#but also assorted awkward but loving aunts/uncles

[tropes-and-tales-archives]

Common Courtesy, Chapter Five

Word Count:  6647

TW:  Two idiots in love. Slow burn.  Mutual pining.  Flirting.  Smut (awkward first times together; oral f! receiving; PiV, protected).  18+ only.

AN:  Part of a series.  The series masterlist here.

As you went to unlock the door to your apartment, you paused, and Barba could practically feel the uncertainty radiating off of you.  You turned and looked at him over your shoulder.  “Sorry about my apartment,” you said.  “Maybe we could go to your place?”

He snorted and placed a hand lightly on your waist.  “You running a meth lab in there?”  He watched the apples of your cheeks redden.  

“It’s just not really decorated,” you muttered.  “It’s not nice like your place.”  You turned back around and unlocked the deadbolt.  You opened the door, and with his hand still on your waist, he gently pushed you into your apartment.

It was small – he hadn’t expected much else on your detective’s salary.  But it was charming, and it reflected a personality that he was getting to know better.  A comfortable-looking, overstuffed couch was centered under a giant framed print of the night sky.  Mismatched shