little human. One way or another."

It happened faster than anyone anticipated.

One night, an explosion rocked the palace. Chaos erupted as soldiers scrambled, unaware that the monster prince had freed himself. By the time the guards reached the dungeon, his cell was empty.

And you—

You were gone too.

Osiris carried you effortlessly through the darkened halls, your struggling form useless against his strength. His grip was bruising, his pace unwavering.

"You’re mine," he whispered as he hoisted you onto his warhorse, his arm wrapped securely around your waist. "And I will never let you go."

As the castle faded into the distance, you realized with a chilling certainty—

You were no longer a servant.

You were a possession. A treasure. A prize.

And Osiris Asmor would never let anything take you from him.

Not even yourself.

This is inspirated by c.ai bot and it was made by @Strawberry_88

[quarterlifekitty]

weaknesses: your cooking

König was on watch with you late one night, and you insisted upon filling the air with a bit of conversation– said you needed it to stay awake. You end up asking him lots of questions that night, including all of his favorite foods and drinks. He has trouble answering, he’s never had to come up with this much information about himself, but you don’t mind.

“Do you have a favorite dessert? Mine is lemon meringue pie,” you say with a sweet little smile. It makes him realize how cute you are. That, outside of your uniforms, a cute girl is talking to him. It makes him panic a little, such that he can only bring himself to respond with a quiet me too. 

He had no idea what his favorite dessert was when you asked. He wasn’t even sure he particularly enjoyed desserts at all, honestly. He’s hoping you forget about this embarrassing exchange, really. But you don’t.

You’re stationed in Switzerland when next it comes up. You proudly come back to your accommodations with a little box from a bakery. “I saw this in town today and remembered that you liked meringue too! So I got one, if you wanted to share it with me?”

He just nods. And it’s the best fucking dessert he’s ever had. Which has little to do with how the desert itself tastes. It becomes the first dessert he learns how to make at home, and he makes his best yet when you’re celebrating moving in together. It’s when he’s feeding it to you that he finally comes clean– when you’d asked him his favorite dessert, he’d never even eaten lemon meringue pie before.

Gaz takes incredibly good care of himself. He detests getting sick, maybe more than anything else. It’s just so annoying, and it totally ruins his momentum– throws him off his groove. So he very very rarely gets sick, and is in fact often disgustingly bright, healthy, and energetic. 

Gaz also comes from a home that had amazing food. His standards are, understandably, quite high. A piece of his soul leaves with every MRE he consumes. Which is why his favorite food from you is such a surprise.

It’s during the infancy of your relationship. You’ve been on a few dates. Exploratory, probing, trying to deduce if this is love or just the symptoms of it. He’s on the fence about telling you he’s fallen ill– it’s a little awkward, isn’t it? Partners are supposed to take care of each other in times like that, but he’s not sure you’re ready to be called his partner, much less be around him when he’s a germ factory. But he ends up telling you, if only not to look like he’s ignoring you if he slips into another death-nap while you’re texting.

You do end up coming over, despite all his warnings, all of the easy outs he provides you with. Get him a fresh gatorade before busying yourself in his kitchen.

You come back with a steaming mug that he doesn’t recognize. You say you brought it from home– that it’s your special mug you like to use when you feel icky. It’s got wisteria painted on the side with the scientific name in script next to it, and a little silver spoon with a teddy bear on the end is sticking out of it.

He takes the mug gratefully but still a little cautious– he doesn’t really know all that much about your cooking, and he’ll readily admit that his parents ruined the standard.

He looks down in it to see oatmeal. A bit of cinnamon dusted on, a golden swirl of honey going through it. Just a little bit of cardamom. 

He used to hate oatmeal when he was a kid, but he finishes the mug in record time and asks if you’ll make more. It’s just so soft and hot– gentle on his aching stomach and sore throat, the heat and cinnamon spice clearing up his sinuses a little bit. The sweetness is perfect and comforting as it sticks to the roof of his mouth.

Nowadays he keeps up the same wellness regimen, but he does almost look forward to getting sick, because it means you’ll make oatmeal for him.

When sharing a safehouse with Soap, there’s one inevitable constant: the whining. He always finds something to whinge about, just to ease his own boredom. It’s never about the conditions, having to sleep on shitty mattresses on floors, having to trek 10 miles through the dark and fog to even get there– it’s always about something stupid.

Girl who hasn’t texted him back. His deployment making him miss out on a limited edition thing he would’ve wanted to buy. That during his last leave a girl ghosted him after he barked during sex. Come to think of it, it was usually about his girl problems.

But this time, it was that he happened to be deployed on his birthday. Not that he’s sore about spending time with the taskforce, you’re his best mates in the world– but there’s not much celebration to be had out here.

“Could do with a fockin’ cake, ye ken?”

You were taken onto this squad for your adaptability. You’re brilliant when it comes to improvisation. And there’s a couple of shelf stable things left around in the cabinets here, although dubious.

So what are you able to bang together with flour, sugar, and the liquid from a can of chickpeas in some tin cups on top of a butane stove on its last legs?

That’s right. A fockin’ cake. Is it good? God no. The texture is weird as hell and it’s somehow dry on the outside but completely raw in the middle. But Soap smiles the entire time he’s eating it, and god knows he’s finishing the whole damned thing.

He was always of the mind that it’s rude not to finish your wife’s cooking.

It’s Price’s first holiday with you, and his expectations are low. Not as in he doesn’t think you’ll be lovely and amazing, he most certainly does, but his whole squad is coming over and preparing for that is a pretty big undertaking. So if it’s something a little more casual, maybe a bit of potluck, he’ll be perfectly fine with that. His ex used to order catering and tell the guests that she’d cooked it all herself, so anything is a step up from that in his book.

You stun him absolutely stupid when you not only plan a spectacular, full holiday dinner, but you make his boys help out– commanding them in the kitchen the same way he does in the field. Well, maybe a bit less forgiving. You’re less tender-hearted than him when the moistness of the roast in the oven is on the line. Everything is delicious, full of love, and satisfying beyond belief.

But his true fulfillment comes about a year later when his soldiers are awkwardly talking around their plans for the holidays, trying to nudge him into inviting them over again to make dinner with his missus. Muppets, the lot of them.

A lot of Ghost’s concept of vegetables come from army food, school cafeterias, and all-you-can-eat buffets. Typically frozen, only to be thawed and overcooked to an ungodly degree. On the rare occasion he had a half-decent meal with a vegetable side, it was typically covered in butter, cheese, or finely chopped bacon. Sometimes a combination of the three.

You’re a hookup he falls back on a lot when he’s on leave. Keeps him away from his empty apartments and crowded mind. This time, he comes straight to your place when he lands, wanting to lose himself in your cunt more than anything else. And you’re accommodating, you don’t have anything better to do and he doesn’t leave you wanting.

Usually he makes himself scarce pretty quickly, but this time he finds that maybe he was still running on adrenaline when he came in, and now that it’s wearing off with his post-orgasm high, his entire body is killing him. He feels like lead. And he hates that his struggle is plain to see.

“You can just stay, y’know. S’not like I’ll be expecting a wedding ring in the morning or anything. I’m just gonna go make dinner.”

He’s too tired to protest. Falls asleep just about as soon as you’re out of the room, despite very much intending to get the hell up and pass out somewhere that isn’t your apartment. He wakes up to an amazing smell.

Your dinner isn’t complicated. You’d just planned to have dinner by yourself, so it wasn’t fancy or anything. Grilled some salmon, put it over rice with some unagi sauce, steamed some fresh veggies for the side. Simon just barely has the energy to amble over to your kitchen table when it’s clear he won’t be leaving the premises any time soon.

When he’s not eating food that’s mass produced and shitty, he expects to be eating the kind of battered and fried pub faire that sits like a stone and ravages the digestive tract.

This may very well be the first time he’s eaten a meal that was genuinely good that didn’t make him feel at least a little bit disgusting afterwards. And god– it’s like it’s his first time tasting a vegetable for real. Why didn’t anyone tell him they could be this way?

You’re quite frankly shocked when you wake up in the morning and Simon is not only still there– he wants to take you out to breakfast. 

The truth is that he got a pretty remarkably good night’s rest, but in the wee hours while he was waiting for you to wake up? He was planning. The jump from friends with benefits to marriage won’t really be so difficult if he can play his cards right.

[iwashie]

Sevika Headcanons

She almost never touches you with her mechanical arm, she always holds you with her human arm or takes off the prosthesis. When you two walk down the street, she leaves her mechanical arm on the opposite side of your body.

Doesn't care about age, height or weight

She loves you all, all your body, but she has a weak spot for your ass. It's the way it jingles when she slaps it or the way it sways when you walk...

She's a dom top, but when the day was rough, she maybe will let you take control, always holding and guiding your head

Calls you "girl, doll, my girl," or "woman" and loves when you call her "vika, baby," will go crazy when you tease her and calls her "mommy"

Trusts you and lets you wander around the bar and go out with friends, but always keep an eye in case some stupid man tries something

"Wear whatever you want, doll. I know how to fight"

Always has you sitting on her lap during night games at the bar, her human arm caressing your thighs, and loves seeing you dancing

Always kisses you holding your neck and waist, devouring your moans and leaving your breathless

Always go down on you, and she eats you out like she's been starving all day, shoving her face in your pussy and gulping your juice, always makes you cum a first time on her tongue or fingers

SHE ALWAYS KISSES YOU AFTER EATING YOU OUT

Likes cowgirl, reverse cowgirl or doggy, and always chokes you during it, points if you cry in pleasure

Is the bigger spoon, and also likes to crush on top of you.

She lets you tangle your limbs on hers when sleeping and always has her human hand around your waist or holding some parts of your body

Likes when you visit her on the office and let's you sleep on the couch

She, somehow, is always attracted to energetic people, so she'll always let a sigh out but will smile seeing you all energetic

She secretly likes to see you, Jinx and Isha acting like a family, the golden retriever trio tiring she out

She feels so warm and happy seeing you taking care of Isha and Jinx, imagining forming a family with you

Didn't correct Jinx when she said that you four were a family, duh

She learned how to handle her mechanical arm and other stuff but loves when you help her or ask how to do something to help her

Her mechanical arm always hurts her, so she loves it when you give a massage that turns out in a make-out session on her lap

You don't need to know how to fight, she'll do it for you, but loves to see you defending yourself

Always make sure you're okay, have enough sleep or food, but always forget about herself so fucking loves when you bring her food o let's her take a nap cuddling you

Don't tell you about her day, to not worry you, so always ask about your day. She always glares at Jinx when she tells the truth

Always responds to your requests, so Jix and Isha are always having breakfast and dinner with you two

Jinx cut her hair and kinda messed up, but you assured her that she's fine, hot as hell, and the piercing idea was yours...

When she has to leave first, she always kisses you goodbye and always gives in when you say "more 5 minutes, baby..."

She's definitely proposing to you, but is regretting asking Jinx for help...

@iwashie 2025 please do not translate, modify or republish my works

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP Fanfic Idea: Burst your Bubble

Danny makes a small mistake that spirals out of control three years later. It starts on a fateful day while working in Clockwork's Tower, covering for the Time Lord. He had pushed for the man to take a break after hearing he hadn't been on vacation since the death of dinosaurs.

It was also recommended by Frostbite. Apparently, the stress of his job was causing Clockwork to lose grip on his age shift. Much like a human grinding their teeth in sleep due to stress, Clockwork's core was rapidly shifting him through his ages, causing aches along his core. When Danny met him, the way he went from child to middle-aged man and finally old adult was just physical proof of Clockwork's stress.

His shifting got under control after they defeated Dan, but that didn't mean his muscles had a chance to relax. He was a little better off the second time Danny saw Clockwork, but when Danny asked if he could return to his parent's college days, Clockwork's form quickly started shifting again.

Danny felt horrible about it, but he was fine taking over for the ghost to relax on vacation. It wasn't even that hard. All he had to do was watch the various timelines and record large catastrophes and bursts of hope. He also had to watch hourglasses that indicated the natural flow of time in multiple worlds. Sometimes, the sand would get stuck, so he would need to stir it with a large spoon, careful to not let anything else touch the golden shine of the time sands.

It helped that the Tower was semi-sentient. It overheard him making up lies about what he was doing on a call with his parents. Danny had told his parents that this summer, he was going away to work as a summer camp counselor, while Clockwork had selected a timeline that was moving at a different speed.

One month in Danny's home dimension was a hundred years in the one Clockwork was relaxing in. When Danny's school started again, his friend would have a lovely four hundred years to enjoy. Of course, this was a tiny break for a being like Clockwork, but Danny promised to take over every summer until he graduated.

The Tower had created a room that looked a lot like a log cabin whenever his parents attempted to video call. It even created a paycheck with actual funds directly deposited into his teen account that his parents had access to.

Their doubts about Danny lying vanished when "Camp Kronos" placed a rather generous amount of money under his name. His dad was even proud of Danny going out of his way to earn his own money. It's been a long time since his Dad sounded like that when talking about his accomplishments.

Clockwork had told him the Tower spoke to him mentally because it was his Haunt, but since Danny was only Haunt sitting, he was directed to a chalkboard that the Tower could use to write messages to him. That's how he knew it was the Tower's doing that his cover was safe back home.

Danny thanked the Tower by cleaning it from top to bottom. When he asked it what its name and pronouns were, the Tower requested to be called "it" and to stop using a capital T when referring to it.

Danny tries, but he still mentally changes tower into Tower since that is its name in his head. The tiles shake in irritation whenever he accidentally says it out loud.

Besides that, the Tower didn't really interact with him. Danny made his own food, did his own laundry, and did his work. There was never a clock in and clock out; the only time he wasn't attending the timelines was when he took short breaks to sleep, eat, bathe, and clean.

But the only time he wasn't watching the time was when he was asleep, and that was because of Tower. It somehow found a way to throw the timelines in his face whenever possible.

He did enjoy using the large tub to soak in bubbles, but Tower shifted the bubbles to reflect different scenes of the timelines he was watching, causing them to flout like the tower was blowing bubbles while Danny sat in the water. If it went that far to ensure that Danny was constantly working, he could see why Clockwork had such a hard time with the core shifting.

Then, one day, while soaking, he closed his eyes, ignoring the shifting tiles and the slight rumbling of the walls as Tower grumbled. He told it that he was taking a short break and it could wait until he was done. He would rest his eyes, no matter how important it was for him to watch.

He couldn't have them close for more than a minute, but that was all the mistake needed. At that time, one of the bubbles' timelines shifted because someone in it was being an idiot and messing with time, and it started to glow with new times and forming.

Sand that Danny accidentally touched when the bubble popped right on his nose. Tower was throwing a fit, shaking everything like an earthquake as the sand fell into the soap water.

He blinked open his eyes, startled, and much to his horror, came face to face with the sand, forming a miniature window into that timeline. A human teenager was staring right back at him, jaw dropped with a healthy building flush rising on his cheeks, as the time sand danced around his eyes, though he seemed unable to look away from Danny.

Windows were often granted to specific individuals favored by Clockwork, causing them to become Seers. It was not a common blessing because, more often than not, mortals could not handle future knowledge.

Even ghosts long dead struggle with the power. The only reason Danny was able to cover for Clockwork was because his brain was both dead and alive at the same time. Madness cause time couldn't touch him because, technically, he was already crazy.

Tower shook again, the stone groaning under its disapproval as Danny became uncomfortable, aware that the only thing protecting his dignity was the white foam low on his stomach. With a yelp, he sank further into the water, his hands covering his important bits out of habit, and he waved his hand to close the window.

The teenager moved his mouth in a silent plea, but he vanished in a swirl as quickly as he appeared. It was only a few seconds. Not even ten. Surely nothing could come from that?

A mistake he pushed to the back of his mind.

Surely, not paying attention for just a tiny amount of time could not have caused anything to be too bad.

_____________________________________________________________

"Hey dude? You okay?"

"I just....I just saw an angel...."

"What?"

"An angel. He warned me....showed me....I have to tell Mr.Wayne!"

"Wait! Where are you going!? Tell Mr. Wayne what?!"

"His son is going to die next week!"

"What!?"

"Jason Todd! The angel showed me! I have to warn them!"

_____________________________________________________________

Tower didn't tell on him, and Danny didn't bring it up. Clockwork returned in mid-adult form when the summer ended, looking far more relaxed and no longer shifting forms so rapidly.

He apparently spent four hundred years on a small paradise island, sipping coconut and dancing with locals who thought him a god. He hugged Danny, another large bonus for his paycheck, and sent him on his way.

The following summer, Danny completely forgot about the little accident and never bothered to check on that timeline. Clockwork was unaware there was a major shift in it, so he assumed that the world was moving as it should, though he complained that he had to unclog it a lot more because of a Seer who often opened too many Windows.

It was a testament to how much he needed that vacation for Clockwork to forget he never chose that Seer, despite the young human proving he had the will to handle his visions.

\Danny never realized that Seer was the same teenager he saw back then until one day three years later when Seer was an established fortune teller working as a consultant with some hero society and had used some of the said heroes to try and contact Clockwork.

"Danny." Clockwork started watching the young human set up an altar. "Why is a human attempting to use himself as a virgin sacrifice for me?"

"Ummmm"

"Danny, why does my Haunt claim you gave him the Sight."

"Well....."

"Danny why is Timothy Jackson Drake, who fated to be the third Robin in this time line, now a mere consultant who use his power of Sight for money gain? He's not a hero, did you know that? He merely lives next door to one of that world's greatest heroes and is obsessed with finding his Angel"

"I may have....made a mistake when I was fourteen."

"Danny," Clockwork's faux-friendly tone grew sharper as his form shifted from the three stages of age. "What did you do?"

"I can fix it!"

"How."

"I'll....enter that timeline and set it on the right path? I can answer his summons and convince him to become a hero with the Bats?"

Tower shook as if laughing at him.

"How." The hiss that came from the Time god was almost incomprehensible, with the amount of rage crammed into one syllable

"I'll-I can-Honey pot him!" Danny whimpered, cowering under the withering death glare Clockwork was aiming at him. "I can convince him that being a vigilante is cool and hot, so he'll be Red Robin, and the timeline can be saved?"

Clockwork's eyes darken. "You better not fail me. Send him away, Haunt"

Tower- the traitor- moved instantly. It shifted its stones to drag Danny to Red Robin's cluttered hourglass. It flung him in before he could protest, using Danny to unclog it. He is nearly down in the sinking sand, scrambling for purpose before he falls flat on his bum, and the sand vanishes.

A soft gasp has him looking up. Standing before him is the Seer Tim Drake, who looks beyond happy.

"It's you! My Angel!"

[sanguineterrain]

Kurt wagner and tail stuff!!! I love that boy! I love how you write! I love the tail! Smashing them together we got a a little piece of heaven! So Kurt wagner with s/o and some tail action pretty please!!

(Like if you need some more then that: for example, the times before they were together Kurt’s tail always seemed to gravitate towards reader (I’m an advocate that Kurt’s tail is like a fricking mood ring) wrapping around them, touching them. The times when they were together! And the time reader wraps their hand or something around his tail or something)

Love your writing! You’re awesome and amazing! And I want to say in advance, thank you so so much for doing this ask! I will treasure it dearly! And if you don’t do the ask then thank you so so much to taking the time to read it! Have a lovely day!

ouuu this is a sweet request <3 tail boy! thanks nonnie :) hopefully I did him justice 🫶 changed the request a bit but kept the same idea about the tail. may write a part 2... we'll see!

kurt wagner (nightcrawler) x gn!reader. fluff, cooking, gambit and rogue trying to talk some sense into the reader.

note: I tried to capture kurt and gambit's accents. however, as always, I'm open to feedback on them. It's definitely not my intention to offend or miswrite anyone!

****

The smell of bubbling cheese wafts from your pot as you stir. It's been a while since you were able to cook for yourself and have a nice meal, always running out to do something or another for the good of the planet.

"Smells good," comes a familiar voice. A moment later, a tail curls around your wrist as you shake some paprika into the pot.

You look away from your stirring into golden, irisless eyes. Kurt grins at you.

"Mac 'n cheese," you say by way of greeting. "Want some?"

"Please und thank you."

Anytime you cook, you offer Kurt to share. You frequently have the thought that you spoil the hell out of him, but you can't help it.

He helps you out by putting away the milk and cheese. But he's never far; his tail remains on you. It slackens from your wrist, then explores up your arm and around your elbow.

It's nothing new, of course. The first thing you learned about Kurt Wagner is how physically affectionate he is.

"That tail seems to have a mind of its own, elfie," you say, smiling down at the pot.

"What do you mean?"

"It's always holding onto me." You turn off the burner.

"Ah." Kurt drops his tail. "My apologies. I can ease up, as you say."

You shake your head. "Don't. I don't mind. Never have."

So Kurt gives you one final tail squeeze. The fur on his arm tickles you as he brushes past. You watch him in confusion.

"Where are you going?" you ask, halfway through scooping two servings of the pasta.

"Not far," he says brightly. "Jean wanted me to bring spoons from the kitchen." He holds up three metal spoons with his tail.

"Spoons?"

He shrugs. "An experiment. Who am I to question a scientist's whim? I promise I will be fast."

He teleports away, and you have a mind to cover Kurt's bowl with a plate. You bring both bowls to the table. At last, a proper meal.

You don't mind eating alone, but that hardly ever happens with Kurt around. Even if he's just eaten, he'll nibble on whatever you've made. You don't know where he puts all that food—perhaps in another dimension—but he makes it a point to eat with you, regardless of whether you've cooked or not. Even if you're in the middle of the forest eating a tin of beans, Kurt will plant himself right next to you and keep you company.

He's a good friend. The best friend you've ever had, actually.

"Woo, smells good!"

Gambit comes in first, followed by Rogue, since the two are never seen apart anymore. Gambit, nosy that he is, makes a beeline to Kurt's covered bowl.

"And what's in here?" he asks, lifting the plate.

"That's Kurt's," you say. "You can get some from the pot."

"Mais, it's Kurt's, huh?" He glances at Rogue, who grins. "Hear that, chère? Not sure if I should take from the pot. Might take my head, too."

You squint as they share laughter. "What're you talking about?"

"Oh, nothin'," Rogue says sweetly, taking the seat diagonal to you. Gambit sits next to her.

Your frown deepens. "I didn't say you couldn't have some, G, I just—"

Gambit shakes his head. "Don't go worryin' 'bout that. I'm just teasin'. I think it's cute how you feed the furball."

"Excuse me, I feed myself first," you say, and shovel a forkful of pasta into your mouth.

You hate not being in the know. It happens frequently, being that you're not a mutant. You're here on a personal invitation from Charles due to your "technology skills."

Really, you'd been brought here to fix Cerebro. And after that, you'd sort of just... stayed at the school. Charles had offered you a room, Kurt had won your friendship (or, perhaps, you'd won his), and you'd never left.

"Well, what do you mean, anyway? So what if I feed Kurt," you say, unable to stand not knowing.

"Just seems like where you are, Kurt's never far," Rogue says, watching you eat.

"Yeah, so? He's my friend."

"Oh, un ami. Is that what we're callin' it?" Gambit asks, eyes gleaming with mirth.

"What else would you call it?"

They look at each other in that Siamese cats way. Often, you've had the thought that they can read each other's minds—no powers needed.

"You really don't know?" Rogue asks, voice softening.

"Know what?" you ask impatiently.

Gambit makes a quiet noise in his throat. "Y'all don't know. He's gone on you."

Your brows rise. "Kurt? Don't be silly, Remy."

"Oh, great. You're both in denial," Rogue says, rolling her eyes. "Haven't you noticed how touchy he is around ya? Always huggin' and clingin'."

"Kurt's like that with everybody," you say. "He's like that with Logan!"

"Mais, the tail, it never lies," Gambit says with all the wisdom of someone centuries older. "He don't go wrappin' that tail 'round anybody."

Rogue nods sagely. "True. And he's always puttin' that tail around you."

"But he's..." You put your fork down in frustration. "That's ridiculous. Kurt would've said—I mean, there would've been a sign. He would've told me. Kurt doesn't hide anything from me."

"This is new for him, honey," Rogue says. "He's never been in love for real. He's not gonna act rationally."

"Alors, look at it this way. La Raison parle, mais l'Amour chante. Hm? His body betray his words. It sings to you. Jus' like I sing to ma cherie."

He reaches to take Rogue's hand, eyes practically heart-shaped. Rogue lets him, smiling in that secret, shy way of hers whenever Gambit is sweet on her.

L'Amour...

"Kurt is not in love with me," you say. "End of story."

They both heave sighs.

"Just watch his tail," Rogue says. "Kurt can hide a lot, but he can't control how he—"

BAMF!

You flinch as Kurt teleports into the kitchen. He grins and waves, then bounces around the table to greet the others.

"I'm back!" he says. "I hope my mac did not get cold. Will you be eating with us?"

"No, that's okay," Rogue says, looking at you meaningfully behind Kurt's back. "Rain check. We've gotta go train."

Gambit winks at you. "See y'all."

They disappear quickly. Kurt turns to you, blissfully unaware of your newly formed nerves.

"I am sorry I was gone for so long," Kurt says, sitting down to his bowl. "Jean had some questions about my abilities. Apparently, she's trying to replicate them in a machine."

"That's okay," you say. "Rogue and G kept me company."

Kurt beams. "They are so good for that, yes?"

He shovels a mouthful of mac 'n cheese into his mouth and groans in appreciation. His tail instantly curls around your wrist.

"Amazing!" Kurt says. "Perhaps your special ability is your cooking, hm? I would believe it."

You laugh. "Danke, elfie."

"Bitte schön," he says, eyes lighting up at your German. He frequently informs everyone about how good your German is becoming, even though you hardly know ten phrases.

His tail begins to stroke your arm. You wonder if he's aware of it. If he knows how his tail betrays him.

But no, that's outrageous. And even if it was true, it's not like the feeling's mutual, right?

"Oh, and," Kurt says. "I got us tickets to that show you wanted to see. They're playing it at the theater downtown. We can go on Saturday, ja?"

"You... oh. Wow. I told you about that ages ago, Kurt. You remembered?"

"Why wouldn't I?" he says, tilting his head. Like it hadn't occurred to him to be anything less than thoughtful.

"No, I'm just—thank you. That's really nice of you."

Kurt beams. "I am excited to watch the green witch und her pink friend sing!"

He keeps eating, unaware of the way he's made your world tip on its axis. Because now you know.

You're in love with Kurt Wagner. And the feeling just might be mutual.

[tobiosbbyghorl]

Chicken Cheeks Chaos | psh

pairing:downbad!sunghoon x vlogger!reader

The kitchen smelled divine—soy garlic chicken glistening under the warm lights, tteokbokki bubbling in a wide pan, crispy mandu stacked high beside a dish of golden cheese corn that sizzled with every bubble. You sat at the table in your comfiest hoodie (Sunghoon’s, of course), camera angled just right, face glowing with energy.

“Hi besties!” you grinned, eyes already flickering toward the food. “Welcome back to another episode of ‘watch me fall in love with food for the thousandth time.’ And today, we have a guest.”

You leaned your head to the side dramatically, bumping shoulders with the quiet boy beside you.

Sunghoon, in a hoodie of his own with sleeves pushed halfway up his arms, offered the camera a small nod. “I’m just here for the chicken,” he said simply.

You gasped with mock betrayal. “Not me?”

He glanced at you, corner of his mouth lifting. “You come with the meal.”

You turned back to the camera with a smug smirk. “Y’all heard that. He thinks I’m the free side dish.”

Sunghoon only laughed softly and reached for a piece of mandu, but his eyes weren’t on the food. Not really. They kept drifting toward you—how you looked at the camera, how excited you got over every dish, how your smile reached your eyes whenever you talked about something you loved.

You picked up a chicken wing with a little happy hum, taking a big bite. Crispy, sweet, garlicky—basically everything you wanted from life.

“Oh my God, this is what I want heaven to taste like,” you said, pointing your wing at the camera. “This is the one. This is the one.”

“You said that last week,” Sunghoon mumbled, chewing his own piece.

“And I was right last week,” you argued, licking sauce off your finger before pointing at another dish. “Now try the tteokbokki before I finish it all.”

You reached for a piece yourself, slurping it up with the kind of enthusiasm only someone truly in love with food could have. A spot of sauce dotted the corner of your mouth, and Sunghoon—completely on autopilot—reached over with his thumb, wiping it gently before following with a napkin. Like he’d done it a thousand times before. Like it was second nature.

You blinked. “Did you just—?”

“Had something there,” he said casually.

You turned to the camera, eyes wide. “He just wiped my mouth like a husband wiping his wife’s face in a drama scene. The natural instinct was strong.”

Sunghoon paused mid-bite, ears tinting pink. “You’re being dramatic.”

“You’re being down bad.”

“I’m being helpful.”

“Sure,” you teased, voice full of fondness. “Down bad and helpful. What a combo.”

You reached for the cheese corn next, holding the spoon up with reverence as the cheese stretched impossibly long. “Look at this! LOOK. AT. THIS.”

Sunghoon leaned in, but his eyes were still on your face, not the food.

“You’re not even looking at the cheese,” you said, laughing.

“I am.”

“Where?”

“…Your face.”

You gasped, smacking his arm lightly. “Did you just say I’m cheesier than the cheese corn?”

“No,” he said, licking sauce from his thumb. “I said I’m distracted.’”

You scoffed dramatically, then took another bite of cheese corn. “Here. Eat this before I expose you further.”

He opened his mouth without question, leaning in with zero hesitation.

You fed him slowly, watching him chew with a little smirk. “Good?”

“Dangerously,” he muttered with a full mouth.

You handed him a mandu next, then a bite of tteokbokki, alternating between feeding yourself and him.

At one point, you leaned closer, holding up a piece of chicken. “Say ah.”

He raised a brow. “You really like feeding me, huh?”

“It’s giving ‘1950s housewife energy,’” you said with a wink. “Let me live my fantasy.”

He leaned in and took the bite, chewing slowly as he looked you dead in the eye. “You’re lucky I’m so in love with you.”

You blinked, the grin tugging at your lips slower this time. “Did you just—?”

“I said the chicken’s good,” he muttered, cheeks tinting again.

“Nope. That was something else,” you said, laughing so hard you almost dropped the chicken wings. “Caught in 4K, baby.”

You turned to the camera. “You guys. I’m dating the softest man alive.”

Sunghoon just reached for another napkin and wiped your fingers again, muttering, “You’re still messy.”

“And you still love me.”

He didn’t even blink. “I do.”

The moment hung there for a second—quiet, warm, full of something tender and whole.

The rest of the video passed in a blur of laughter and full mouths. You kept feeding him between bites of your own, sometimes teasing, sometimes sweet, and Sunghoon never refused. His hands, almost unconsciously, kept reaching for your wrist to guide another bite toward him, or resting on your thigh beneath the table, thumb drawing slow circles like he needed the contact. Like touching you helped him breathe.

By the end, both your bellies were full and your hearts even more so. You leaned into each other slightly, the table messier now, evidence of good food and better company.

“Okay besties, we’re officially done. My man is officially exposed. And I’ll see you in the next video. Say bye, chicken boy.”

Sunghoon raised a hand lazily. “Bye, besties.”

After the camera stopped rolling and the kitchen had quieted down, you curled up on the couch, laptop in your lap, already importing the footage. The scent of dinner still clung to your clothes and your lips were a little swollen from spicy tteokbokki.

Sunghoon wandered in a few minutes later and dropped onto the couch behind you, arms looping around your waist. His chin rested on your shoulder as he peered at the screen.

“You kept the part where you fed me,” he mumbled.

“Of course. That was peak content.”

“I looked whipped.”

“You are whipped,” you said without looking at him.

He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, voice barely above a whisper.

“I like it when you feed me.”

You smiled, fingers still tapping at the keyboard. “Yeah?”

“Means I don’t have to take my eyes off you.”

Your hands froze on the trackpad for a second.

And then you leaned back into him, letting the quiet stretch on, letting your smile speak for you.

“I’ll feed you forever then.”

He hummed into your skin.

“Good. Because I’m never getting tired of this.”

Neither of you moved. Wrapped in warmth and leftovers and love, you stayed there until the screen dimmed and the only thing left was the sound of your breathing, slow and in sync.

Bonus:

Top Comments under the Vlog!

“Sunghoon staring at her like she hung the moon?? I AM NOT OKAY.”

“the way he just automatically wiped her mouth… this man is not just whipped, he’s on a rotisserie.”

“I paused at 12:38 and this man was literally not watching the food. just. her. face. i’ve never seen someone more in love.”

“the way she fed him and he didn’t even blink, just opened his mouth like yes queen feed me—I’m actually crying this is PEAK SOFT BOYFRIEND.”

“i can’t even get a text back and she’s out here feeding her bf cheese corn while he calls her his ‘distraction’ bye.”

Tweets!

@kdramaswho:

not me crying in the club at 2am watching sunghoon wipe her mouth like she’s a whole painting…

@no1luvsme:

i wanna be a chubby food vlogger with a hot boyfriend who feeds me, wipes my face, AND stares at me like i’m a buffet… universe do ur thing pls

@y/nlvr:

sunghoon: gets fed

sunghoon: stares at her like she’s art

sunghoon: wipes her mouth without thinking

me: what in the husband material—

@softboysupremacy:

down bad doesn’t even cover it. he’s under the table. IN THE FLOOR. SUNGHOON YOU’RE EMBARRASSING ME (i love you)

©️tobiosbbyghorl - all rights reserved

permanent taglist: @ijustwannareadstuff20 @hoonielvv @rjssierjrie @firstclassjaylee

[slut4megantheestallion]

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ Sfw & NSFW Dating Nicholas Chavez Headcannons

●Sfw

- He is such a cutie patootie, he's such a good boyfriend, lover, friend anything. he acts very shy whenever he is around new people, but when he's with you, he's completely different and more talkative, and he's such a golden retriever type boyfriend.

- Very affectionate, he loves physical touch and just cuddling and hugging you, whenever he comes from a long day working on set, the first thing he would do Is come home to you with open arms, making you feel safe and loved, giving you alot of hugs and kisses.

- He checks up on you alot of the time, whenever he's far away from home when he's acting for a role in a movie or show, he's quick to ask about how you're doing and give you all the details about his day.

- You're his biggest supporter you always encourage him and cheer him on whenever he's acting for a role, you even help him to stay in character, you two out watch movies together or just find information about his character and have so much inspiration, he loves talking about his favorite actors and tv shows with you and you never get bored of it, you find it adorable how he talks about his idols and how he's inspired he is.

- he's has a lot of nicknames for you, like he's such a loving and caring boyfriend, he likes calling you names making you feel loved and cherished by him, but his favorite nicknames for you are "babe, sweetheart, baby."

-This man is so affectionate he loves posting you on his Instagram and showing the whole world how much you mean to him, photos of you two kissing, laughing, and holding hands together.

-He takes you on a lot of trips. like he takes you around the world just exploring anything that's new. He usually doesn't have time since he has a very busy schedule,but when he does have time, he will take you out. He just likes seeing you happy, having a fun time, and experiencing new things and cultures, which makes him love you even more, making memories together that he will remember in his head.

-He loves helping you out with stuff, even when you insist not to. he still does it anyway. He's the type that will get you something when you can't reach it. He likes giving you piggyback rides or just carries you when you're tired.

- he loves spoiling you or just buying you anything. He likes taking you shopping and picking out stuff you like or reminds him of you. When he's far away from you and comes home from work, he gives you gifts,he brings you items like clothes, jewelry, scented candles, flowers, even though you tell him it's not necessary if he gets you gifts, you love him gift or no gift.

- he likes taking you on cute little dates, like going out to eat, concerts, or cafe, but if you don't wanna go out together, you like staying together, cuddling, watching a movie.

-He's so overprotective over you. He gives off big spoon type vibes since he's getting popular and his fans are crazy over him. If anyone talks bad about you or just hates on you, he'll shut it down real quick so you wouldn't feel bad about yourself. He doesn't care if anyone had anything to say about being with you he'll stick by your side.

-He's very goofy. He loves making you laugh or just saying corny jokes, playful banter and jokes, or randomly dancing, or putting on a show for you whenever you're bored. Well, you're never bored since you're with Nicholas he's your source of entertainment.

- cooking or baking together, which usually ends up good or just you two playing fighting and throwing stuff at each other, making a big mess, he likes seeing you cook, he loves your cooking and he's just amazed and likes watching how the food turns out.

- going on set with him, seeing him in character, and meeting his friends and co-stars.

-Sweet random texts: messages of him reminding you how much he loves you and your the only thing that's on his mind.

-He likes sending you memes or funny stuff that you and only him find funny.

-He makes a playlist about you with all of the songs that remind him of you, and he shares with you how much you mean to him.

- he likes taking you to the beach and just walking together and collecting sea shells or just looking at the ocean and how the ocean is pretty like you are.

●Nsfw

- this man has sex with you every minute, hour, second, every morning, night, day, besides doing cute stuff with you and showing his love towards, sex Is also one of his way through affection, whenever he's out of town you would take sexy pictures of yourself sending it to him teasing you, and all he can think about his ripping your underwear and just fuck you so hard.

- he has sex with you anywhere honestly, the living room, kitchen, couch, bathroom, whenever you two are he had to have you , he craves you for your touch, telling you how much you love him, and you need him.

- I feel like he's down with whatever, whatever your into he's into.

- he most definitely talks you through. His voice is so calming, he likes praising you or just saying little things when he's having sex with you.

"God, you're doing so well for me, baby~"

"Please, I can't take it anymore. Taking me so well, such a pretty girl~"

- size kink

-he's a huge tease, just like seeing you beg for him.

- he most definitely needy and whiny in bed, especially when you give him head or riding him.

- very vocal

-His favorite position is missonary he loves the way you're beneath him, seeing you squirm for him .

- making out all the time

- slow, passionate kisses

-he's very vanilla, but he can be very rough if you ask him to.

- you like leaving hickeys or marks on his body, and you think he looks so sexy on his body.

-lots of aftercare, he loves taking care of you after sex.

(Authors note: I know I haven't been active lately because of school or writing in general but finally I am, I hope you guys enjoy, I am super obsessed with his man he's so fine... enjoy the edit at the end.)

[hotvintagepoll]

Hello! Do you have a favorite winter recipe? I'm looking to expand my repertoire, because I've only lived in a climate that snows for a couple years, and I don't have enough cozy, bone warming foods!

PS - I keep having to feed my cat pumpkin puree because he has some tummy troubles but he will only eat it if I gently hand feed him with a spoon. Just thought you might enjoy that.

YES HERE IS JOYOUS SOUP

(i have never actually called it joyous soup but it's what i feel everytime i make it and i feel like everyone should make it)

This soup does not have a proper recipe because uhh, my mom is bad with recipes but ALSO this soup truly adapts to whatever you have in your fridge, as long as you have 1) some kind of oil or butter to sautee things with and 2) potatoes. this is the sam gamgee make-it-on-the-side-of-a-mountain-winter soup.

Step 1. Take your potatoes—6 is the ideal but 4 works—and chop them up rough. "What kind of potatoes?" Whatever they have on the side of the mountain, Sam. You now have a bunch of 1" potato chunks or discs (I like discs). I assumed you washed them first but if you forgot you can wash them now.

Step 2. Get your oil or butter sizzling. I use about two tablespoons of butter to start and add more as I go if the potatoes don't look fully covered. I am probably cooking the butter on medium.

Step 3. You're putting the potatoes in the butter. You're pretending to fry them. Watch them get all buttery and golden and a little brown and crispy. You're thinking, man, I could eat these as they are right now. You could do that. Don't. Add garlic and onions if you have them. Add lots.

Step 4. Just as you're like oh MAN these potatoes and garlic and onions look really good fried just like this, you're going to swamp them in water. You're going to stare at what you've done and thought you made a mistake. You have not. The water should just be covering the potatoes and now you've turned the water up to high, staring at your weird sad soup pot, that smells deliciously of butter garlic onions and potatoes.

Step 5. In another saucepan, you are melting more butter (or oil, or what have you) and figuring out what else you have in your cupboard. Carrots? Those can go in. Parsnips could too. Spinach works nicely. Any onions or garlic you forgot can be added again now. Mushrooms are fucking fabulous. Leeks? Sublime. The only veg you should be avoiding are the ones that are secretly fruits (no watery tomatoes or squishy cucumbers) or the ones that you think are insipid (celery).

Step 6. You're chopping all of that up as much as you like and browning it up in the butter. You're also adding whatever spices strike your fancy. I love salt, so that's always going in, but I usually add black pepper and cayenne, and then I get fruity with it and start adding in paprikas and cumins and turmerics or corianders and thymes and basils and parsleys. It all depends on what smells right to you combined with the steams you're making, and how much spice you want kicking you later.

Step 7. How are your boiled potatoes looking? Are they soft yet? Good. Can you stick a fork in them yet, and has the water boiled down to almost nothing? Excellent. How are all your buttery brown vegetables looking? If you want to give up the whole experiment and eat them right out of the pan, it's time to make another mistake and add all your gorgeous browned vegetables to your disastrous wet potato pot.

Step 8. You now have a lot of delicious stuff looking wet and sad in your potato pot. Pour in a bit more water (or veg broth, or stock if you have it) and stir that all up. Let it stew together a bit and combine flavors. Turn it back down to medium so you don’t scorch any of your nice wet veg things. If you're fancy like my mom, you get out an immersion blender here. If you're broke and possess your grandmother's food processor, like me, you're pouring that all into the food processor with the biggest blade you have and turning it into a smoothie. If your concoction seems oddly chunky you need to add more water.

Step 9. Wet sad potato smoothie is not much to look at but now you're adding CREAM. and CHEESE. and MORE SPICES TO YOUR TASTE. If you don't have cream MILK WORKS FINE. If you don't have cheese THAT IS OKAY. If you like your soup with chunks LEAVE OUT SOME OF YOUR VEG NEXT TIME and ADD IT IN HERE. At this point, you have a gorgeous creamy soup that's soft and luscious (that's the potatoes), includes all your favorite veg (that's everything you got out of the fridge), and can go in any number of taste directions depending on what spices you put in (I've made this with Indian spices, English herb garden spices, Mexican spices, Hungarian spices—every time it's delicious and works a different way).

Step 10. I hope you have a lot of bread because you're going to be dipping it in your soup saying :) man this is a nice soup :) and knowing you can make it whenever you have weird leftovers, as long as you have potatoes and butter. and what else does a person need in life than potatoes and butter?

enjoy your joyous soup <3 i may have forgotten several steps but as long as you follow -brown some veg -add water -add spice -blend the shit out of it, you can never really go wrong <3

[thegoldenspoon1]

Savor the Spice: From Curry to Tandoori

Experience the vibrant flavors of authentic Indian cuisine at Golden Spoon Restaurant, where every dish is a celebration of spice and tradition. From rich, creamy curries to smoky, sizzling tandoori delights, our menu brings you the best of India’s culinary heritage. Indulge in aromatic biryanis, crispy samosas, and flavorful kebabs, all crafted with fresh ingredients and authentic spices. Whether you’re a fan of bold, fiery dishes or mild, comforting flavors, there’s something for every palate. Visit Golden Spoon Restaurant today and embark on a delicious journey through India’s most beloved flavors — one bite at a time!

Website: www.thegoldenspoon.ca Email: thegoldenspoon38@gmail.com Address: 3820 17ST NW, Edmonton, AB, Canada Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/thegoldenspoonyeg Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/the_golden_spoon38/

[hcneymooners]

thinking of chef!sevika...

suggestive content. men & minors dni.

🫕 and how the two of you met least luxuriously. you had gone on a terrible date - the kind where the conversation was tepid as lukewarm soup, where you watched the other person cut their food into increasingly smaller pieces just to have something to do with their hands.

🫕 you'd stolen away to the bathroom and found yourself wedged between the open window and sill, desperate for air untainted by forced laughter. thinking of how you got stuck and she looked up at you, as if you were suspended in a baroque-era painting, all twisted limbs and desperation. you'd reached out to her, a stranger in the alleyway of a restaurant, and asked for help.

🫕 she'd lifted you free with hands that spoke of years in kitchens - calloused, sure, strong - and you found the ground beneath your feet again, hair slightly mussed from all the movement. thank you, you said and she'd smiled so that you could see the body of the cigar held tightly between her teeth. she had a gap-tooth smile that reminded you of warm bread torn apart, and you thought of it all the way home and even after, constantly.

🫕 thinking of chef!sevika and how you met again, this time at a group function at some lush little eatery off a street you didn't know had any reputation in the city. it was a birthday party so the place had been rented out and you were pressed back-to-back and front-to-front with people who you knew nothing of, but shared memories of the birthday girl with. it was nineteen twenties themed so you'd gotten a jet-black wig, short and curling softly at the apples of your cheeks, and had ornamented yourself with an authentic flapper dress: glittering sleekly in the perfect shade of baby blue. your diamond necklaces were long and layered, your mother's relic.

🫕 the noise had become too much - crystal glasses clinking like wind chimes in a storm - so you'd slipped away, found a door marked 'staff only' and pushed through into blessed quiet. you've tucked yourself into this side kitchen, where the air smells of reduced wine and fresh herbs.

🫕 chef!sevika who's surprised to find you lounging in her extra kitchen, who hides a smile as you dip a finger into a plate of artfully smoked salmon laid out in thin blush slices against a fan of pita and sauce. she's older than you, carries it in the silver threading her temples, in the assured way she moves through her domain.

🫕 her knife work is hypnotic - you watch her hands move with the surety that comes from decades of practice, the blade an extension of herself. curious little thing, she murmurs, but slides the plate closer to you instead of pulling it away.

🫕 you start bringing her things after that night - rare spices from specialty shops tucked into quiet corners of the city, flowers still warm from the morning market, cookbooks with cracked spines from antique stores.

🫕 she teaches you to taste properly: eyes closed, breathing in the steam of broths she's spent hours perfecting. slow down, she'll whisper, one hand on your wrist, savor it. and you learn to do just that - to savor everything about her, about this slow-burning thing between you.

🫕 in her kitchen late at night, you watch her alter recipes. she lets you be her tester, feeding you tiny portions from wooden spoons worn smooth with use. too much salt? she asks, and you shake your head, entranced by how she makes notes in a leather-bound journal, her handwriting precise and slanting. you're perched on a counter, legs swinging, and she moves between stoves with the grace of a dancer. sometimes her hand brushes your knee as she passes, and you feel it like a flame.

🫕 she teaches you to make pasta on a sunday morning, the kitchen filled with golden light. her hands guide yours through the motions of kneading, and you lean back against her chest, feeling how your breathing slowly synchronizes. patience, she says, when you want to rush. good things take time. you understand she's not just talking about the dough beneath your fingers.

🫕 your first real kiss tastes of the cardamom ice cream she's been perfecting - sweet and complex and slightly spiced. she cups your face in hands that smell of basil and butter, and you think about how many ways there are to feed someone, to nourish them.

🫕 months pass like honey dripping from a spoon. you build rituals together: morning coffee in the garden she's started growing herbs in, weekend trips to farmers' markets where she charms every vendor with her expertise and that gap-toothed smile. she teaches you the names of every herb in her garden, how to tell when tomatoes are perfectly ripe, the secret to properly seasoning cast iron. you teach her how to slow down sometimes, to leave the kitchen and dance with you in the living room, to let a meal be simple if it means more time to kiss.

🫕 you surprise her on her birthday by converting the spare room into a spice library - floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with jars from your travels together, each one labeled in your careful handwriting. she cries, just a little, and you kiss the salt from her cheeks.

🫕 the proposal happens in her kitchen - where else? - while she's teaching you to make her grandmother's secret recipe for braised short ribs. this is a family secret, she says, and then pauses, wooden spoon halfway to the pot. i suppose you should be family then. you nearly drop the wine you're holding, and she laughs, deep and rich. marry me, she says, let me feed you forever.

🫕 the wedding is in autumn, when the air is crisp and sweet with falling leaves. she spends days in the kitchen you built her, crafting a feast that tells your story: the smoked salmon from the night in her extra kitchen, pasta rolled by four hands instead of two, herbs from your shared garden. your dress is the color of a deep forest, and when you walk down the aisle, she cries again, just a little.

🫕 there are harder days, when eating feels like swallowing stones. she finds you curled on the kitchen floor one morning, the marble cool against your cheek. without a word, she sits beside you, gathers you into her lap like something precious.

🫕 hey baby, she whispers against your hair, and her hands are so gentle as they trace the hollow spaces of you. she feeds you breakfast slowly, carefully - warm bread torn into tender, small pieces, drizzled with honey. each bite is followed by a kiss: to your temples, your shoulders, the soft plane of your stomach.

🫕 you're here, she reminds you, you're safe. and you are - safe in this kitchen that smells of rosemary and rising dough, safe in her arms that have always known how to hold you.

🫕 later, when you're stronger, she shows you another kind of recipe. dark chocolate melting on your skin like sunset, the sharp bright burst of reduced raspberry sauce. the secret, she murmurs against your collarbone, is the canvas. her tongue traces patterns like plating designs, and you laugh, breathless, at how she makes art of everything. my masterpiece, she calls you, and you feel beautiful, consumed, cherished.

🫕 the cookbook comes as a surprise - you find the proof copy on her desk one evening. "recipes for my love," the title reads, and inside are all your favorites. each recipe comes with a story, a memory. "the secret ingredient is time," she writes in the introduction, "and someone worth spending it with." it sells out in weeks, then months. "it's like reading a love letter," the reviews say, and you blush every time, even as you beam with pride at how she's shared your love with the world.

🫕 thinking about how your home becomes a sanctuary, especially for jinx and isha. they come at all hours - after fights, during celebrations, on quiet sunday afternoons when they just need to be somewhere warm.

🫕 sevika teaches jinx knife skills while you and isha roll out cookie dough, all of you covered in flour and laughing. the cool aunts, they call you, but you know it's more than that. it's the way sevika always knows when to start making hot chocolate (the real stuff. none of that synthetic crap, she grumbles), the way you keep their favorite snacks in the pantry, the way the kitchen island has become a confessional booth where secrets are whispered and hearts are allowed to be swollen with grief .

🫕 kitchens are for healing, sevika says one night, watching you all from the doorway. jinx is asleep on the couch, isha curled up beside her, and the house smells like the cookies you'd stress-baked together after a particularly rough day. you lean back against her chest, feeling her heartbeat strong and steady. and for family, you add, and feel her smile against your hair.

🫕 thinking of how the years pass like this - measured in meals shared, in recipes perfected, in late-night comforts and early morning kisses that taste of coffee. your love never spoils, never grows stale. it only deepens, like a good red wine, like a soup that's been simmering all day.

🫕 sevika still feeds you from splintering spoons, still kisses your stomach on hard days, still looks at you like you're the most exquisite dish she's ever created. and you still perch on counters to watch her work, still bring her flowers and spices, still catch your breath at the full force of her smile.

🫕 in the end, it's simple: your kitchen is your heart, and your heart is always full.

© hcneymooners.

me 🤝🏾 my eating disorder and subsequent recovery 🤝🏾 wanting to marry someone in the food industry.

[linoxpudding]

Intern (Pt 4)- Lee Know

summary: as you and minho navigate your friendship dynamic, mingyu's heart eyes on you starts to trouble him— making him think you might just be falling for someone else

pairing: lee know x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff, humor

word count: 5723 words

a/n: it was getting too long, so there will be pt 5! this is just angst fest with sprinkles of fluff

Intern Series: Part Three

~°~

You were planning to binge watch a K-drama all weekend, cocooned in your bed with snacks and the blinds closed, avoiding everything and everyone.

But Hyunjin had other plans. He FaceTimed you in the afternoon, dramatic as always, starting with a groan and a close-up of a plate of slightly charred french toast.

“Look at this monstrosity,” he whined, flipping the camera back to his face. “I swear I was only gone for two seconds—”

“Hyun, you cannot leave it in the stove and scroll through insta.”

He gasped, deeply offended. “Excuse you, I was grabbing my mug! I’m not feral.”

You rolled your eyes, propping your phone against a pillow. “Debatable.”

After the usual catch-up — mostly consisting of Hyunjin dragging everyone in his life and complaining about schedules — you finally caved and told him about the elevator.

With Minho.

You tried to sound casual. Light. Like it didn’t mean much.

“We were alone for like... ten seconds,” you said, “and then right before I stepped out, he said—”

“What?”

You hesitated. “He said he’d like to be friends again.”

Hyunjin blinked. “...And?”

“And nothing. That’s it.”

He stared into the camera for a long beat. “What the hell is wrong with you two?”

“I don’t know!” you whisper-yelled, slumping deeper into your blanket. “It was so awkward. He said it like he meant it, but it felt… off. Like maybe he thought I needed closure or something.”

“Or maybe he’s trying to fix things.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, unsure. “Maybe.”

Hyunjin exhaled like a tired therapist. “Okay. That’s it. You’re not rotting in bed all weekend over this.”

“Watch me.”

���Nope. You’re coming to potluck night at the dorm. Tonight. Everyone’s bringing food and good vibes. I want you there, no excuses.”

You groaned. “Hyun— I don’t even have anything to bring—”

“Bring your pretty face and your social battery,” he said, flopping onto his couch, “Or anything you like just not eggplants. You know I hate it.”

You smirked. “So… eggplant it is?”

His head snapped up, horrified. “You wouldn’t dare.”

You shrugged, “Guess we’ll see.”

*******************

Few hours later, you knocked on the dorm door with a warm, foil-covered dish.

Hyunjin opened it dramatically, looking you up and down like you were a contestant on a cooking show he secretly hated.

“What… is that?” he asked slowly.

You held it out to him, deadpan. “Eggplant, surprise!”

“YOU DIDN’T—” he started, full panic activated.

You burst out laughing. “Relax, drama queen. It’s mac and cheese.”

He peeled back the foil just to make sure, and when the golden, cheesy goodness revealed itself, he visibly sagged with relief. “I was this close to banning you from the friend group.”

You strolled past him smirking. “You love me too much for that.”

“I tolerate you at best,” he muttered, trailing behind you.

The dorm was warm and buzzing with noise—laughter spilling from the kitchen, someone shouting about the rice cooker being broken, and music playing softly from a speaker on the shelf. The table was cluttered with mismatched dishes: fried chicken, kimchi pancakes, tteokbokki, pasta, a half-eaten cake, and a mountain of snacks. You slid your dish onto the table, earning a small cheer from Jeongin, who immediately spooned some onto his plate.

You were barely two steps into the living room when you spotted Minho leaning against the counter with a soda in hand, mid-conversation with Chan. But the second your eyes met, his lips parted just slightly—like he hadn’t expected you to come.

For a second, it was like everything paused.

The low hum of music faded. The buzz of conversation turned into white noise. All you could focus on was how his gaze softened, just a bit, like a wave settling after a storm.

Then, almost hesitantly, Minho excused himself from Chan and stepped toward you, soda still in hand.

“Hey,” he said quietly, his voice softer than the room around you. “Didn’t think you’d actually show.”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool even though your heart did a dramatic somersault. “Yeah, well… Hyunjin bribed me. Mochi donuts and chocolate fudge.”

That earned you a small laugh from him. The kind that wasn’t loud but genuine, like it slipped out before he could catch it.

“I’m glad,” he said after a beat, his eyes flicking briefly from yours to the kitchen table. “What’d you bring?”

You grinned. “Eggplant.”

Minho blinked, visibly thrown.

You let the silence stretch for a beat before breaking into a grin. “Kidding. I brought mac and cheese.”

Relief flickered across his face as he chuckled. “You almost gave Hyunjin a heart attack.”

“I know. It was fun.”

Minho tilted his head, a smile tugging at his lips as he looked at you like he didn’t quite know what to do with the version of you in front of him now—this soft, teasing warmth between you two, instead of static and silence.

He nodded toward the kitchen. “Come on. Let’s eat.”

And as he walked beside you, just close enough that your arms almost brushed, it struck you that maybe being “just friends” wouldn’t feel like a step back at all. Maybe, with him, it was the start of something quieter. Slower. Something that could finally make sense.

The dining table was a patchwork of mismatched dishes and hands reaching across each other, chopsticks clinking lightly as conversations overlapped. Laughter bounced off the walls, Felix nearly knocked over the lemonade, and Han was dramatically retelling how he once got stuck in an elevator for seven minutes.

You were nestled between Minho and Hyunjin, your mac and cheese earning praise from the boys—Seungmin even asked if you’d added some “witchcraft” to make it that creamy. Your soft smile lingered, a little more genuine now, the warmth of being around people you cared about slowly melting the ache that had clung to you the past few weeks.

Minho sat quietly beside you—not withdrawn, just softer. Every so often, his knee would brush against yours again, just a small reminder that he was still there. Still beside you. You didn’t move away. Neither did he.

Then, somewhere between bites and banter, Jeongin piped up flashing his trademark dimpled grin. “Noona, have you given Mingyu your number yet?”

You nearly choked on your drink. Minho, mid-bite, paused. The fork hovered in front of his lips, then lowered without him taking the bite.

“No?” you said, dabbing at your mouth with a napkin.

Felix laughed, then winked, “He’s not wrong. Mingyu’s totally crushing on our Y/N.”

“Why not, noona?” Jeongin smirked. “He’s very cute and brings your lattes.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you quickly looked down at your plate. “Can we not?”

Chan, sensing your discomfort, smoothly jumped in to ask Felix about a new baking recipe, and the conversation shifted, giving you a chance to breathe. The laughter around you swirled back into the air. Minho stayed silent beside you, still not eating. You snuck a glance at him—his jaw was tight, eyes trained on his plate. 

After dinner, as everyone started clearing the table or lazily collapsing into the couch for round two of snacks, Hyunjin tugged on your wrist and nodded toward the hallway. “Come. Help me get the dessert plates.”

You followed him quietly, already suspecting he didn’t mean actual plates.

Once out of earshot, he leaned against the hallway wall, arms crossed, voice gentler. “So… do you like Mingyu?”

You sighed, leaning your head back against the wall. “No, Hyunjin. I don’t.”

He tilted his head. “Why not?”

“I’m not ready,” you said, barely above a whisper. “Not after… everything.”

He nodded slowly, like he already knew the answer before asking. “Okay,” he said simply. No pressure, no teasing. Then his eyes flicked briefly toward the kitchen specifically toward Minho.  

You caught it.

But before you could ask, he smiled tightly. “I just want you to be okay, that’s all.” He bumped your shoulder. “Come on, let’s find those plates we’re pretending to need.”

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Minho stood by the sink, scrubbing at a plate a little harder than necessary. The sound of water and ceramic drowned out the voices in the living room.

Han padded in, drying his hands with a dish towel. “You okay, hyung?”

Minho didn’t look up. He just shrugged.

Then, after a pause, he let out a quiet, frustrated sigh. “She’s… moved on from me?”

Han leaned against the counter beside him, watching carefully. “Hyung…”

Minho shook his head, the plate in his hands now spotless. “I told her we could be friends. I thought I meant it. But now… the idea of her with someone else—” he bit the inside of his cheek. “It just... hurts.”

Han stayed silent for a second, then said softly, “I don’t think she’s moved on. But hyung… you hurt her. A lot.”

Minho finally looked up, eyes troubled.

“She was so into you, but she heard you bad mouthing her..”

Minho’s jaw clenched. The memory felt like a blade twisting in his chest. Minho set the plate aside, hands braced on the sink. Silent.

“You still like her, right?” Han asked quietly.

Minho nodded.

Han gave a half-smile. “Then maybe it’s time you stop hiding behind ‘just friends’ and actually show her.”

Minho’s fingers curled against the edge of the sink, knuckles paling. His voice was low—barely above the hum of the faucet still running.

“I don’t want to lose her though,” he murmured. “I’m scared.”

Han blinked, then straightened a little, caught off guard by the rare crack in Minho’s calm. “Scared of what?”

“Of ruining everything. Of saying something wrong and pushing her further away,” Minho said, his voice threading between restraint and something raw. “We finally found our way back to being something… not painful. And I—” he exhaled sharply, eyes closing for a second, “I don’t want to mess it up again.”

Han was quiet for a second, just watching him.

Then he said, softer this time, “But hyung… if you don’t say anything, you might lose her anyway. And that hurts worse, doesn’t it?”

Minho looked down at his hands. 

“What if it's too late,” he said, more to himself than to Han.

Han shook his head. “It’s not, hyung. You can’t give up.”

He gave Minho’s shoulder a light squeeze before walking away, leaving him standing there in the kitchen—still, uncertain, but just a little less alone with the weight of everything.

*******************

The next few days were… strange.

You and Minho hovered around each other like hesitant magnets—drawn close, but careful not to snap together too fast. He started sitting beside you again during breaks. Not across the room like before. Not beside Han. Beside you. But there was a gap. Just wide enough to remind you this wasn’t what it used to be. Or maybe it never really was.

He made jokes again, though softer than before. Less teasing, more observational. Sometimes they made you smile, sometimes you only nodded, still unsure if it was safe to laugh freely again. Once, he commented on a meme in your phone background, and when you gave a small, amused huff, you didn’t notice but his shoulders loosened a bit—as if that little sound meant the world.

At lunch, when you reached for the sriracha sauce and accidentally brushed his hand, you both pulled back at the same time. The contact was brief. Barely even a second. But your eyes met—just for a moment—and he offered a faint smile. You didn’t return it. Not because you didn’t want to. Because you didn’t know how anymore.

Later that afternoon, during rehearsals, he walked over with a drink from the vending machine—your favorite. He didn’t say anything when he handed it to you, just placed it on the table beside your phone and stepped away.

You blinked. Your fingers curled around the can, cool and familiar.

“Thanks,” you mumbled.

You didn’t meet his eyes. You never looked directly at him for too long anymore. He could tell your walls were still up, even as you stood just a few feet apart.

And though he didn’t say anything—no clever comment, no apology hidden in a joke—he lingered near the door for a second longer than needed, just to make sure you were okay.

This wasn’t friendship. Not yet. It was limbo. A gentle balancing act between what was broken and what was trying so desperately to mend. And Minho was learning, one small step at a time, how to not ruin it again.

*******************

You and Minho didn’t talk every day.

But now, when you passed each other in the halls, there was no silence. There were soft greetings. Occasional shared glances. The kind that made the others raise their eyebrows—not in confusion, but in subtle relief. Because something had shifted.

Practice breaks weren’t so awkward anymore. Sometimes he passed you his headphones when yours went missing. Other times you handed him his water bottle before he even asked.

Small things. Friendly things. But not nothing. And it was enough—for now. Minho told himself he was fine with that. Until Mingyu made it very clear he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Y/N, you killed that impromptu karaoke today,” Mingyu beamed, dropping beside you as you scrolled through the styling notes. “Honestly, your highnote  is insane. Have you ever considered being a singer? Imagine your solo stage performance?”

You laughed softly, eyes still focused on your screen. “That’d be a disaster. I’d probably trip over the mic cord and fall off the stage.”

“No way,” he said. “I’d catch you. Promise.”

From a few feet away, Minho’s jaw tensed.

Minho noticed how Mingyu wasn’t even trying to be subtle anymore. Mingyu hovered near you during warmups. Walked you out after late rehearsals. Made you laugh. A lot.

It wasn’t your fault—you were polite, warm, the same way you were with everyone else. You always kept your distance with Mingyu. Not crossing the boundary.

Minho noticed that.

But that didn’t stop the burn in his chest every time you smiled at something Mingyu said.

“Y/N, can you help me with this tie again?” Chan called from across the room, giving Minho a tiny glance—like he knew. You got up, nodding, and left Mingyu mid-sentence.

Minho let out a quiet breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Han plopped beside him on the floor, towel draped around his neck, glancing at the scene unfolding across the room. “You’re gonna pop a vein.”

“I’m fine,” Minho muttered.

Han snorted. “Yeah. And I’m debuting as a WWE fighter.”

Minho scowled.

Han leaned closer, lowering his voice. “If you don’t like watching it, maybe it’s time you stop pretending you’re okay with it.”

“I am okay,” Minho snapped—too quickly. Too defensive.

Han raised a brow.

Minho rubbed his face. “We’re just friends now. That’s what she agreed to. I messed it up, remember?”

Han paused, then said more gently, “Yeah. But you obviously want more, hyung. You just gotta figure out if you’re gonna do something about it… or if you’re gonna keep watching someone else try first.”

Minho didn’t reply because deep down, he still didn’t know the answer.

Not yet.

But when he looked across the room again—at you laughing with Chan, Mingyu watching you from the side with those fond eyes, he realized the ache in his chest wasn’t going away.

And he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep pretending it didn’t mean anything.

*******************

As days went by things between you and Minho shifted—subtly, but unmistakably.

He still sat beside you during breaks, knees brushing lightly like before. He still made those humorous jokes under his breath, ones that only you seemed to catch. But now, there was a hesitation in his touch, a softness in his voice, like he was trying to earn his place again without saying it out loud. And you let him. Not because you’d let him in completely, but because part of you missed him too much to push him away.

Across the room, Han and Hyunjin watched quietly from the couch, sipping on their drinks and observing the quiet push and pull between you two. Han nudged Hyunjin with his shoulder, a barely-contained grin on his face. “Look at them,” he whispered. “Back to their little world.”

Hyunjin exhaled a small laugh, but his smile faltered for a second. He didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he looked at you—your small smile as Minho murmured something that made you shake your head, the way your shoulder leaned just a little toward him.

He should’ve been annoyed. Maybe he was. Maybe some bitter part of him still thought you were too easy on Minho. But Hyunjin knew Minho. He’d known him for years, known the way he showed love sideways—through quiet gestures, not declarations. That night Minho said those careless things about you… Hyunjin had been furious. Still was, sometimes, but he also saw the way Minho looked at you now. Like he was afraid to lose you again. Like he knew he’d messed up and didn’t know how to fix it—but he’d die trying. 

Hyunjin cared about you both deeply so he desperately wanted you and Minho to find your way back to each other. He let out a breath and took another sip, forcing a smile back on his face.

“He’s trying,” he said, more to himself than Han. “Pabo hyung’s actually trying.”

And both of them smiled fondly at the two of you. They are your biggest shippers after all.

*******************

You were sitting cross-legged on the floor backstage, your tablet propped up on a box of folded shirts, eyes bleary from combing through outfit notes and last-minute stage changes. The room buzzed around you—chatter, shoe scuffs, zippers, music—but you were too focused to care.

Until something landed next to your arm with a soft thud.

You looked down. A sandwich from your favorite bakery, neatly placed next to a chilled cup of chocolate milkshake.

Your head snapped up. Minho was already walking away, hands in his pockets like it was nothing, like he didn’t just silently drop a piece of your favorite comfort food next to you without a word.

“Uh… thanks?” you called after him.

He didn’t even turn around. “Eat it.”

But later, tucked just beneath the folded edge of the sandwich bag, you found a sticky note. His handwriting was neat:

You skipped lunch again. Stop doing that.

You stared at it for a second longer than you meant to, heart pulling.

The next day, you were trying—really trying—not to knock over an entire rack of sparkling costumes as you guided it through a tight corner backstage. The wheels squeaked. Your wrists ached. A hanger snagged your sleeve.

“Seriously?” came a voice from behind you. “You’re gonna end up in the ER before soundcheck.”

You turned, panting slightly. “I’ve got it—”

But Minho was already beside you, hands slipping over yours, his grip firm but not forceful. He gently maneuvered the rack around the corner with practiced ease. You stood frozen for a moment, fingers still hovering where his had been.

“I was managing just fine,” you muttered, but the flush in your cheeks betrayed you.

“Uh-huh,” he said, but there was a faint smile at the edge of his lips.

As he adjusted the last hanger, he glanced at you. “Next time, text me.”

You blinked. “Why?”

“I’ll come help.”

And slowly… you started noticing him again. Not as the Minho who said those horrible things at the party, but as the Minho who was trying.

One afternoon, the air conditioning backstage was way too strong one day, and you were visibly shivering as you worked on fixing a seam.

Next thing you knew, someone dropped a hoodie over your shoulders.

You turned around—it was Minho’s.

“Wha—"

“Return it when you’re not freezing,” he smiled, walking away without waiting for a thank you.

You were too stunned to speak for a second.

It smelled like fabric softener… and maybe just a little like him.

*******************

Practice had run late, and you were completely drained. By the time you packed up your things and stepped out of the building, the sky had turned a moody grey, and raindrops had begun to fall steadily. Of course it had to rain today—your umbrella was forgotten at home, and the idea of waiting for the bus in this weather made your shoulders sink.

You sighed, already regretting not checking the forecast this morning. But then you saw Minho, standing by the front steps, holding a dark blue umbrella.

You blinked, surprised. “Minho? What… what are you doing here?”

He shrugged casually. “You always take the bus. And it’s raining.”

Your chest fluttered. “You waited?”

He gave a short nod. “Yeah. And I know you won’t let me drive you,” he added, shooting you a side glance, lips tugging into the tiniest smirk. “So I figured I’d at least walk you to the stop.”

You hesitated, then stepped beside him under the umbrella. The space was small, shoulders brushing, but neither of you moved. Neither of you said a word about it.

You both stood like that for a moment—quiet, warm in each other’s company as the world fell around you in soft, rhythmic droplets.

You looked up at him, something blooming in your chest. “You didn’t have to do this.”

He smiled faintly, his gaze forward as he matched your steps, “I wanted to.”

As you walked, a soft meow interrupted the silence. Your eyes lit up as a tiny kitten peered out from under a car. You crouched instinctively, cooing at it, and Minho just watched you with a small smile, then he crouched beside you.

“You like cats?” you asked, gently petting the kitten.

“I have three,” he said with a grin. “Soonie, Doongie, and Dori.”

Your head turned, surprised. “You’re a full-on cat dad?”

He nodded, a proud glint in his eyes. “The clingiest one sleeps on my chest every night. I can’t move or breathe, but he purrs like a motorboat, so.”

You laughed, something easing in your chest. “That’s actually adorable.”

Minho took out a cat treat from his jeans pocket and fed the kitten. You looked at him, eyes wide. “You’re really soft for a guy who glares 90% of the time.”

He chuckled. “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation.”

You smiled, brushing your fingers gently along the kitten’s head.

“Want to see pictures of my kitties?” Minho asked looking at you.

Of course, you said yes.

And he scrolled through hundreds—literally hundreds—of blurry cat photos with the fondest little smile on his face.

From then on, it became a rhythm. Small, thoughtful things woven into the chaos of work—Minho tying loose shoelaces before you tripped, subtly reminding you to drink water, or walking at your pace when everyone else rushed ahead. 

One day, he wordlessly handed you a lint roller when your black pants were covered in glitter. 

Another time, he quietly rescued a shirt you accidentally stained with makeup, dabbing at it with a wipe while saying, “Don’t panic. It’s not ruined.” 

You started catching him watching you sometimes, not in a way that made you uncomfortable, but in a way that felt... warm. Gentle. Like he was memorizing the quiet details. He was being patient. Careful.

Because Minho wasn’t rushing. But he was trying. And you noticed. Even if you didn’t say a word.

*******************

Minho had never felt so unsure of himself—and that was saying something, considering he was usually the one in control, the one rolling his eyes and brushing things off with a sharp tongue and a shrug. But ever since that night, when you’d agreed—hesitantly, quietly—to be his friend again, everything inside him felt like a wire pulled taut.

He knew he was the reason things were like this. You were kind. Too kind. That’s why you’d let him back in, even if the warmth in your eyes had cooled, even if your laughter now came with a trace of caution. And he didn’t blame you. Not one bit.

Because how could he, after the things he’d said?

So he told himself friendship was fine. That being close to you like this—walking beside you, teasing you, seeing your smile from across the room—was enough. Maybe if he was patient, if he kept showing up, you’d trust him again. Maybe then he’d finally tell you what he really felt.

But Mingyu was there too.

Mingyu, who brought you coffee. Mingyu, who waited for your rehearsals to end just so he could walk you out. Mingyu, who made you laugh without the weight of old wounds lingering between you.

Minho had noticed how you smiled at him. How your guard wasn’t as high. And it gnawed at him.

Every time you so much as looked at Mingyu, something in Minho tightened. He told himself he had time, that he couldn’t rush you—but the truth was, he was scared. Scared that Mingyu would reach you first. Scared that Mingyu would give you the kind of affection that didn’t come with scars or apologies. Scared that maybe, just maybe, that was what you deserved.

He sat alone one evening in the practice room long after everyone else had left, a towel around his neck, chest still heaving from choreography. The dim lights flickered overhead as he stared at his reflection in the mirror.

“I can’t lose her,” he muttered to himself. The words felt heavy. Honest.

But then he added, quieter:

“…I already might have.”

He couldn’t stop thinking: what if you were already falling for someone else?

And with that, the weight on his shoulders only pressed harder—because the clock was ticking, and the line between friendship and love had never felt so thin.

*******************

The final practice for the collab was chaos. Choreography tweaks, mic checks, camera angles, fit checks—but Minho wasn’t focused on any of that.

He was across the practice room, half-listening to Chan give instructions, but his eyes—his eyes were on you. You were near the corner, talking to Mingyu. Laughing with Mingyu. You had been invited to watch the practice, hanging out in the back with a bottle of water, trying to stay out of the way while everyone prepped.

Mingyu leaned in a little, his tone low, eyes soft, like he was saying something important. And you—Minho’s heart dropped when he saw you smile.

He froze.

What the hell was that?

The blood in his ears roared louder than the music. Something ugly and tight wrapped around his chest.

Meanwhile, you were blinking up at Mingyu, stunned. “Wait, what?”

Mingyu gave you a half-smile, a little rueful. “I said… I’ll back off.”

You blinked. “Back off what?”

He chuckled, eyes kind. “Y/N, come on. I’m not blind. Lee Know looks at you like you hung the stars.”

You followed his gaze briefly to the other end of the room where Minho stood, jaw tight, eyes burning holes into the two of you.

Your stomach turned. “There’s… nothing. Between us.”

Mingyu raised a brow. “You sure about that?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because now your mind was racing, heart stammering with the realization.

“Regardless,” Mingyu continued, “I still wanna get coffee with you sometime. As friends. If that’s cool?”

You nodded slowly, smiling without thinking. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

But the moment your smile curved, Minho moved.

His feet carried him before his brain could catch up. Every step thundered with misread emotions, with frustration and confusion and something painfully vulnerable.

“Is this fun for you?” Minho’s voice cut through the air like a blade as he reached you both.

You looked up, startled. “What—?”

Mingyu turned, blinking. “Lee Know?”

“You playing games now?” Minho snapped, eyes locked on Mingyu. “You think flirting with her while we’re in the middle of rehearsals is cool?”

“Whoa, hold on—” Mingyu stepped back, palms raised. “I wasn’t flirting—”

“You think I don’t see it? The smiles, the lingering around her? Back off, man.”

You stepped forward, “Minho, stop—”

But he didn’t. He was too far gone now, anger twisting with fear, pain with regret.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” he growled. “But she’s not some—some prize you can just win because you’re charming.”

“And what are you then?” Mingyu snapped back, now fully defensive. “The one who gets jealous the second she talks with a guy? You’re just insecure.”

Minho’s jaw clenched, voice low and harsh. “I’m not insecure. I just don’t think it’s professional to hit on someone during rehearsals.”

“And I don’t think it’s professional to treat her like your possession,” Mingyu bit back, eyes burning now.

“Enough!”

The voice came from two sides—Chan and S.Coups, both storming over. Chan grabbed Minho’s arm while S.Coups stepped in between Mingyu and Minho.

“What the hell is going on?” Chan hissed. “Minho, breathe.”

Minho jerked his arm free but didn’t move closer. His chest heaved. “Just… tell him to stay away from her.”

You stared at him, heart pounding, throat thick. 

“Why?” you asked, voice quiet but firm. “So you can decide when to push me away and when to pull me back?”

Minho froze.

S.Coups stood between them, throwing Mingyu a warning look then placing a firm hand on Mingyu’s shoulder. “Take a break. Cool off.”

You stood there in the middle, you felt a strange, heavy knot tighten in your stomach as you watched Minho. You had never seen him like this—his usual cool demeanor had cracked. In this moment, it felt like he was ready to explode.

Mingyu exhaled sharply and turned to you, eyes apologetic. “I’ll be outside.”

He walked off, muttering under his breath. The door swung shut behind him.

You turned to Minho, heart racing. “Not cool, Minho. Seriously.”

Then you spun on your heel, rushing after Mingyu. You didn’t hear Minho curse under his breath. You didn’t see Chan try to stop him.

But you did feel the sudden tug on your wrist—gentle but firm.

“Minho—what the fu—”

You barely had time to turn before he opened the storage room door beside you and pulled you in. The door slammed shut behind you. Trapped in the dim, cramped space, your chest heaved. The air felt too tight, like the tension had squeezed all the oxygen out.

You stared at him. “Are you out of your damn mind?”

Minho stood across from you, chest rising and falling fast. His eyes searched yours like he was drowning.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice hoarse. “I just—couldn’t watch you run after him.”

“Why?” you demanded, your tone rising. “He’s my friend now.”

His expression cracked, and something in his eyes darkened.

“Yeah right, he constantly flirts with you!” he whispered, voice thick with jealousy. “God, it’s killing me, Y/N.”

You blinked, surprised. But then it hit you. The nerve.

Your face twisted, your frustration bubbling to the surface, long overdue.

“Why, Minho? What’s your problem, seriously?”

He flinched. You could see it—how the sound of your anger shook him.

“You didn’t want this. You didn’t want me,” you continued, your voice shaking now with hurt and rage. “You felt uncomfortable when you thought I was flirting, so I backed off! I respected your boundaries. I let you go. Why won’t you let me be at peace?! Why do you keep pulling me back into this push-and-pull hell?”

Minho said nothing. His hands balled into fists at his sides, jaw tense, breathing ragged. But he didn’t interrupt. Not once.

You laughed bitterly, eyes stinging. “I spent weeks feeling like I did something wrong—like I imagined everything between us. I got over it, Minho. I’m trying to move on. So why now? Why barge in and make a scene and embarrass me in front of everyone just because I’m talking to someone else?”

Minho didn’t answer right away. He just stepped forward. Slowly. Then he raised his hands and gently cupped your face. His thumbs brushed your cheeks with such care it broke something inside you. You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. You wanted to melt into him and shove him away all at once.

He leaned in just enough that his forehead hovered against yours, and then he whispered, his voice breaking, “I’m an idiot.”

Your breath hitched.

“I’m an idiot,” he repeated. “And I deserve all of this. But Y/N... I love you.”

Your world tilted.

You blinked at him, heart pounding. “What?”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, really look—his eyes filled with raw, vulnerable honesty. “I love you. I’ve loved you for longer than I want to admit. And I got scared. I thought I didn’t deserve you. So I said those things to push you away. But when I see someone else making you smile the way I used to... I can’t take it. I won’t.”

You stood there frozen, tears threatening to spill. You weren’t ready. You hadn’t prepared for this. After all the silence, the confusion, the heartbreak—you couldn’t comprehend his words.

You didn’t say anything, just kept staring at him, your breath uneven, heart pounding in your ears. Then you stepped back. Minho’s hands dropped from your face instantly, like your skin had burned him.

“Y/N,” he called softly, voice trembling now, uncertain.

But you shook your head and turned, walking past him and out of the storage room, out of that suffocating moment, out of that confusing spiral of everything you’d buried for weeks. You didn’t run. You didn’t cry. You just walked away.

Minho stood there, completely still.

The door clicked shut behind you, and the silence that followed was deafening.

He stared at the spot you had just been, a lump forming in his throat. His chest tightened like something was squeezing the air out of his lungs.

You didn’t say anything. You walked away. Did he wait too long?

He brought a hand to the back of his neck, gripping it, trying to calm the sudden storm rising inside him. He kept thinking: 

Maybe she doesn’t feel the same anymore.

Maybe I pushed her too far.

Maybe this is the part where I lose her for good.

He pressed his lips together, trying to breathe, but everything felt like it was caving in. And worst of all—he knew he had no one to blame but himself.

--------------

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[planetherk]

ENDLESS

two is always better than one, right?

jeong yunho x reader x song mingi

tw: poly relationship, smut, implied age gap between reader and the boys, unprotected sex (please be careful!!), this is written in third person, non idol au

wc: 3k

There’s something oddly domestic about the way she wakes up most mornings now—wrapped between two warm bodies, her cheek pressed to one bare chest while someone else’s hand is tangled in her hair.

Mingi’s deep voice is the first thing she hears, groggy and low. “You’re squishing her again, Yuyu.”

“I am not,” Yunho mumbles, his arm tightening instinctively around her waist.

She doesn’t open her eyes yet, just lets herself smile, because this is the way it always is. Her being the smallest, the youngest, somehow makes her the natural center of gravity in their trio—both literally and emotionally.

It started off simple. They were best friends. Friends who met in their early twenties through a mutual roommate situation that turned into a ride-or-die friendship. Movie nights turned into sleepovers. Sleepovers turned into her falling asleep on Mingi’s lap while Yunho played with her hair. Somewhere in between all the half-laughed jokes about being a “throuple,” things got blurry.

Because now, Yunho calls her “baby” in front of strangers without thinking twice. Mingi pulls her into his lap whenever she’s tired, and presses lazy kisses to her shoulder if she’s wearing an oversized tank top. They both call her "princess" and "sweetheart" and once, when she had a bad day, Mingi muttered a quiet “mine” while spooning her that left her too stunned to breathe for a full minute.

But nobody talks about it. Not really.

They flirt, they touch, they share everything from hot ramen to bedsheets—and yet there’s never been a conversation. Not one. And maybe that’s why she stays quiet, too. Because what if it breaks the magic?

She finally opens her eyes, blinking up into the golden light filtering through the apartment blinds. Yunho is lying on his side, facing her, still half-asleep but already watching her. Mingi’s on her other side, shirtless, sprawled like he owns the entire bed. One of his legs is tangled with hers under the blanket, his hand draped over her thigh.

“Morning, angel,” Yunho says softly, brushing hair off her face.

She hums. “Morning.”

“You hungry?” Mingi mutters, voice raspy from sleep, and leans forward to press a kiss to her temple. “We could order that dumb pancake stack you like.”

She smiles into the crook of Yunho’s arm. “The one with the strawberries?”

“Duh,” Mingi grins, finally cracking an eye open. “You’re our spoiled girl, remember?”

Yunho nods, nuzzling into her shoulder. “She gets whatever she wants.”

And just like that, the ache in her chest blooms again. That aching, aching question: What are we?

But she doesn’t ask. Not today.

Instead, she lets herself melt into their touch. Mingi starts scrolling through food delivery apps, lazily resting his hand on her bare knee like it's second nature. Yunho rubs soft circles into her back, humming some tune she doesn't recognize. The bed smells like their shared shampoo, warm skin, and something she can’t name.

It’s not quite a relationship. But it’s not just friendship either.

The pancakes arrived almost an hour later, lukewarm and dripping in chocolate. But none of them really cared. They were still in bed—barely clothed, limbs overlapping in that easy way they always seemed to find themselves in. She sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, wearing nothing but one of Yunho’s oversized black t-shirts and a pair of Mingi’s boxers she’d stolen from the laundry pile. Her hair was a mess of waves and sleep, cheeks still pink from all the cuddling and lazy touches.

Yunho sat behind her, his knees bracketing her hips, arms wrapped around her waist as he fed her bites with a fork. “Open,” he said softly, voice teasing against the shell of her ear.

She laughed, turning her face slightly toward him. “I have hands, you know.”

“I like feeding you,” he murmured, fingers brushing her bottom lip a little too slow, too soft, like he was testing her reaction.

Mingi, sitting in front of her with the takeout box in his lap, smirked. “It’s true. He’s obsessed. Probably dreams about it.”

Yunho grinned against her hair. “Only when she makes that little sound after the strawberries.”

She went still for a second, eyes flicking between the two of them. Then she rolled her eyes, cheeks burning. “You two are impossible.”

“You love it,” Mingi said, reaching forward to tuck her hair behind her ear. His knuckles grazed her jaw in the process. “You looove when we spoil you, pretty girl.”

That nickname hit low in her stomach. She didn’t respond—just looked down at the sticky takeout box, pretending she didn’t feel the slow, smoldering heat creeping beneath her skin.

The room was quiet for a moment too long.

Yunho’s fingers were now tracing lazy circles on her thighs, slipping lower each time the loop completed. Mingi watched her like he was reading her—eyes sharp, knowing, like he could see all the questions she never asked.

“You’re quiet,” Yunho murmured near her neck, lips barely brushing her skin.

“I’m just…” she swallowed, shifting slightly in his lap. “Thinking.”

“What about?” Mingi tilted his head, gaze flickering down to her lips before settling back on her eyes.

“I dunno. Us.”

Another pause. This one felt heavier.

Yunho’s hand stilled. Mingi’s smile faltered, just for a second.

But then Yunho kissed the spot just behind her ear, slow and warm, and said, “We don’t need a label to keep doing this, angel.”

“Unless you want one,” Mingi added, voice dropping half an octave. “Because we’d give it to you. You know that, right?”

Her breath hitched. “I—no, I mean… I like this. I just don’t always know what this is.”

“Us taking care of you,” Yunho said simply.

“You being ours,” Mingi added, licking a bit of chocolate off his thumb, eyes locked on her.

The way he said ours made her thighs squeeze together instinctively. And Yunho noticed. Of course he did.

His voice was practically a purr now, right by her ear. “Do you like when we call you that?”

She turned, only enough to glance at him over her shoulder. “Call me what?”

“Ours,” Mingi said again, voice like honey and heat.

The silence stretched again—tension thick and humming in the small room.

She swallowed hard. “Yeah… I like it.”

Yunho’s arms tightened around her. Mingi’s eyes darkened, just a little.

“Good,” Yunho murmured. “Because you are.”

ღ⋆ღ⋆ღ⋆ღ⋆ღ

That night, it happened again. They were watching a movie—something dumb and loud—and she was sandwiched between them on the couch, like always. Her legs were draped over Mingi’s lap, Yunho’s arm thrown casually over her shoulders, hand resting dangerously close to her chest. It wasn’t weird. This was normal. But tonight, something was… different.

Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the way Mingi’s hand had been slowly running up and down her calf for the past half hour. Maybe it was the way Yunho’s fingers had started playing with the hem of her shirt, brushing the soft skin of her waist in lazy, absent-minded strokes. Whatever it was, she was buzzing.

She shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable—but Yunho’s hand slid a little lower, settling warm and firm against her ribs. Mingi's fingers curled around her ankle, then higher, grazing her knee. No one said a word.

Her breath caught in her throat when Yunho leaned down and murmured, “You’re tense, baby. You okay?”

His voice was all silk and sleep and care—but the way he said baby made her squirm.

Mingi noticed. She knew because his hand moved higher.

He chuckled, low. “She likes when we talk to her like that.”

“I know,” Yunho whispered back, brushing a strand of hair from her neck and pressing a kiss there. “She gets so quiet when she does.”

“Am I not allowed to be quiet?” she asked, voice shaky.

“No,” Mingi said, eyes burning into hers. “Not when you’re thinking things and not telling us.”

She blinked, lips parting. “Like what?”

“Like how badly you want us to touch you right now.”

Silence.

Then Yunho’s lips grazed her ear. “Are we wrong?”

She couldn’t speak. She didn’t need to.

Mingi leaned forward, cupping her cheek gently. “We can stop anytime, baby. Just say the word.”

But she didn’t. Her breath came shallow, her body tense but humming, curled between them like something sacred.

Mingi was still holding her ankle, fingers slowly sliding up to her thigh—his touch featherlight but certain, like he was memorizing her. Yunho’s lips hadn’t left her neck, each kiss growing slower, deeper, warmer. He nuzzled just behind her ear and whispered, “Still okay?”

She nodded, voice lost to the heat blooming low in her belly. But Yunho pulled back slightly, one hand coming up to cradle her jaw. “We need to hear you say it, angel.”

Her lips parted. “I’m okay. I… I want this.”

Mingi leaned in then, mouth brushing her knee as he looked up at her, eyes dark and hungry but still soft. “You sure, pretty girl?”

She met his gaze, something sparking behind her lashes. “I want you. Both of you.”

That was all it took.

Yunho leaned forward, kissing her full on the mouth—slow, firm, no hesitation. His lips were soft but demanding, tilting her head gently with his hand. She moaned into it, and he swallowed the sound like it belonged to him. Mingi shifted closer, running his hand up her other thigh now, kneading gently. His lips found the space under her jaw as Yunho kissed her, and the sensation made her whole body tremble. They were touching her like she was something they’d waited for. Something they weren’t going to rush. Something they deserved to take their time with.

“Let us take care of you,” Yunho murmured against her lips.

Mingi’s hand dipped under the waistband of his own boxers she was wearing—his fingers brushing her pussy, slow and deliberate. Her back arched instinctively, a gasp escaping her lips.

“Oh,” she breathed.

Yunho smiled, pulling back just enough to press kisses along her cheek, her jaw, down her throat. “You’re already so wet, baby.”

Mingi slipped two fingers along her folds, barely dipping in, just teasing. “Fucking soaked.”

Her face flushed crimson, but she couldn’t bring herself to feel shy. Not with the way they were looking at her. Like she was the sun they revolved around. Yunho slipped a hand under her shirt, palming her breast through the thin fabric of her lacy bra. “Can I take this off?”

She nodded breathlessly, and he tugged the shirt over her head, slow and reverent. Her hair tumbled down around her shoulders, and she flushed under their gaze.

“God,” Mingi muttered, eyes roaming over her like he was starved. “You’re so beautiful.”

Yunho unclasped her bra, letting it fall from her shoulders, her nipples hardening from the cold air and then his kisses were everywhere, her collarbone, her chest, her stomach. Mingi moved to her side, brushing her hair from her face before tilting her chin up to kiss her too. It was overwhelming. Perfect. Their mouths and hands exploring her like worship. Mingi’s fingers finally slid inside her, slow but deep, while Yunho sucked gently at one of her nipples, tongue flicking just right.

Her breath hitched, body arching between them.

“You’re doing so well, angel,” Yunho whispered, eyes locked on hers. “So perfect for us.”

Mingi curled his fingers inside her, and she let out a soft moan, grabbing at his wrist. “More, please…”

“Oh, we’ll give you more,” Mingi promised, voice thick and low. “We’re just getting started baby.”

They took turns touching her, teasing her, their mouths moving down her body in tandem—Yunho kissing her neck, leaving marks she would have to cover later, Mingi licking slow stripes along her inner thighs, their touches never overlapping but always in sync.

It felt like a dream. It felt like everything.

When Mingi finally replaced his fingers with his mouth, she cried out softly, one hand in his hair, the other gripping Yunho’s arm. Yunho held her close, kissing her temple, murmuring sweet praises while Mingi worked his tongue slow and deep over her sweet pussy, like he had nowhere else to be. “You taste so sweet baby. So sweet. ”

She came undone like that—shuddering between them, clinging, gasping and moaning their names like prayer.

But they didn’t stop there.

Yunho stood, pulling his shirt off slowly, eyes locked on hers the entire time. His chest was broad, golden in the dim light, muscles taut with restraint. “You want more, baby?” she nodded, eyes wide, dazed with pleasure. “Please…”

They lifted her gently—Yunho scooping her up bridal-style, both of them kissing her softly as they carried her to the bedroom.

Yunho laid her gently on the cool sheets like she was something precious—his hands never leaving her skin. He kissed her again, softer this time, slower, while Mingi knelt beside her on the bed and ran his palm along her stomach, up to cup her breast.

“Still with us, angel?” Yunho murmured against her lips.

She nodded, voice a breathy whisper. “Yeah… please don’t stop.”

Yunho leaned back to take in the sight of her—lips swollen, skin flushed, eyes half-lidded and trusting. His gaze darkened as he tugged off the rest of his clothes, revealing his toned, golden body in full. Her breath caught at the sight of him. Mingi was behind her again, one arm curled under her shoulders as he pressed hot kisses along her neck, dragging his tongue lightly across her pulse point. She whimpered softly, her body instinctively pressing back into him.

“Want you both,” she murmured, “please—”

Yunho knelt between her legs and kissed slowly up the inside of her thigh, his fingers teasing along the sensitive skin where Mingi’s mouth had just been. “We’re right here, baby. Gonna make you feel so good.”

He lined himself up with her slowly, watching her eyes, waiting for the smallest hesitation. But she opened for him like a flower, hand reaching for his wrist to tug him closer. Mingi whispered something into her neck—words like “beautiful,” and “you’re doing so well for us”—and Yunho pressed forward, sliding into her in one long, slow motion.

The moan that escaped her was sinful.

He moved slow at first, drawing out every inch, every gasp. Her hands clutched at his back, her legs wrapped around his waist. Yunho kissed her like he couldn't get enough of the taste of her moans. His rhythm built gradually, patient but deep—rolling his hips just right, pounding in her with a toe-curling force, filling her completely.

Mingi watched, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, his hand brushing her hair from her sweaty forehead. Then he kissed her—soft but filthy, tongue slipping into her mouth like he already knew the rhythm of her breath. His hands traveled down to his painfully hard cock, the sight of his best friend fucking the girl he had the biggest crush on was the biggest turn on. She was theirs, and only theirs. And now they were proving it.

“I love watching you like this,” he whispered, lips brushing hers. “So fucking pretty.”

“More,” she gasped, arching her back between them. “I want—”

Yunho slowed down and looked at Mingi. No words passed, but something shifted—an understanding, a shared current between them.

Mingi leaned in, biting her ear gently. “You want both of us, princess?” His voice was thick with need. “Think you can take it?”

Her pussy clenched around Yunho’s cock at the thought, breath quickening.

Yunho stilled inside her, lowering his mouth to her ear. “We’ll be gentle. You trust us?”

She nodded without hesitation. “I trust you. I want it.”

They took their time preparing her, every touch laced with care. Mingi kissed down her spine while Yunho held her close, whispering reassurances as they coaxed her body open. By the time Mingi pressed against her, his fingers gripping her hips while Yunho kissed her breathless, she was already trembling. The stretch was intense—overwhelming—but she melted into it, gasping as Mingi slid in slowly behind her, his chest pressed to her back.

“Good girl,” Yunho whispered, stroking her hair, hips rocking into her in tandem. “You’re taking us so well.” Mingi’s breath was hot against her shoulder. “You feel like heaven.”

They moved slowly, in sync—deep, filling thrusts that made her toes curl and her head fall back onto Mingi’s shoulder. She was completely surrounded, completely theirs. Their hands were everywhere—trailing down her body, gripping her thighs, holding her steady. She felt full, both of her holes welcoming the boys. Her boys.

Yunho kissed her lips as she moaned, Mingi bit her neck and soothed it with his tongue. The sounds in the room were pure sin—skin against skin, breathy gasps, the occasional curse whispered against her cheek. And when she came again, it was like falling—her body clenching around them, the world dissolving into white-hot pleasure. She cried out their names, hips trembling, overwhelmed.

They didn’t last long after that. Yunho spilled inside her with a low groan, hips stuttering as he buried his face in her neck. Mingi followed moments later, moaning into her shoulder, arms wrapped tight around her waist as he collapsed against her back.

The three of them lay there in a tangled mess—panting, sweaty, warm. No one said anything for a long time.

Eventually, Yunho pulled her into his chest, brushing sweat-soaked hair from her face. “You okay, baby?”

She nodded sleepily, dazed and glowing. “That was… everything.”

Mingi chuckled softly, pulling the blanket over them all. “You’re everything.”

Yunho kissed her forehead, voice rough but gentle. “You’re ours.”

They would be the death of each other.

[rippersz]

𝘍𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘞𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴

・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・✩・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・

・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・✩・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・

(Lilia Calderu x Fem!Witchy!Reader) (NSFW Themes; Mostly fluff) (~9.1k words)

You are Lilia Calderu's roommate. You celebrate Christmas. Also, you are so undeniably, completely, totally, hopelessly, unbelievably (but also very believably) in love with her. Poor you.

・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・✩・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・

You wanted her. 

You wanted her so bad. 

Since the very day you met her, you wanted her. 

You wanted to hold her hand. You wanted to kiss her. You wanted to wake up next to her. 

Was that a crazy thing to say? A crazy thing to think? To want your boss/roommate like you wanted your boss/roommate? Maybe. Probably. But no one ever said matters of the heart led down a road of sanity—so how on Earth could you be blamed? 

Short answer: You couldn’t.

Not when the woman you wanted was as wise, as intelligent, as kooky, as beautiful, as charming as Lilia Murgo Calderu. An interpreter of the divine - and to you, all divine within herself. 

Even when she’d just woken up, dreams still swimming behind her eyes, orange slippers on her feet as she shuffled around the kitchen. Even when she took her time brewing tea, fixing her hair, humming quietly to herself. Even when she looked up to acknowledge you with a good morning and a lazy wave of her hand, to which you always responded with a smile and a chuckle because honestly you found her early-morning demeanour to be quite endearing. Even with the bags under her hazel eyes and the exhaustion of a terrible night weighing on her shoulders. Even when she rarely slept peacefully and then spent the entire next day getting lost within her thoughts. Even when she screamed in her sleep, cried out for help, yelped from a phantom pain. You ran to her on those nights, practically flying out of your room to find her tossing and turning in her bed, and always stumbled in the dark over to her side. Even when she was overtaken by nightmares, by visions and ‘possessions’, by people speaking through her and people speaking to her. Even then, when she was at her most volatile, with golden wicks of magic sparking along her knuckles and her fingertips, still harnessing power in her dreams, you scrambled to take her hands. To hold them gently. To pry them from their fists and smooth them with your touches.

“Lilia,” you’d whisper, heart pounding and touch soft, “Lilia you have to wake up now, you’re going to hurt yourself sweetheart.” And by then, she’d already be mid-gasp, shooting up in bed, looking around the room wildly before settling on you. 

Always you. Always at her side. Always willing to help. Her assistant, her roommate, the young woman everyone saw her around town with. The one who, perhaps, understood her more than anyone ever had before. 

・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・✩・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・

“Oooo,” you smiled, led by your nose through the door that separated the front of the shop from the back of the flat, whisked along easily by the smell of food. “This looks amazing..” 

The spoon poised to the right of the stove, already dirty with the tomato and meat from the cooking pasta, was quickly picked up by your hand and dipped back into the pot. 

“Lilia you are a godsend,” you whispered to yourself, bringing the spoon (heaped with bolognese) up to your mouth, already closing your eyes before anything could land on your tongue. 

“Aht!” A sharp voice cut through your bliss, followed by a small smack and sting on the back of your knuckles as the devil herself walked up to your side and hip-bumped you away from the stove. “No tasting before it’s ready!” She scolded, taking the spoon right out of your hold and pushing it back into the pasta to stir.

“Hey!” You protested instantly, lightly shoving her back as you pressed yourself to her side and looked over the pot. She was warm, soft, and you felt your heart jump at the scent of her bourbon and wildflower perfume. “Gimme some now,” you teased, reaching over her for the spoon. 

“Can��t you wait for five minutes!?” Lilia said loudly, shooting you a glare out of the corner of her eye as she moved her body and elbowed you away again. 

“Ow- that hurt!” You cradled your belly. It didn’t, not at all, but you loved to add fuel to the fire. 

Unfortunately, the fire had all the fuel she needed. “Good!” Lilia quipped, putting the spoon back into place in its holder, “I’m glad!” 

You tried hard to hide the smile on your lips and the desperate giggles that wanted to fly out, but you couldn’t help yourself. 

“So mean to me…,” came your laughter-laden lament as you moved to the table in the centre of the room. “Making me set the table, too.” You shook your head and let out a sigh that was much too loud, exaggerating the mope in your shoulders and the dragging of your feet while you moved around the room to get bowls and cutlery. “This is illegal, I think.” 

A snort came from the stove, making you glance up just in time to see the smirk on red lips before she turned her head away to the spice cabinet. “Oh yeah? Who you gonna call? Ghostbusters?” 

“The police.” You set the bowls down quietly and gave her a scoffing ‘duh’ to follow up. 

“Oh please.” Lilia shook her head, sending grey and silver curls swishing around her neck, “The police will take one look at you and give you back.” 

You paused at the drawer, a fork already in your hand, and whipped around with a gasp. “Did you just call me ugly?” You looked quite affronted, mouth agape, eyebrows furrowed, one foot already pointed out to tap rapidly on the floor. 

“Is that what I said?” She shot back, spinning in her place to give you a look in return. Eyebrows raised, tone sarcastic, casting beautiful coffee eyes over the length of your body to prove her point. In the face of that gaze, intense in all its flawless effort, you had to control the sudden hot feeling that spread across your cheeks.

“That’s what I gathered,” you pointed out, sheepish beneath the weight of her full attention, and ducked your head to rifle through the drawer, “And you like to imply things.” You bumped it shut when you found another fork. 

“Oh yeah?” Lilia huffed. “Well you like to accuse. So put that in your pipe.”

“And smoke it.” You spat, smiling.

“Exactly!” 

The two of you laughed, creating a joyful harmony as you finished setting up the table and went to turn down some of the lights. Lilia, in the meanwhile, added the finishing touches to the pasta and donned tarot-themed oven mitts (which you gifted her last year for Christmas after her others were accidentally set on fire) to carry the pot to its trivet. 

“Careful,” came your soft call as you double-checked the lock on the flat door. 

“Hmm,” Lilia hummed, slipping the mitts off and throwing them on the countertop. “Come sit, I’m starving.” 

“Shoulda cooked earlier then,” you teased, practically skipping over to the table to pull out her chair. 

“Shoulda, coulda, woulda,” she waved her hand and rolled her eyes before taking her seat, falling into your familiar routine.

It was your pleasure, above anything and everything else in life, to make Lilia Calderu’s days as smooth and bright as possible. You made breakfast, you helped clean up, you always pulled out her chair for her and always beat her to the dishes, and at night, you turned down the lights before heading off to your own room. It was small, decorated to suit you, and totally unnecessary. You’d insisted in the beginning of your stay that Lilia have it instead, because it had a door and was less open-spacey, but she brushed it off and said that she was already comfortable in her little pull-out bed. You didn’t enjoy the thought of it, not with the way her back hurt sometimes, but it was nothing a good spot of healing tea couldn’t fix—or so she claimed. You also learned early on that Lilia was neat, careful, and entirely against rushing. She did not like to rush. Nor did she like to argue, or raise her voice when angry, or get angry in the first place. And she didn’t like sleeping in too much and she didn’t like cold showers and she didn’t like when you didn’t respond to her texts (which happened maybe two times and both times you got an earful). But you never minded the things she didn’t like. You made sure to work on time-management, to avoid rushing, and you never got angry with her, only frustrated, and you never yelled at her (because you were quite sure that you’d rather be stabbed then ever do so), and you woke her up before her late alarm and only let her sleep in if she had a rough night, and you never used too much of the hot water, and you kept your phone ringer on whenever you left the shop, and all of the things she needed you to make space for, you did. You gave her privacy, you gave her an ear, a shoulder, you gave her gifts and you gave her attention and you gave her banter and jokes and stability and routine and beneath it all, every time you smiled at her, every time you both sat down in the armchairs to read your books, every time you stayed up late to listen to her rant about the world’s offences against witches, you were also giving her your heart. 

Happily, gladly, giving her your heart. 

“My compliments to the chef,” you grinned as you took your spot opposite her, putting your napkin on your lap as though you were in a fancy restaurant. 

“Mm, let me know if it’s too salty,” she ran her tongue over her teeth before grabbing your bowl, sliding it closer, and starting to dish up. 

You couldn’t help the way you looked at her, keeping one elbow on the table, holding your chin with the cup of your hand, admiring the way she moved. There was a specialness to it, a gracefulness found only in someone like Lilia. Even the way she put homemade pasta into your bowl, even the way she gave you a hefty helping, to make sure you ate properly, and even the way she slid it back to you with a small smile. The way the dim lights darkened her eyes, the way she focused on her own food, the way she shifted to get comfortable. 

Your heart felt just about ready to burst from your chest. 

“It’s perfect,” was the only thing you could say after you had your first bite; a common phrase in your combined household because Lilia was a fantastic cook. 

“Eh. Not bad,” she shrugged, but after her first bowl was finished, you smirked as you watched her grab another helping. 

・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・✩・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・

At first, living together was a bit awkward. 

You were still a juvenile witch, having learned as much as you could from your previous mentor before she suggested Lilia as a continued source of help; and the last thing you expected when stumbling into Madame Calderu’s for the first time was the key to a future filled with the best of fortunes. You never got your palm read, never had her look into a crystal ball for you and pretend to know dead relatives, but still you were certain—your future was the best future one could have. There was a roof over your head, food at your table, books at your fingertips, and Lilia Calderu at your side. There was nothing more to want. 

Though in the beginning, that wasn’t the case. 

You tiptoed around her as though you were scared she was going to smite you down with all the power of the Divine Mother if you stepped out of line. You were the quietest, kindest, most endearing soul you could ever be—all in an effort to avoid being thrown out on your ass. But when you recognised Lilia’s way of living, how some larger part of her didn’t seem to really mind your presence at all, you began to settle. You lingered in shared spaces, you asked both the boring and exciting questions, and the tension in your shoulders faded. Sleeping came easier, smiling was instinct, and when you heard Lilia laugh at one of your jokes for the first time, you knew there was nothing in the world that could take you away from her home. 

Her home which eventually became yours, but which would always be hers no matter what she claimed. 

It was Lilia’s flat, your presence. 

It was Lilia’s life, you tagging along. 

It was Lilia’s heart, you left at the outskirts, mingling with the other acquaintances and friends (not that there were many, but still. Not in the inner circle of Lilia’s Inferno.) 

And in your life, in your heart, she was at the very centre, embedded in everything you did. 

・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・✩・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・

“Merry Christmas!!” Your excited yell bounced off the walls, obnoxiously loud and announcing your entrance before you skated into the living room in fuzzy socks and holiday-themed pyjamas. 

The only answer that greeted you was a low gravelly groan, muffled by the press of Lilia’s face into her sheets. And on top of her head, squishing her beloved curls? A pillow. 

“Wake up now, Madame Calderu! It’s time to celebrate!” You sang, taking in the air of your shared flat. 

It was decorated beautifully, with lights along the cabinets, a fake purple tree in the corner, and other little festive trinkets you found in thrift shops, dotted around any flat surface there was. Dancing snowmen, a penguin with an ‘I love you’ sign (a symbol of your devotion, as subtle as you could make it), two stockings hung on the wall beside the tree, each of your initials sewn into the fabric. And on the tree itself? Colour-changing lights, baubles and plastic decor, some in the shapes of stars, others in the shapes of the moon’s phases, a few depicting typical witchy symbols (a hat, a little witch on a broom, two that were painted like tarot cards. The Lovers and The World.) Beneath it, there was a red and white tree skirt, fuzzy and dotted with little purple faux-pines, and on top of that, forming a little neat pile, were a few gift-wrapped presents. It was the most wonderful, heart-warming, heart-wrenching thing you had ever seen. You could spot the ones you picked out for Lilia, the gifts you spent so long thinking about, and noticed a few days before Christmas morning that she had matched each one with a wrapped present of her own. The contrast couldn’t have been more obvious; hers were all clad in some shimmery blue iridescent paper you’d never seen before in your life and yours were dressed up in a matte red and brown pattern that repeated the scene of a little bear in a Santa hat reading a book. 

You didn’t expect the presents to be there, in fact you didn’t really expect anything from her at all, and yet there they sat, adding to your pile of four. Four gifts for her and then, because she really was the softest person at heart, four gifts for you. As a thank you that evening, you’d made dinner - sweet potato chilli and slices of fresh bread. She loved it, but still you felt that a simple meal wasn’t a big enough show of gratitude. 

Christmas morning pancakes, however, would make a stunning addition to the ‘thank you’ list, especially as they were Lilia’s favourite. Two with chocolate chips and two with blueberries (though you always made at least one extra of each just in case). And beside that, a mug of herbal tea and beside that, a mug of hot chocolate. You were dead silent as you worked, trying hard to give the resident witch at least a few more minutes of peaceful sleep before you woke her up for a proper celebration. It was hard to contain the excitement, the lightning in your veins as you anticipated the rest of the day. The company, the warmth, the movies you’d watch, the books you’d read. The shop was closed, partly because the roads were full of unpaved snow, but also because you were not going to be waiting for customers on Christmas Day. You wouldn’t allow it, and eventually Lilia agreed. It was unlikely anyone would go looking for a palm reading anyway, not in that chill. Plus they all had other things to do as well, like spend time with family and cuddle up with their kids and their lovers and hold their wives and drink wine with their lovers and their wives and eat biscuits with their wives and kiss their wives and open gifts with their beautiful wives and ugh! Well. 

There were still gifts to open, gifts that you’d cherish no matter what they were. Even if Lilia got you the most basic things, like socks or a new body lotion or a water bottle, you’d wear them every day, you’d put it all over your hands, you’d never drink from anything else ever again. To even be in her busy head enough to receive a gift felt like an honour, and that was such a strange sentiment for someone you loved, putting her on a pedestal, but you were past the point of caring. Lilia Calderu was no perfect woman, you knew that more than anyone, but she wasn’t trying to be. Her kindness was taught, learned, maintained, and you weren’t sure which Gods you pleased enough to deserve it, but not a day went by where her care was overlooked. So all you could do was return the favour. 

“Merry Christmas indeed,” came a sudden rumbling purr over your shoulder, husky with sleep and tinged with amusement as Lilia shuffled her way up to the counter. 

You gave her a glance, taking in the robe around her shoulders, the colourful pattern of her nightgown, the slippers on her feet, and the sweet smirk on her lips, and could only smile when the heavy weight of her head leaned itself against your shoulder. Her curls tickled your neck a little, tied up as they were, but you had no complaints. She was warm, comforting, and still a bit tired. You would always be her headrest if that’s what she needed.

“Did you sleep well?” It was compulsory for you to ask, a habit you fell into as soon as you felt comfortable in the flat. Checking on Lilia was a common occurrence, though you only asked about sleep after she went through the night without waking up in a fit. The evening before had been quiet, so you had high hopes.

“Like a babe. What about you?” And that was the typical response, bringing a soft smile to your lips as you slid the mug of tea over to her. 

“Likewise, though I fell asleep to a delightful little playlist called Lilia’s snoring.” 

She gasped. “How dare you? I do not snore.” Wide coffee eyes looked at you, shocked, and one hand, devoid of decorative rings, playfully swiped at your arm. “Maybe you were hearing your own.” Lilia sassed before she hid her growing smirk behind her mug.

“Oh yeah right,” you rolled your eyes, moving away to shimmy the last pancake onto the small stack. “Let’s just go with that.” 

Lilia snorted and took her chance then to dip into the bathroom, still intent on completing her morning routine before eating. You got to setting the table, putting the pancakes on each plate and the rest on a separate one off to the side, placing Lilia’s favourite fork and knife beside her dish (they were made for her a while ago, complete with engraved gems and smoothed symbols, the only surviving two out of a full set), and completed the table with your mugs. It looked a bit romantic, as it always did when it was just the two of you sitting at your little kitchen table, but over the course of your time together, neither of you mentioned it. Once, in the beginning of your routine, you lit a candle and placed it in the centre of the table arrangement, and promptly promised yourself never to do so again. For as soon as Lilia sat down, embraced by the flame’s flickering light and short warmth, you felt your cheeks grow hot. She looked unbelievably handsome that evening, meeting smouldering eyes over the candlelight, showing off the shadows of her wizened face, and you were overcome with the distinct desire to lunge across the table and kiss her senseless. 

Fortunately for your friendship, you never did. And unfortunately for your friendship, the urge to do so only got worse. From kissing to holding, from holding to loving, from loving to fucking. You couldn’t help yourself, couldn’t control the flutter of your heart, but there was nothing to be done. Lilia was your roommate, your mentor, the woman who laughed with you and cried with you and consoled you when you were on your period and needed a shoulder. She wasn’t the woman you kissed or the woman you held or the woman you fucked and in all seriousness, you knew that she probably never would be. And although that thought came with its own sense of pain, its own sorrow and bone-breaking ache, it was also followed by relief. If you weren’t close enough for that, then you weren’t close enough to break each other’s hearts. So there was no need to fear, no need to worry, and if ever there came a day where Lilia found someone to be with her for good, then you would be happy. You would be happy. For her, for the woman you found yourself loving, you would be happy.

And speak of the witch, the sound of the bathroom door creaking open, followed by soft footsteps, broke you out of your staring contest with the counter. 

“Thank you for breakfast,” she said airily, fresh-faced with a small bit of makeup, a spritz of perfume, and a better style for her unruly curls. You nodded, almost in a bow, as you slid her seat out for her and gently pushed her back in. 

“It’s always my pleasure. Especially today.” You knew your eyes were shining, pouring with Christmas glee, but Lilia didn’t seem to mind the excitement. 

Ever since the beginning of December rolled around, she’d been happy to help you decorate. She took the time to hang lights with you, standing on the tips of her toes to give you the string as you circled it around the tree, then she spent the second evening of her December dotting it with decorations, inspecting the ornaments and baubles as she went, and she even bought a wreath to hang from the inside of the front door. You felt as though your heart was going to crawl out of your chest, it was so full of light and love. And at the end of the evening, when she affixed the Triple Goddess’ symbol to the top of your purple tree instead of an angel, and whispered a quick, happy, “Four of Wands” to you when she settled back on her feet, you couldn’t help but wrap her up in a hug. If that’s what her heart told her, if that’s what the divine whispered, an upright Four of Wands, then who were you to dictate? The higher powers were more right that evening than they had ever been before: in that moment, everything was Four of Wands. 

And while you ate a silent breakfast across from Lilia Calderu, enjoying the warmth and taste of your meal, taking in the slight chill of the morning and the beautiful image of her lounging in her nightie and robe, everything felt like Four of Wands all over again.

“You know I didn’t expect you to get me anything,” you finally murmured, hiding your eyes as you sipped from your mug. “It wasn’t supposed to be an eye for an eye sort of thing.” 

Lilia finished her bite, licked the side of her mouth, and raised an eyebrow. “So you expected me to be the only one opening gifts on Christmas morning? I don’t even celebrate Christmas. Why would I leave you empty handed?” 

You shrugged, already feeling the beginnings of warmth taking over your cheeks. You knew she didn’t celebrate - and technically you weren’t inclined to do so either, but the holiday cheer always got to you. And she had been so patient, going along with your joy. “I just assumed- I dunno…. We didn’t do it for each other the past two years, and exactly. You don’t celebrate. So I hope you know that just because I got you things-”

“Wait wait wait wait, stop right there.” Lilia cut you off, waving her hands a little bit, forcing your avoidant eyes from your plate up to her face. Her expression was strange, serious mixed with a distinct shadow of outrage, brick-red lips set into a frown; but behind her chocolate eyes? All you could see was warmth. “Before you even go any further, I’ll have you know that I did not feel obligated to get you Christmas presents just because you got some for me, and I certainly didn’t do it because I felt sympathetic.” 

You opened your mouth, ready to interrupt, but were quickly shut down by a held-up palm and a stern look. Your jaw clicked shut.

“I did it because I wanted to.” She held your eyes. “I did it because I didn’t want you to be celebrating alone and although it has been a long time since I last celebrated the holidays, I have to tell you that this has been very nice.” Lilia nodded at you, her lips tilting up into a smile, and she watched with delight as you couldn’t help but mirror it. “It’s been nice, right?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded, resisting the urge to shyly duck away, “yeah it’s been nice.” 

“And that is precisely why I did it. Because this is the kind of atmosphere every home should have,” she spread her hands out, breaking away to look around your living room with pride and care, taking in the purposefully mis-coloured tree, the lights and ornaments, the gifts, the holiday trinkets, the stockings, the sight of your books mixed with her books in the shelf, your shoes next to her shoes by the front door, your notes stuck to the fridge, your handwriting on the wall calendar, the TV you bought a little while ago, the paintings you hung up, the food that you made for her and dished for her and placed beside her favourite knife and fork, the drinks you prepared, the look in your eyes… And when she brought her attention back to you then, you almost cracked right in half when she leaned forward as though she were going to tell you a secret and said, in a playful whisper with a smirk on her face, “And there is no other person I would rather celebrate with.” 

You were so thankful she couldn’t read minds. 

“Okay?” She nodded as a reassurance and you returned it without hesitation. 

“Okay. Thank you…,” you breathed, shuddery and annoying, so out of tune, but when she looked at you in the way she did, when she spoke so gently, so firmly, you simply weren’t sure how you could’ve regained your footing sooner. “I- I appreciate it.” 

“I know you do,” Lilia was smug as she leaned back in her seat and crossed one leg over the other while she finished her breakfast.

“Shut up.” 

The response you got was a near-silent huff of laughter. 

・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・✩・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・

“Okay! Stocking first or presents?” 

You stood in the middle of the room and Lilia sat in the blue armchair, nursing another brewed mug of hot chocolate. You hadn’t taken the chance to change, insisting that Christmas morning gifts were always unwrapped while still in your pyjamas, and Lilia had inclined her head to tell you that the reins were yours before she got cuddled into her seat.

“Let’s start with the big guns. Presents.” 

You nodded, still managing to somehow follow orders, and swiftly crouched beneath the tree, then carefully picked up all four gifts for Lilia and shuffled back to her on your knees. 

“Your gifts, m’lady.” 

“Why thank you,” she smiled, looked down at you with those heavy-lidded eyes, stroking the fire in your heart, and put her mug off to the side before holding her hands out and taking the wrapped presents into her lap. They weren’t very big, one of them wasn’t even a box, so she had no trouble balancing as you quickly turned around to grab your own. 

“Right,” once you were settled at her feet on the floor, cross-legged and acutely aware of how close you were, you set the boxes down in front of you and clapped your hands. “You go first, then me, then you, then me. Deal?” 

“What if I want you to go first?” One dark eyebrow raised, adding to the wicked pleasure of a dark-lipped smirk, and you instantly tried playing off your fluster with a shrug. 

“Then I will. Is that what you’d like, Madame Calderu?” Only used in moments of teasing, you enjoyed seeing the slight pink that went to Lilia’s cheeks as she heard you use her unofficial official title. Despite it being the name of her shop, it was rare that a customer addressed her as so. In time then, she only came to associate it with you. 

“Yeah, why not,” Lilia shrugged, and you instantly picked up the first gift nearest to you. 

“Can I shake it?” You grinned.

“If you’re interested in breaking things, be my guest.” 

“Mmm, no thank you,” came your little murmur as you carefully (trying to hide your eagerness) undid the wrapping. It was a long box, thin, and as the gift was revealed and the paper fell off to the floor, you felt your heart stutter. Clearly, it was jewellery. And clearly, you had to open it. But the front caught your eye, stalling you, and you took in the small golden cursive L. with interest. “Did you make this?” You whispered, shifting the box to hold it like precious gems. 

“Open it first, ask questions later,” you didn’t have to look up to know she was smiling, so you did what was desired. 

The top came off with little resistance and suddenly you were looking down at a necklace. A familiar necklace. Familiar and yet different. Made of smaller beads with similar colours, more delicate and fitting to your less loud aesthetic, but with the same rectangular shaped pendant in the centre. You nearly folded yourself in half looking closer, feeling your heart in your throat when you recognized that yes, it was like Lilia’s, but it wasn’t meant to be a replica - it was meant to match. Two hands against a white background hovered above and below a sun with an open eye, fitting the same mould, but Lilia’s hands were an iridescent blue-green, the top one pointing down from the right and the bottom pointing palm-up from the left. Yours was in complete contrast. A deep blue background, opal coloured hands, the top one pointing down from the left, the bottom pointing up from the right, and the sun in the middle was not a sun at all but a full moon, painted white, the eye’s iris a dark midnight blue. It was perfect in a way you could not even voice, hand-crafted with so much care, and you looked up at Lilia as though she herself had the bright idea to create the sun and moon and hang them both in the sky. 

“I- this is- Lilia…,” you swallowed, glancing at the necklace resting against her chest before looking down at its partner in your hands. “Holy shit, Lilia.” 

“Here, let me help you put it on.” She flapped her hands to gesture you forward and forward you went, placing the box aside and taking the necklace out with the gentlest touch. When you turned and she slung it around your neck, the jewellery was cold, but her hands were warm, and in seconds you were suddenly matching with the woman you loved. 

“...I feel like I’m part of your coven now,” you whispered while looking down, stroking it with reverence. 

“Ha!” Lilia cackled, her smile brighter than fresh snow in the sun. “You don’t want to be part of my coven, kiddo,” she took a sip of her tea. 

A very mean, insecure voice in the pit of your mind hissed at the sound of that nickname. It always incited a wild, twisting fire inside you. You hated to be reminded of your age, of the differences between you, because it always served as a symbol of what could never be. Coming to terms with unrequited love was one thing, but having the reason why it was unrequited spoken to your face so boldly, even without intent to do so, was a different beast entirely. You could handle the sadness when not reminded of its roots, but a quick ‘kiddo’ or ‘kid’ or reference to age spoken from Lilia’s lips had you instantly defensive. Of course you never showed it, never in front of her, but that didn’t mean the punch to your psyche didn’t hurt like a bitch. 

“Yes, I do.” You insisted, moving the opened box and wrapping paper out of the way. “Of course I do. Lilia Calderu’s coven? Sign me the fuck up right now.” 

She huffed, put her mug down, and turned back to her own gifts. “Shall I?” 

“You shall.” 

The first one she picked up was the squishy one, soft and medium sized, and you delighted in the way her brows furrowed as she pressed it between her fingers. Three seconds later, when the paper was torn off (just as gently as you did it, you noted), a small gasp, followed by a rich laugh, filled the air. 

“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” Lilia grinned as she picked up the oven mitts and slipped them onto her hands. It was a cute addition to your running joke. Only a few months before that moment, Lilia had somehow accidentally set her old oven mitts on fire. Bright flame and all. It was a miracle how you got there just before the smoke detectors went off and managed to throw the things outside before dousing them in water. They were still on her hands too! You’d nearly had a heart attack, staring at her with eyes so wide it gave you a headache as you ignored the half-charred mitts and held her palms. Lilia insisted she was okay as you inspected them, but she never pulled away and she didn’t protest when you asked her to please run them under cold water for a few minutes. Since then, the only ‘oven mitts’ she had were dish towels and every time you meant to buy replacements, you procrastinated or you forgot. That simply wouldn’t do—thus, the tarot card themed oven mitts she had on her hands, waving them around and pinching her thumb to her fingers with satisfaction. 

“These are lovely. Thank you,” her voice was liquid gold with gratitude as she finally slipped them off and gently set them on the table, giving them a pat for good measure. 

“Yeah, I thought you might have needed some,” you smirked and gladly accepted the small playful slipper-covered kick you got to the knee. “Now my turn again.” 

The next gift was softer than a box, but shaped like one, with a weird hard lump on the front, and once you got the wrapping paper off, your face almost split in half with the width of your smile. 

“This looks so beautiful, oh my god,” your left hand stroked and fiddled with the pendant at your neck, holding it as a newfound comfort while your right hand explored the leather-bound notebook you found in your lap. The lump you felt on the front was a sewn-in gem, coloured gold and orange, and you felt warm with the thought that it reminded you so much of Lilia’s magical tint. “Thank you Lilia.. I promise you it won’t go to waste.” 

Her eyes were shining proudly when you looked up at her, and you noticed the quick glance away from your collarbone to the book in your lap. She must have thought the necklace was just as beautiful as you did. 

“It better not, or I’ll take it back,” she teased, humming a soft sound of agreement as you marvelled at the fraying, fabric pages. 

“No chance. Now open your next one, please.” The notebook was gently set aside after you re-clasped the metal hinge. 

As Lilia picked up one of the smaller boxes, harder than the oven mitts, and began unwrapping, you briefly wondered about what you were going to put in the new journal. There were no lines, so it was perfect for sketching, but at the same time you hadn’t kept a diary in so long and it was the perfect opportunity, accompanied by the most perfect feeling. Making use of something a loved one had given you. And you would make use of it, without a doubt you would. 

“Is this a book of spells?” Lilia asked, turning the little brown book over in her hands with a furrowed brow and a confused smile. 

You straightened up and shuffled closer to her knees, practically putting your chin in her lap when you excitedly reached up to hold it open for her. “That’s exactly what it is, yes. I had to get a bit of help from Elise, but…,” you bit your lip, suddenly shy at all the effort you’d put into contacting your mentor. She agreed to help because she loved you, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t teased, and as you looked up at Lilia then, staring into dark enchanting eyes, you felt a blush roll over your cheeks. “...It’s um- it’s little obscure spells. For like cleaning and mending and things. I think there’s one in there for even stitching stars? Just stars? And a few others. Shining copper, cleaning lipstick off of glass…,” you trailed off, watching as Lilia hummed and took the book from you again. 

She took a moment to flip through the pages and read the small descriptions, taking the time to react to each one in kind. And when she got to the end, going a bit faster in her perusing, she suddenly stopped. You paused just as she paused and watched, with confusion, as her eyebrows promptly shot up.

“You think I need an.. ‘overstimulating orgasm’?” 

….

“Excuse me?” 

You went still. 

Lilia’s eyes bounced from you to the page and back again before she turned it around on her lap, nonverbally forcing you to read it. 

And there, in your mentor’s handwriting, were the cursive words, “Spell for a Very Special Feeling”. 

And beneath it, in smaller print:

‘Do your wrists ever get tired? Your hands? Are you eager for a satisfying night in? A chance to really release your frustrations without doing the work yourself? I know just the spell.

Completing the steps below will result in a release like no other. It will burn, it will feel painful, but the pleasure will override the ache and in no time at all, you will find yourself feeling delightfully… overstimulated. No tiring hours of doing it yourself! No chickening out! Give it a try maybe once. Or twice. As many times as your body can take.’ 

And a diagram showing hand movements, followed by a chant to go along with it. 

That motherfucker!

“Judging by your expression, I’m guessing you didn’t look through this thoroughly before you wrapped it for me?” Lilia smirked, cheeks growing pinker the longer you stared at the writing in complete and utter shock. 

It took you a good second to react and then another two seconds to respond. You were quick to reach out and grab the book, wanting to look through it properly to avoid any other utterly embarrassing miscommunications, but Lilia yanked it back before you could. 

“Too late,” she shook her head, and you floundered. 

“N-no! That is not supposed to say that, I swear. I would never- that- Elise wrote them all! I approved them! I don’t even know how- why-” 

Lilia raised one of her palms, cutting your sentence right in half, and you fell quiet as she smiled. 

“She must’ve slipped it in. I think she’s trying to tell me something,” the book went flipping back and forth between her palms and you sighed. 

“I’m really sorry about that, oh my god. It was just supposed to be a cute little gift.” 

“And it is,” Lilia insisted, snapping the book shut with a smirk. “Don’t feel embarrassed. It’s only natural.” You felt something in you shiver when she winked and desperately tried pulling yourself together when she turned to put the little book on the side table. 

Dwelling on the moment, now matter how enticing the idea sounded, was not a very good decision to make. You couldn’t afford to get distracted or blush too hard, but dear lord it seemed to be an impossible feat - especially with the image of Lilia in your head. Panting, blushing, hands gripping her sheets… the same hands, soft hands, with delicate wrinkles and perfect nails, just the right length and just the right width and so deceptively strong, no matter how feminine they seemed… the same hands she used to do her sewing, her cooking, her readings, her hair… the same hands she used to thread two fingers through the curve of her mug’s handle… oh in much the same way you wished they could curve into- no. 

No. 

You wrenched your eyes away, declining the draw of lust, and picked up the next gift on autopilot. As you tried emptying your head, the wrapping paper fell apart under your wandering hands, and soon you were staring down at what seemed to be a box of tarot cards. A very unique box of tarot cards with unique drawings, sequences, and detailing - art nouveau inspired. One of your favourites. 

“I don’t have this set yet…,” you breathed, drifting your fingertips over the glossy cover of the box like it was your Bible. 

“I know.” She hummed, still drinking from her hot chocolate, watching you with curiosity.  

Tarot set collecting somehow became your combined hobby over the years, although your preferences differed so as to not have any duplicates. Lilia had a set she used only for the shop, one that didn’t hold the same sentimental value as the few others she had, and you displayed your decks on the empty surface of your dresser. Lilia rarely got new ones, she was quite connected to the five that she already had, they all held different meanings, and you only enjoyed splurging when you saw ones that were really incredible. Your next gift was a surprise for Lilia, it would bump her deck number up to six, and you smiled softly as you slid the top off of the decorative box and swiftly counted the cards as the tenth addition to your collection. 

“These are gorgeous. Where did you get them?” You couldn’t tear your eyes away. 

“A witch never tells,” Lilia put two fingers to her pursed lips and though you didn’t look up to see it, you still huffed at her words. 

“Well can a witch accept a thank you?” 

“She can,” your roommate acquiesced, giving you a heartfelt “You’re welcome” when you thanked her on the spot. 

“I will say I think you and I had the same idea,” you admitted when Lilia got around to opening her next gift. She raised quizzical eyebrows as she looked down at the box in her hands, and you watched with glee as her lips parted in surprise. “We know each other so well.” 

“It appears we do…,” she murmured low beneath her breath before she tossed the wrapping paper down to you and gave the box a proper look.

It was medium sized, wooden, hand painted, and carved. On the front, there was a rather uncanny all-black cameo of Lilia’s side profile. It was perfect, from the shelf of her brow to the distinct curve of her nose down to the gentle slope of her neck, and it was front and centre in the painted format of a tarot card. At the bottom were two words written in your pen, ‘The Divine’. And at all four corners, little details of the sun, moon, Saturn, and stars. Lilia was quiet as she opened the hinged lid, and then she gasped as she came face to face with The Empress. It took her less than a second to realise what you’d done. Her gaze shifted quickly, from every individual stroke to every mark and design, from every corner signature to every line. With slow movements, pouring with awe, The Empress was quickly pushed to the back as Lilia slipped the entire stack out of the box and began fanning them with her fingertips. Her touch was delicate, hovering as she traced outlines and ran her thumb along the curves of the cards. 

“Hand painted,” she said softly and you looked from her to the deck and back again with a nod and a smile. 

“Do you like them?” You didn’t really have to ask, you knew she did, but some part of you was always nervous whenever you did something nice for your roommate. You had to toe the line carefully, balancing being platonic and being romantic, and gifts were, at times, a difficult thing to interpret. You wanted her to enjoy them, to find use in them, to keep them for the rest of her long life just as she had with a bunch of her other souvenirs. If ever she had to leave, flee, or travel somewhere without you, you hoped that she would stop to pack them in with her things first. Or better yet, use them for special occasions. Times where she could tell people that she got that deck of tarot cards from a young woman she once knew, a woman she thought of often with fondness. Maybe a woman who could become her wife one day, though it was such a silly thought you could only shake it out of your head.

“Yes, I like them,” Lilia breathed, eyes still hungrily devouring the details. She looked quite impressed. “These are beautifully done. Thank you.” Her smile felt like a hug around your shoulders when she peered down at you. 

“Oh I- of course…,” you said shyly, resisting the urge to bow your head or look away, and her smile only grew as she turned back to her new deck and began realigning them. You watched her for a moment, seeing her care and appreciation in the way she handled them like fine china, and it was only when the box made a light clink against the side table that you finally snapped out of it.

“Why don’t we open the last ones together?” You suggested, perking up with a renewed sense of interest. The last gift was your personal favourite as it contained the most magic, and since you had yet to find your own physical form of the craft, like Lilia’s golden whisps, it was also the most time consuming. Laborious magic was a true pain in the ass, but you had a little help from your mentor and in only a few days, the gift was complete. You prayed the witch in front of you enjoyed it. 

“Good idea,” she put the wooden box to the side and picked up the last gift.

You mirrored her, then watched as both of you worked at the wrapping paper and revealed your last gifts. 

In your hand, a small unassuming brown box. In Lilia’s, a long Tiffany-blue box. You shared a look and in unison, slid the tops off.

Inside the box, nestled in a soft foam mould, was a simple, smooth, shining Black Tourmaline. It was about the size of the dip in your palm and when you picked it up, your hand dropped just a bit with the weight. You glanced up at Lilia, meeting her eyes over the ledge of her knees, and smiled in confusion. 

“This is gorgeous, but why is it so heavy?” You laughed, holding the gemstone like gold as you slid it between your palms and ran your fingers over the smooth surface. 

“Turn it around,” she responded as she looked down at her own gift and hummed, moving to gently take it out of its own foam mould as though it was made of glass. 

“Oh… woah…” On the other side was an engraving. A symbol. Seven points to a complex star. You’d seen glimpses of it in various books over the years, but it wasn’t among the most common signs in witchcraft, so you never paid it any proper attention. Clearly, to Lilia, you should’ve. 

“It’s a Heptagram. In many religions, its existence is overwhelmingly positive,” Lilia said offhandedly, eyes still glued to her own gift, “and this…,” she twirled it in her fingers, face glimmering with the way the sun shone through the kitchen curtains and caught the light off of one of the shining little bunches, “is a bouquet of hemlock stuck in stasis.” Her vision readjusted, moving past the green of the stems to you, sitting in direct view behind them. You watched as the film of magic made the bunch glow. From certain angles, it seemed as though it stood beneath shining stained glass, casting reds, oranges, yellows, blues, purples, greens, pinks, and whites all in various shades.

“I knew it was a bit on the nose, but it can’t hurt you unless you decide to eat it,” you explained, “Elise helped me cast the spell. It will be like that forever, I’m pretty sure. That’s why it’s shimmering. Pretty, isn’t it?” You smiled, running your fingers over your new stone aimlessly. 

“It’s perfect,” Lilia said warmly, tilting her head with a sweet smile on her face. “Thank you.”

“Of course!” You rushed out, chest almost heaving with the weight of her affection “Now are you going to tell me the meaning behind this stone?” You asked and held it up before your eye, symbol facing her. 

“It’s a protective ward. Throughout the ages, it has come to mean different things to different believers, but I focused my energy into divine protection. As long as it’s with you, anyone with bad intentions will turn the other way,” she explained in her teacher voice, speaking matter-of-factly.

You blinked at her. 

She looked entirely unbothered, maybe a little bit proud, as if it was just another one of her lessons. As if she did something like that for everyone, everyday. 

“Or that’s what it’s supposed to do,” Lilia rolled her eyes and swung her head to the side as she picked up her mug again, “but I’m certain I got it right.” 

Oh. Right. Of course. As if it was just another one of her lessons. Like a Christmas Day lesson. Like perhaps it was no big deal. Like maybe it wasn’t a true feat of magic, no matter how small the gem. Like protection wasn’t that hard. Like it wasn’t genuinely the kindest thing anyone had ever done for you. Ever. And like you wouldn’t think about it for the rest of your life, which you would, of course, cuz you’d hold the thing in your pocket, in your hand, you’d sew it into your skin, if it meant you wouldn’t lose it. 

Not that you could, you decided. No. You’d have it forever. You’d keep it until death, considering that’s what Lilia wanted. Your safety. Your protection. She went as far as to pick out a gem for you, went through the time of making it compact enough, smooth enough, and spent lord knows how long carving the symbol into its surface. Then continued to cast on it, doubling the chance of success, tripling the strength. For your protection. For your survival. Because she cared. Lilia Calderu cared. And you knew she did, so you weren’t sure why tears started to prick at your eyes, but it wasn’t like she noticed anyway.

She was too focused on her hemlock, admiring it still with a pleasant smile on her lips, and you watched her lick the hot chocolate from her mouth and put her mug down before you sprang into action. 

You hadn’t even realised that’s what you’d been waiting for, why you hesitated, but the second her hands were empty and you felt the warmth of her body press into your own, it made sense. That’s what you craved. That’s what you always missed. The subtle buzz in your body, calling as if it were without something, begging for a concept you knew nothing off, went quiet. Like a switch being turned off. Your hands tucked themselves beneath her arms and went winding up to her back, splaying out with the stone squished gently in between your left hand and her pyjamas. Of course that’s what you wanted. Lilia. Always Lilia. She still smelled so lovely, like the sweet perfume of your home and the lemon of her shampoo, and you shuddered as you felt a soft puff of breath along your neck. Jesus, you melted for her. Like ice in the sun. Like butter in a pan. Warm with love, with sunlight, and you felt as though you could soak her up forever. You could stay there, nearly collapsing at the feel of her arms running up to curl along the curve of your back, forever.

“Thank you Lilia,” you whispered into her ear, sounding shuddery and frail as those sweet hands patted you once, twice, so warm and so calming. Her arms squeezed gently, nonverbally returning the sentiment, and you felt weak. “Thank you…” 

A minute passed, then she shifted and pulled you a bit closer. 

“Merry Christmas, honey,” Lilia murmured, red lips so close to your skin you swore you could feel the brush of them. The pull of them. Like maybe she wanted them to be there. 

What a silly thought. 

“Merry Christmas, Madame Calderu,” you replied, just as softly, and grinned with joy as her shoulders began to jump with happy quiet laughter.

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The witch came back the very next day oh the witch came back...

Hi! Hello! Hi! Let me know what you all think? Did I get the characterization right? I have another part in mind for this, so if you like it and you show your love, you may have more Lilia Calderu coming your way. I really hope you're all doing well. - Yours, Ripley x

・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・✩・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

House Calls.

Professor!Terrence x Aaliyah

Summary: Aaliyah has an elusive charm that can be alluring to some and frustrating to others. Professor Terry is compelled to have her. On one fateful evening at his college buddies bachelor party, he runs into Aaliyah. An interaction he hadn’t imagined would ever happen.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ CONTENT, based off of Players Club, Nasty Talk, Professor!Student.

Part Two

The calming effects of the incense burning within his Acadian–style home in Baton Raq. Lauryn Hill playing from a vinyl record was enough to ease his mind after grading over thirty midterm papers. Terry shut his laptop and released a soft sigh. He reached up with his long fingers, taking off his glasses. The burning at the corners of his blue-grey eyes caused him to rub. He was exhausted and in need of a long vacation somewhere tropical after this semester ended.

He pushed away from his elegant, black oak wood desk to stand, stretching his long legs and flexing his quads. Terry wore a boxy–fit graphic T-shirt with a photo of Nina Simone printed on the front and thigh–hugging drawstring, black shorts. His feet covered in long, black Adidas socks led him towards the door to his home office. He would have stepped on the tail of his British Brown Shorthair cat if he hadn’t spotted him creeping between his legs as he walked.

“Orion, watch out…”

The cat slowly moved away, staring up at Terry with its golden eyes.

His stomach grumbled. Terry remembered that he’d had leftover red beans and rice. He walked into his spacious kitchen, opening a cabinet to grab a soup bowl and then he strolled over to his silverware drawer, grabbing a large spoon. Ex–Factor faded in the background while he scooped the last of the food into his bowl. He paused, snapping his fingers in remembrance of the honey butter cornbread he’d made to eat with it.

After warming his food, Terry didn’t bother sitting in his dining room. He leaned over the counter and tucked into his food, appreciative sounds between bites mixed with his spoon scraping the side of the bowl the only noise. His tongue slipped out to catch a few crumbs from his lips after scarfing down the last of his cornbread. Terry shook his head and rubbed his belly as he cleared his mess.

“Damn good,” He muttered while walking towards his sink.

He accepted the burn of his muscles from his morning workout while crouching down to grab some surface disinfectant from beneath his sink. That let him know he went hard in the gym. His tongue smoothed over his teeth to get rid of food while he used a Bounty paper towel to clean. His eyes flicked to the window in his kitchen when he’d heard loud voices passing by his home.

The Apple Watch on his wrist with a stainless steel band alerted Terry to a phone call. He headed back to his office and reached over his desk to grab it from the charger.

“Wassam Bitch!”

Terry released a boisterous, deep laugh. All his teeth showing.

“Cousin! You good?” Terry replied.

“Chillin’ fam. Just left Unc house…”

“He straight?”

“You know how he do. Was in the garden wit’ his woman picking tomatoes and shit. I had to break it to ‘em that he ain’t invited tonight. HE CAN’T COME!”

“Mike, don’t do Unc like that…he wanna be there to support his son.”

“No old heads, TJ. We discussed this. I don’t want him getting a heart attack seeing all that buku ass clapping.”

Terry snickered with his phone to his ear as he made his way into his living room. He wanted to break in his new furniture.

“Layla snoopin’ ‘round the house. She heard about the strippers…”

“Thought you said she was cool about it?”

“She is. But ya know…”

Terry made a face on the other end of the line. He knew how his cousin could get. Tonight is indeed about fun, but if Mike messed up, Layla wouldn’t take him back a second time. Out of all the men attending, Terry is the most levelheaded. Majority of the men in his family and Mike’s friends were a bunch of crazy motherfuckers. He already knows how tonight is gonna turn out.

“No fuckin’ up, Cousin.” Terry stated.

“Already, Marine.” Mike joked.

——

She did a slow two–step with a roll of her hips in a sinuous manner to the late, great Aaliyah – she was honored to share her name – and Tank.

Can I come over? (Can I)

Come over (Stop by)

Come over (To see you)

Come over (Tonight?)

Can I come over? (Can I)

Come over (Get with you?)

Come over (I just wanna)

Come over (Be with you, baby)

Can I come over? (Can I)

Come over (Stop by)

Come over (To see you)

Come over (Tonight?)

Can I come over? (Can I)

Come over (Get with you?)

Come over (Just wanna)

Yeah (Be with you, baby)…

Bonnet on her head, a tank top that’s way too cropped and showing off under–boob with skimpy hot pink boy shorts covered her curvy frame. Aaliyah had just finished making her bed, freshly laundered sheets feeling cozy beneath her hands as she spread out the wrinkles. The next song on her Slow Jamz playlist was Ciara–Promise. Aaliyah tapped the side of her mouth in thought while staring at the neatly stacked money on her side table. She didn’t feel like digging for her mini safe tucked in the back of her closet, but she needed to put the money somewhere safe.

She made almost three grand. Aaliyah really enjoyed herself a week ago at the Fire Station. She craved that attention and excitement. Doing content from home was great, but to show out in person? Oh…it stroked her so good. She was so damn ecstatic that she came home and rubbed one out with her fingers deep in her pussy. Making a man react the way he does to her literal being just ignited something in her.

Aaliyah placed the money in her safe and organized her closet. After that, she grabbed herself a bowl of green grapes and crawled into bed. She popped a grape into her mouth while watching re–runs of P–Valley on mute, eyes reading the subtitles. She already knew what was going on, just something to distract her. She rocked her body in bed to Donell Jones–This Luv, lip syncing and snapping her fingers.

She wondered what Professor Richmond was up to…

Aaliyah kissed her teeth at her lingering thoughts. This week was filled with tension. She walked into that classroom on Wednesday, hauling her school bag and a pep in her step. She dressed in skater jeans and a tight Ed Hardy T-shirt with a gray hoodie unzipped.

“Today class, we’ll discuss morality…”

He had a tiny sculpture of Aristotle in his hand, long, manicured fingers grasping it firm. Today, he wore a perfectly fitting, short sleeve, mock neck black shirt with charcoal grey slacks and black loafers. The glasses on his face reflected the light perfectly whenever he moved his head. It was something about his eyes today that just…drew Aaliyah in. They seemed brighter.

She propped her elbow on her desk and rested her chin in her hand. That foot started to bounce beneath her desk, and when his eyes met hers, she had to turn away to simmer down the butterflies. Something embarrassing happened in the middle of his lecture. She forgot to turn her ringer off, the lyrics to P*$$Y Fairy playing.

Don't be surprised, baby, it's just me (Just me)

Don't be surprised, boy, when I bust it wide

I hypnotize you with this pussy (Pussy)

Now you feel like you can fly—

“Sorry! Sorry…”

Aaliyah silenced her phone and with a sheepish smile she allowed her eyes to roam the class, catching on to a few snickers. She felt heat creeping over her honey skin. Aaliyah bashfully tucked hair behind her ear, and then her sultry gaze connected with Professor Richmond’s.

He had one brow quirked up and his eyes were unblinking and concentrated on her firm. He was the first to slowly pull his eyes away before clearing his throat to finish speaking. That look in his eyes…

After class, Aaliyah approached his desk to drop off an in class assignment. She left her hoodie at her desk. Terry was standing there, propping himself up against his desk with his fingertips. He allowed his eyes to scan her body. She paid attention to the way his piercing eyes fixated on the exposed skin of her midriff. A quick circular motion of his eyes on her breasts caused her to part her lips, the tip of her tongue between her teeth.

“Here?” Aaliyah pointed to the pile of untidy papers.

“Yes.” Terry replied with a slower tone.

She slipped it there, patting the top of it. Terry clenched his jaw, his eyes returning to his laptop.

“Have a good day…”

He couldn’t stop himself from standing at his full height. He exhaled a long breath, his eyes trapping her.

“Yes, Ma’am. You as well.”

Aaliyah gave him one final once over, her eyes doing a double take to the veins in his arms…

Damn…

She walked away, the silence in the lecture hall unnerving. Terry crossed his arms in front of him and rocked back and forth on his heels. He lowered his head and shook it from side to side with a smirk. Aaliyah made her way out of the room, itching to look back and wave, but instead she looked back and gave him one final word.

“Sorry about my ringtone…I know it was inappropriate…”

Terry licked his lips, “Don’t even remember the lyrics.”

They chuckled, Aaliyah finally leaving the class.

——

Stickin' to the code, all these hoes for the streets

I put it in her nose, it's gon' make her pussy leak

Pussy niggas told, ain't gon' wake up out they sleep

You can't hear that switch, but you can hear them niggas scream…

That imposing beat had the house jumping off. Like That lyrics bounced off the walls, hyping up the room full of men that came out to support Mike.

Got your girl in this bitch, she twirlin' on the dick (he was once a thug, he was, he -)

(He was once a thug, he was, he -)

I got syrup in this bitch, turn up in this bitch (he was once a thug, he was, he -)

And it's 'bout the 'Ercs in this bitch, get murked in this bitch (he was once a thug, he was, he -)…

Terry wore an oversized tank top in beige with the sides cut low, giving you a peek at the muscles in his biceps and obliques. He gave himself a fresh line up and moisturized his low curls. Straight fit, light wash jeans hugged his lower half and he wore a pair of crisp, All White’s. Terry bopped his head precisely to the heavy bass, green solo cup in his hand between his lips. The gold Cuban link hanging from his neck matched the gold Cuban chain on his left wrist and the gold band of his Apple Watch on his right wrist.

The front door opened, more handsome black men pouring in and greeting everyone. Terry saluted the ones he recognized and shook hands firmly with those he didn’t. Terry knew the lyrics to Kendrick’s verse word for word. When the ‘Big Three’ line came up, everyone chimed in. Smile on his face, Terry headed towards the kitchen to fill his cup and mingle with some family he hadn’t seen in a while. He couldn’t believe his little cousins were old enough now to attend functions like this.

“This nigga freaked out already!”

One of Terry’s little cousins, Malik, who just turned 21 sucked his teeth at everyone laughing. Terry did notice the way he kept checking the door for the strippers every time it opened.

“They ain’t here yet, nigga!”

Mike entered the kitchen with enthusiasm and shades on. Terry caught the smell of weed on him when he approached his side. Terry picked up his trucker hat to clear some space from the kitchen island for more liquor bottles. A big ass bottle of Hennessy caught Terry’s eye. He was currently sipping on jungle juice.

“Got that shit that turn you into a beast, TJ. Real King Kong shit!” Mike shouted over the loud music.

“I see you came through,” Terry held the neck of the Hennessy bottle firm, veins in his arms popping out.

“We about to see TJ in rare form tonight!”

Terry shook his head at the men surrounding him all agreeing. He refused to let it get to him. He wasn’t the same tall, lanky kid from Red Stick. Wasn’t the same teenager who got picked on in the schoolyard for being too quiet or too nerdy. He was a grown ass man with intellect and vocabulary beyond the slang words and a muscle strength so powerful he could take down an entire room full of wannabe gangstas. But, he didn’t wear that on his sleeve. He remained stoic with his strong and silent presence. Tonight, however, he’d let himself enjoy what was to come. He had his money ready. He just hoped they were deserving of it.

He was a hard man to impress.

“Make yourself a stronger drink, Cousin. We got all night….”

Terry was more of a bourbon guy. But there wasn’t any around and he refused to bring his good shit for everybody to help themselves to. He poured Hennessy into his cup and took a sip. It was cool.

He sauntered towards the spread of party food they had catered. The smells made his mouth water. He grabbed himself a plate and piled fried chicken, smoked turkey greens, gator bites, mac and cheese, and whatever else he could fit. Today was his cheat day.

Terry ate his food while standing, catching bits and pieces of conversation here and there. On one end of the room, a group of men, most likely Mike’s friends, were laughing at whatever was on one of their phones. Across from him in the kitchen, there’s a debate about which they’d prefer: no ass and big titties or a big ass and no titties. Terry snorted. Childish behavior.

Tha Biz-, the Bizness

Uh, I like a long-haired, thick redbone

Open up her legs, then filet mignon that pussy

I'ma get in and on that pussy

If she let me in, I'ma own that pussy…

Terry didn’t care much for the mac and cheese. Too dry and not enough flavor. Every thing else was delicious. He tossed his plate and excused himself to the bathroom. He climbed the stairs to the guest bathroom instead of the basement because he was informed that the basement was reserved for the ladies who plan to entertain them tonight.

He relieved himself and flushed before washing his hands. He checked himself in the mirror making sure he hadn’t stained his new shirt.

“Ladies Ladies Ladies!”

Terry could overhear the commotion downstairs.

“The basement is all yours…hey, Keisha, lookin’ good…nice to meet you…don’t worry, the groom ain’t here right now he went out back…”

That sounded like Mike’s best man and bestfriend, Cliff.

“Take your time ladies…don’t rush the process…we won’t complain TRUST ME…”

Terry left the bathroom and walked down the stairs at the same moment they closed the basement door behind them. His eyes that appeared blue–green in the dim light scanned the room, taking in the eager and impatient looks on the faces of men ready to throw cash.

“Fuck you mean they gotta get ready? Type of shit is this here?” One dude complained.

“They work at Crazy Horse, Bruda, you know how them dancers are.”

“Busted and dusted,” Another replied with a drunk cackle.

Terry held up the wall, cup in hand, tripping off of the conversation.

“Kiesha thick ass can get this anytime, anywhere…but that one that walked in last? Man…”

The man that spoke, short in height with a bald fade and teeth lined with gold caught Terry’s eyes and shook his head as he blew air out his cheeks. Terry smirked into his cup.

“She the truth. I wanna see what she do…”

“She one a ‘dem pretty natural ones…rare.”

That interested Terry. He paid closer attention.

“Probably taste like sugar.”

“Im’a put my tongue in it!”

Cliff cracked the door to the basement. He stuck his head between the opening and shouted down the steps. Terry could hear him communicating with one of the dancers. He shut the door quickly and motioned for his friend to pause the music.

“I’m a grab Mike. It’s about to go down.”

He did the Birdman hand rub as he rushed away to collect the groom. The room started to flood with the others, all too anxious to get a glimpse and participate in the fun. Terry pat his back pocket, feeling the folded stack of cash he’d brought. He had more tucked away in his wallet just in case. Mike entered the room cross–faded. He moved with unsteady legs and a bottle in hand, the contents almost spilling onto the carpet.

Terry grabbed the bottle and sat it down on a table.

“AIGHT! ITS ABOUT TO JUMP OFF YA’LL READY?!!!”

Someone activated the strobe lights and the room flooded with ultraviolet light. The melanin in the room looked a deep blue beneath the black lights. Terry knocked the rest of his drink back and sat his cup down next to the Hennessy bottle Mike was holding. From the corner of his eye, he could see someone carrying a chair out from the dining room. They forced Mike to sit, Terry laughing at his cousin’s goofy smile.

Ear Drummers

Strippers

Mike WiLL Made-It

Bands a make her dance

Bands a make her dance…

The door opened and Terry locked his eyes forward, cupping his mouth and howling along with the others.

——

Aaliyah couldn’t control her indecisive habits if she tried. She’d spent majority of her day into the early afternoon cleaning and now her room looked like a disaster. It was nearing eight and she still couldn’t decide what to wear! Keisha was gonna kill her ass…

Aaliyah flipped through her clear tote filled with old outfits from her stripper days. She was about to give up and settle for a neon green fishnet set until she spotted a bright pink holster top with matching bottoms. There were hot pink fishnets with the back cut out for her ass that she could pair with it. Oh! pink pasties over the nipples would spice it up real nice. Aaliyah remembered her seven inch stiletto heels with rhinestone fringes. Perfect. She quickly grabbed it and worked as fast as she could, glancing at her phone.

So far, Keisha hadn’t called her. Aaliyah slipped off her satin, black robe and flung it over the chair situated in front of her vanity. She already applied her body oil with the aroma of fresh peaches blended perfectly with a hint of the tropics creating this rich, sweet, sultry scent. Her favorite fairy dust body powder clung to her soft skin and glittered in the light like diamonds.

Aaliyah tied the last tight bow on her bottoms before sitting to slip on her heels. She decided to go with a light beat, not wanted to wear anything too heavy and end up sweating it all off. She tapped the screen of her phone and with twenty minutes left, she swooped her edges and sprayed oil sheen over her two, long braids. Her French tip fingers smoothed down as much frizz as she could to keep it neat.

Situated in front of her body length mirror, Aaliyah admired the final look. Lastly, she tugged on a white, bodycon dress with a sway of her hips.

Buzz Buzz…Buzz Buzz…

“Hello?”

“I’m outside. Diamond and Precious is in the back. You ready?”

“Yeah,” Aaliyah grabbed a pair of black, thong flip flops, “heading out now.”

She ended the call and with one final sweep of her room, she turned off the lights and headed straight for the door. Stanley cup in the crease of her arm, she locked her front door. Aaliyah angled her body, descending the stairs carefully. She didn’t want a repeat of what happened a year ago. She sprained her ankle so bad she couldn’t dance for two months.

Kiesha rolled the window down to her Hellcat, smoke billowing out. Aaliyah rolled her eyes. She did not want weed smell lingering on her. Keisha leaned over and opened the door since Aaliyah’s hands were full. She climbed in and shut the door, Keisha not waiting a moment longer before hitting the gas hard. Aaliyah looked over at Keisha with a mug on her face while her friend laughed.

She noticed that she was the only one ready. Aaliyah looked back at Diamond and Precious. Redbone Diamond had her bubble gum pink frontal pinned up while holding a Hello Kitty compact mirror as steady as she could, drawing on her thin eyebrows. She had on a matching camouflage, short set. Aaliyah recognized that set from Fashion Nova. Her eyes moved towards Precious. Precious was a tiny girl. Petite and spunky. She had a buz cut dyed blonde. She was wearing her outfit beneath a tube dress while puffing on a fat blunt. Her eyes squinted at Aaliyah before giving her a toothy grin filled with braces.

“How ya’ll been?” Aaliyah asked.

“Good!” Diamond replied.

“Straight! How ‘bout you?” Precious said.

“Been good. Dealing wit’ school. Good to see ya’ll. Ready for tonight?”

“Can’t wait!”

“Turnt!” Diamond shouted before snapping her mirror shut, “Pass that here…”

Aaliyah relaxed into her seat.

“Girl, you told me to be ready by eight. Why the fuck you ain’t dressed?”

Keisha reached back, accepting the blunt while one–hand whipping the car.

“Cliffy told me we could use the basement if we needed to. I brought all the goods just in case. The coochie spray for Diamond—”

“BITCH don’t get hurt!”

Aaliyah chuckled.

“You got your LED plug?” Keisha asked Aaliyah excitedly.

Aaliyah dragged her upper teeth over her bottom lip with a mischievous smile.

“Nasty bitch….lemme see it.”

Aaliyah leaned her body against the door so her meaty buns could face Keisha. She lifted her white bodycon dress over her cakes and with one hand, she spread one hefty cheek. There, buried in her ass, was the LED plug. It lit up like a pair of sketchers. Keisha giggled.

“Girrrrrlllllllllll I told Cliff about you…”

Aaliyah fixed herself and straightened up in her seat.

“Keisha, don’t set me up with no nigga. No more of that shit.” Aaliyah retorted.

“I didn’t set you up. He remembers you from Crazy Horse. When he used to show up on Tuesdays…”

“Keish, not that nigga…he ugly and his breath stank. You know exactly what to do to piss me off!”

Diamond and Precious cackled in the back seat.

“His dick big.” Keisha replied as if that would change Aaliyah’s mind.

“Bitch, big dick, little dick, a dick made out of the purest gold if phat ma don’t get wet and this heart don’t skip a beat I’m not finna give you my time. That shit is crazy…”

“You shake ass for an ugly nigga though.” Keisha argued back.

“THEY PAYIN’ ME! Girl…” Aaliyah kissed her teeth, fixing her lash extensions because the windows are rolled down, “How far out?”

“Ten minutes.”

They rode in silence the rest of the way while blasting a bounce mix. Keisha’s Hellcat slowed to a stop in front of a cute little house with a lengthy drive way. Kiesha parked on the grass and killed the ignition. She gave the blunt one final hit before tossing it out the window. The ladies exited the car and before the went inside, Keisha had an idea for them to take some pics and video before heading in. Aaliyah acted as photographer and videographer while Diamond, Precious and Keisha did their thing.

When they finished, Keisha begged Aaliyah to do a video. Aaliyah scoped out the area and yanked her dress off, darting to stand next to a white SUV parked haphazardly on the front lawn. Keisha moved her phone in different angles, Aaliyah staring back at her with a hand on the car and her ass moving like a tidal wave.

“Damn, mama…show out!”

Diamond and Precious clapped their hands in time to Aaliyah’s twerking.

“Cool it nah,” Aaliyah shooed them off before putting her dress back on, “You see that?”

The other ladies followed her gaze through the windows of the home. They all gawked at the amount of men throughout that house.

“Dayummmmm…we leaving chubby tonight. Money, money, money!” Diamond said.

This was Aaliyah’s vibe. Although she had a ball at the fire station, nothing compared to a room full of black men. She grinned beautifully and squealed. They grabbed their things and Aaliyah was last to trail behind because she forgot her thong flip flops. Keisha knocked on the door boldly and it opened two seconds later.

It was Cliff.

He hugged Keisha and kissed her cheek. Cliff did the same greeting for Diamond and Precious. However. He held his hand out for Aaliyah. Her sultry eyes flicked to Keisha then back at Cliff. She accepted his hand and he guided her inside softly, his eyes scanning her body.

“Liyah Alllure…mmm, mmm, mmm…”

“Hey you,” Aaliyah titled her head in greeting with a sweet smile.

“Still just as gorgeous…happy you could join us tonight.”

“Happy to be here…”

“Ladies Ladies Ladies!”

Some dude with a skinny frame and a gold grill greeted them. They all said hello, ignoring the men in the room eye–fucking them. Aaliyah could suffocate from their stares alone.

“The basement is all yours…hey, Keisha, lookin’ good…nice to meet you…don’t worry, the groom ain’t here right now he went out back…Take your time ladies…don’t rush the process…we won’t complain TRUST ME…”

Aaliyah remained close behind Precious as they disappeared into the basement. The door shut behind her with a soft click. They entered the finished basement and Aaliyah excused herself to the rest room. She’d been drinking water all day and needed to go before doing a bunch of dancing. Keisha got dressed while Precious and Diamond helped each other out on jewelry. Aaliyah exited the bathroom in just her pink, outfit with rhinestones to match her heels.

“How we goin’ in? One by one or?” Diamond questioned.

She was dressed in neon green. A full body fishnet outfit with black stilettos. Aaliyah was happy she decided on the ensemble she had on.

“One by one. I’m supposed to give the lap dance. After that, ya’ll come out. Simple.” Keisha said.

The intro to Bandz A Make Her Dance started playing.

“That’s me!” Keisha stood up. She was wearing a white cowgirl hat with a fringe bikini set to match and white stilettos. She reminded Aaliyah of Megan The Stallion with her blue hair cascading down her back.

Keisha climbed the stairs and when the door opened, howling and yelling pierced her ears. The other three ladies shared a look with each other and laughed.

“I’m a need some liquor.” Aaliyah said.

——

Terry’s bottom lip sat between his teeth to contain his laughter.

When the first girl entered, going by the name of Keisha, he loved her vibrant personality and spit fire attitude. Keisha had the men in that room foaming at the mouth. She sashayed over to Mike with that brazen attitude and revealing body. Ain’t no way in hell she could fit that white bikini set and that was the point. Terry’s brows rose in surprise at Keisha straddling Mike. Her bountiful curves almost swallowed him while he was in that chair. Big ol’ ass and fat titties. That country thick you got lost in.

Terry grunted when she turned and made that big, fucking ass clap in Mike’s face. His thick brows knitted together and he shared a look with a friend before chuckling. Mike didn’t know what do to. He kept his hands to his sides, grasping the back legs of the chair he was stuck in.

“All that ass, Mike!”

“You better get it in while you can!”

“Suffocate that nigga, Keisha!”

“You good down there groom?” Keisha teased.

Money flew in the air when she plucked her top off. When them titties dropped, Terry’s large hand stuffed into his back pocket. He didn’t make it rain yet, he was waiting for Keisha to do something special. The body was crazy, but where’s the tricks?

“Throw that shit, TJ.” His friend nudged him with his elbow.

Terry ignored him.

Keisha stood up and went down to the floor in front of Mike in a split. She made those twin globes dribble and that was good enough to earn some of his cash. Terry leaned over the back of Mike’s chair and flicked two Benjamin’s on her. He watched it connect with that ass before falling to the floor. Keisha arched forward and spread her cheeks before going into a head stand.

She shook her legs and clicked her heels before dropping into another split.

“THERE YOU GO!”

“Baby going stupid…”

“Buku ass…”

Terry remained close. Keisha’s eyes locked onto him and it was enough to bring her to her feet. Terry held her steady gaze, a smirk teasing his thick lips.

“You a pretty nigga, ain’t you?” Keisha walked up on him with her hands on her hips, “What’s your name?!”

“TJ.” Terry replied.

Keisha pushed her breasts up with her fists in his face.

“Like what you see with those green eyes. A pretty boi like you ain’t used to a woman like me, huh?”

Terry’s tongue grazed his bottom lip and he locked on to the dizzying motion of her fat tits. Bringing his eyes back on her, he displayed a bill and sat it in the crease. Keisha leaned forward and grabbed the money with her teeth.

“Keep impressin’ me and there’s more for you…”

Keisha had to blink out of a trance. Terry had this unspoken power that rendered her speechless. To top it all off, that deep baritone shot straight to her clit.

“Come get this money, baby!”

Keisha pulled herself away from Terry, but not before dragging a hand down his chest. The look in her hazel eyes told him she wanted to do more than give him a lap dance.

She wanted to spin on that dick.

The door pushed open and the next girl to enter had pink hair. She was a cutie.

“I’m Diamond…”

When she turned, Terry looked away.

A BBL. A bad one at that.

He folded his money back up and made his way to where he stood earlier. The other men in the room were probably so used to seeing it that it didn’t even phase them. Terry watched Diamond do her thing. She hit the splits, shook that ass as best she could, but it was boring. Terry filled his cup and just vibed, laughing at the way some of the men in the room went bonkers over her. Even Mike was stuck. Mouth wide and eyes equally wide.

Next came a tiny girl that showed off acrobatic skills and flexibility. Terry had his money out again and he made it rain on her. She made that little booty shake. Keisha was making her way around, grinding and talking shit. Diamond allowed some of the men to grab ass. The three women scoped out Terry and winked at him. He played nice with Diamond and slipped her a crisp bill. With the tiny one named Precious, he tipped more.

“Where’s Liyah?!”

Cliff scanned the room. Another girl?

“There’s more?! Ahhh shit…”

——

Aaliyah watched from the bottom of the stairs as Precious made her entrance. She wrung her hands and exhaled a sigh. She didn’t know what to expect past those doors. Aaliyah applied more gloss and with a shaky hand, she grasped the railing and climbed. They kept the light off to avoid being spotted right away. Aaliyah stared through the crack of the door at Precious working the room.

So many…so many men.

The floor was covered with money.

She allowed her eyes to scan, taking everything in. As her eyes swept past the groom in his chair, she couldn’t see the entire room because of the door, but the sound of Cliff’s voice let her know it was time.

“Where’s Liyah?!”

“Put on her old intro!”

That was Keisha’s voice.

Aaliyah felt her nerves settle. The blacklights and the song reminded her of Crazy Horse. This was her walk out song….

Waka Flocka Ft. Roscoe Dash–No Handz Instrumental.

With one hand Aaliyah pushed open that door and stepped one shaky leg out past the darkness. The ultraviolet light caused her skin to twinkle and the blue hue made the pink she wore pop. She fully came into view, her tongue curled up over her top teeth to tease and those ‘come fuck me eyes’ staring into the faces of horny men with the money she wanted.

She allowed her body to rock to the beat. Aaliyah turned her back on everyone, brought her hands up, and gave them a thunderous applause with that beautiful ass before arching her back. She twerked those honey buns and looked back at it before a lusty smile appeared on her lips. Both hands twirled her braids while she rocked those hips.

Back. Forth. Back. Forth.

Bounce, Bounce, Bounce

*clap clap clap*

Nobody wasted time throwing money. She could work that entire room on her own. Aaliyah got down on her hands and knees, crawling like a jungle cat before turning to show off that LED plug while twerking.

“You see that shit?!”

“Hot damn!”

“Fuck, she’s nice.”

“C’mere pretty lady…”

“Freaky girl!”

That song…she owned it.

She staked her claim on it.

She spread those legs on her back and gyrated, thighs separated and the barely there crotch of her pink bikini covering her meaty pussy lips. She rubbed the money that rained down on her into her pussy and around her breasts. They…were…obsessed.

The way she looked at you, it made you feel like the only man in the world worthy of her attention.

How nasty she talked…

“I better see some thick bulges tonight, boys…”

On her feet, Aaliyah strutted dangerously slow, further into the crowd of men. As her eyes swept, she came across a pair of blue eyes that reminded her of a bottle of Hypnotiq beneath the blacklights. Too familiar…

Holy FUCKING shit…

She tried to mask her surprise but his was so boldly present.

The Professor.

His jaw dropped, eyes widening in disbelief as if a sudden jolt of electricity had coursed through his veins leaving him momentarily stunned. To others, it could seem as if Terry was so overwhelmed with how motherfucking fine Aaliyah is that he couldn’t even function. She knew the real reason. She simmered down her astonishment as best as she could and turning away, focusing on a cute guy with thick locs to his shoulders.

Her heart raced. Panic consumed her.

She had no time to panic.

“Prettiest thang in Louisiana…”

Aaliyah cupped her breasts covered in nipple tape and licked her lips. She could feel Terry’s gaze burning a hole into the side of her face. She was nervous. Oh so nervous. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. Everybody was too drunk or too hype to take notice.

all except Professor Richmond. He could see right through her.

What the fuck was he doing here of all places?!

She blended in with her girls and tried her best to shield herself from Terry’s view.

That intensity in his eyes this time around left her shaken up.

Aaliyah pushed herself to perform. The space was too cramped. They scattered to watch her hit a clean split and when she glanced over her shoulder, Terry was right there. Like he appeared out of thin air.

He was standing above her. Towering over her. She had no choice but to look up.

Aaliyah couldn’t hide. She couldn’t if she tried.

“Back up, TJ. I’m tryna see all that…”

He was shoved to the side and Aaliyah felt the rain of money on her while she avoided Terry’s hard eyes zeroed in on her ass. He was so stuck.

Her breath hitched at the way he looked at her. Like he wanted to ravage her.

Her eyes glided down his frame and she loved the way he dressed. He looked delectable.

“Arch that back, bitch…”

“Yeahhhh…”

Aaliyah grabbed her ankles and made each cheek dance on its own. The heavy bass and quick melody of the bounce song compelled her to shake some ass.

The sound of her pulse in her ears drowned out the music. She locked eyes with him again and for once she grew timid. His eyes drank her in and when she lifted one leg up to pop that ass he chewed on that lip and tilted his head to see how that pussy looked from that angle.

You like what you see, huh?

“You got skills baby…Think you can show me more?”

Terry cut his eyes at the men circling Aaliyah.

Things were turning up like a raging storm.

“Pull that pussy part…”

They wanted to see her pussy. Aaliyah giggled and trailed a finger between her legs before rubbing it against one of their noses. They enjoyed that way too much. He tried to suck on that finger but Terry yoked him up by the wrist. The dread head looked at Terry like he was asking for a death wish.

“We don’t touch unless they say so…remember the rules.”

“Let go, nigga. I don’t need you tellin’ me what the fuck to do…”

“Woah, woah, woah…”

Aaliyah used that opportunity to disappear. A prickling sensation shot up her spine. She slipped down into the basement and hid herself within the darkness.

She needed a second.

“Get it together, Liyah…”

Aaliyah picked up a shorty bottle of Paul Masson Peach and took a long swig. She recapped the drink and scrunched her face from the burn. Aaliyah shook out her hands to stop them from trembling. How was she going to show her face in class on Wednesday?

All she would be able to think about was the shock on his face. There was no turning back. Aaliyah drank some more. She needed the liquor to get her through the rest of the night. The door to the basement opened and Keisha appeared. She had a look of concern on her face.

“Li–Li. You okay?”

“I’m fine, Keisha. Go back up. I was just feeling a little queasy that’s all.”

“Some shit was about to pop off. Did they touch you without your consent?”

“It’s cool. I’ll be up…”

“Don’t lie to me Li–Li…”

Aaliyah gave Keisha a reassuring smile.

“No reason to lie, mamas. I’m feeling better,” Aaliyah pushed herself up, “C’mon…”

——

Frozen.

When that door pushed open and she crept out like a sex goddess, he almost spilled his cognac.

Aaliyah?

The small hairs across his arms stood on end. Desire rushed in the moment the initial shock faded.

*clap clap clap*

Gahdamn…

He knew it. He fucking knew it.

That body outta be in a museum. This fine ass woman held a confidence so powerful he could bend at her will.

Terry Richmond sucked in a breath when her eyes connected with his.

He saw the power drain from her like Superman to Kryptonite. Terry’s chest grew tight. She drew in closer, his mouth unhinged. The glitter on her skin and the smell of her sweet fragrance made the big boy between his legs react.

Down boy…

He fought the urge to palm his bulge because it was growing out of his control. He didn’t know where to look first. Those titties sat up round and perfect. That ass was so fat he wanted to sink his teeth in it. Leave his imprint on that thick fucking shit. His eyes still lit up like Miracle on 34th Street from the glow emitting from that asshole.

Freak nasty.

He was speechless. His star pupil is a Stripper.

The biggest plot twist.

Terry wanted her even more. He wanted to tell her that it was going to be okay and she didn’t need to feel embarrassed or afraid. He could sense she was trying to avoid him as she moved around the room.

Terry needed her to know that he liked what he saw.

They weren’t in his classroom. It was okay to free her inhibitions and show him what Liyah Allure is all about. He found her popping ass and talking shit.

“Tip me, daddy…”

“You want it?”

“Don’t just stare at me. Spoil me…”

Honeyed voice as smooth as silk. Terry drew in closer and allowed himself to be consumed by her.

The glitter on her skin looked edible and if he could lick every single fleck off with his tongue he would.

The dip in her spine leading down to a full ass with hips and thighs to match told him she could take it deep and it would be a warm, tight, wet paradise.

He did say he wanted to escape somewhere tropical…

Those two braids would be anchored around his hands while he drilled deep with every goddamn stroke of his fat dick.

Unh…Unh…Unh…

Make her weep on his dick.

Professor…Professor…Don’t stop…

There she was.

Those eyes focused on him again and he saw the hint of shyness.

“I wanna pull that pussy part…”

Something primal and predatory sparked within him. Aaliyah stroked her lower lips with a single finger and shoved that finger against Darrell’s nose.

Darrell tried to take it too far.

Terry was quicker.

He wrapped his large hand around Darrell’s wrist with a vice grip similar to a boa constrictor. He would knock the daylights outta Darrell and leave him slumped over if he so much as put that finger in his mouth.

Darrell was stunned by Terry’s strength and the fact that he couldn’t break free. Weak ass nigga…

She disappeared.

Mike came over to settle down the growing altercation and with a pat on Terry’s back, he walked away in search of Aaliyah. She was nowhere in sight.

Terry waited for about ten minutes and then she resurfaced from the basement with Keisha. She probably needed a moment to gather her thoughts and energy. His presence stumped her.

Aaliyah scanned the room until she found Terry.

She got down on her hands and knees and popped ass in a split. Nobody else in that room mattered. She locked in on him from across the room. Terry sipped his drink and watched her.

“Who wants a private show?!”

Keisha pointed at Terry.

He gave a quick nod of his head. Keisha was about to be let down. He ain’t want nobody but Aaliyah. She was getting the rest of his money tonight. She deserves it and so much more. And when Terry gets his hands on her…

“I’ll take one. But I want her.”

Aaliyah saw the cash in his hand and smiled.

“Only if she ain’t scared.”

Aaliyah couldn’t believe he just said that.

“I get the impression she likes to tease…”

Aaliyah walked up to Terry with a seductive look in her eyes. He held onto her gaze with his money on display.

��Your call, beautiful.”

Aaliyah stared at him for another moment before taking him by the hand and down into the basement.

——

Terry allowed her to guide him. They headed towards the sofas, silence hanging between them. Aaliyah turned fully to face him before Terry took a seat. Without taking his eyes off of her, he placed his cup on the table and settled back into the cushion. Terry spread his thighs and with one hand over the top of the couch, the other smoothed down his left thigh invitingly. Aaliyah dropped her eyes to his lap and with a faint smile, she took a seat where his hand once was.

Aaliyah watched him spread his money out across his other thigh. She parted her glossy lips a fraction, eyeing nothing but one hundred dollar bills. Her eyes lit up. Terry looked up at her with low, lust filled eyes and a sly smirk. He removed his glasses with one hand and folded it against his chest before sitting it on the table, all while staring at her.

She looked at him.

He looked at her.

“…I don’t know what to say…”

Aaliyah’s eyelashes fluttered as she blinked away from him. Terry used his thumb to gently pull her attention back towards him.

“I should be embarrassed right now…”

Terry was trying to keep his composure but her breasts in his face was melting his cool exterior.

“Aaliyah…I don’t want you to feel embarrassed. I’m not judging you…”

She giggled nervously, “maybe not…but this was so unexpected, ya know?”

“Very. How long have you been doing this?”

Aaliyah stared heavenward shyly while deep in thought. He liked seeing her like this. It was another side to her he enjoyed.

“Well…this in particular…it’s my second time. Stripping…I did it for about five years before I quit Crazy Horse a year ago…now I just film content and work Verizon part time.”

Her eyes connected with his again.

“So…what do ya want me to do? A lap dance? What?”

Terry trailed his eyes down her body.

“Do whatever makes you feel comfortable…”

Terry’s hand molded into her back. Aaliyah shivered. The feeling of his hand on her skin was exhilarating.

She stood, facing Terry. He placed his money beside him, and his hands out of the way. Aaliyah straddled him, bracing herself on his shoulders. She looked down at him with a slow blink and the erotic smile she gave him forced his hands into fists.

“Have you ever had a lap dance before, Professor?”

“…Call me Terrence.”

“…Terrence…”

“Once. It wasn’t memorable.” Terry responded with a hushed tone.

He reclined his head back slightly and stared up into her eyes with practiced restraint.

Aaliyah gave him a mean whine over his crotch. Her chest would graze his goatee ever so slightly. He had to stop his tongue from poking out to drag between those titties.

“Ooh, that’s too bad…is this okay?”

That melodic voice…

“You’re doin’ just fine, Miss Aaliyah.”

Terry flexed his fingers. Aaliyah looked down at his hands.

“Can I admit something?” Aaliyah asked with a sultry smile.

“What’s that?”

Aaliyah tucked her chin and giggled softly. She blinked away briefly before her eyes met his again.

“What?” Terry pushed.

“I think about you every day…”

“Enough to stick around after class?”

Aaliyah’s bottom lip sat between her teeth. Terry smiled.

“Why did you turn me down?” He questioned.

Aaliyah dragged her hands down his chest and stilled her hips. Terrence rested his hands on the sides of her thighs. He couldn’t resist. Aaliyah didn’t protest.

The feel of her against his hands. The heft of her on him. The images he pictured in his mind…

“I’m not an easy girl, Terrence. You gotta work harder for me. I wanted you to…”

“Chase you.” Terry concluded with an elevated brow.

“May seem silly but…it turns me on.”

“I wonder what else turns you on…”

“That brain of yours,” Aaliyah trailed her fingers through his short, soft curls, “Your passion…expressive hands…your voice…those eyes…”

Terry licked his lips, “I would have chased you and went along with your lil’ game. If that means I get to play with you in the end…”

His eyes dropped to her lips.

“You do this…tongue bite thing…I like that…” Terry said.

“What else you like?” Aaliyah asked softly, doing exactly what Terry liked. Displaying the tip of her tongue between her teeth. Moving it back and forth…

“Everything about you…you’re so damn sexy…the way you look at me just…Aaliyah, you’re aware of your beauty. That confidence lights a fire under me, baby…”

“I’m baby?”

“Mhm, the prettiest baby…”

Aaliyah played with his Cuban link. Terry’s right thumb stroked the beauty mark below her lip.

Terry groped her thigh with his free hand and glided it up to her waist. He used his thumb to trace circles into her soft skin.

“I don’t like how you put your finger on Darrell’s nose.”

“You wish it were you? Darrell didn’t get a lap dance…”

Aaliyah lifted from his lap and turned so that she was grinding against his tent with enough pressure to rub her pussy over it. The hard bulge against her fat, lower lips caused her to moan.

Terry threw money over her, his ears enjoying the way her moans sounded so angelic despite her naughty actions.

After all, she is The Dark Angel.

“Aaliyah…”

That signature look back would have had him busting a fat ass nut in his jeans.

The way she moved her hips on him.

“I want you so fuckin’ bad…”

“I know.”

She smiled.

Aaliyah stood from his lap and Terry groaned deep.

“Times up.”

He glared at her with lust and frustration. Aaliyah leaned over him with her hands on the back of the couch. Their eyes connected and her glossy lips feathered over his.

“Until next time…I think I’m free for that lunch on Wednesday…”

She brought her lips to his cheek and with her jeweled tongue, Aaliyah dragged it over his ear tantalizingly slow. She pushed away from him and Terry stood from the couch. He fixed his attire while Aaliyah stared up at him with faux innocence and her hands crossed behind her back. She swayed back and forth, parting her lips to rest her tongue in the corner of her mouth.

“It’s a date.”

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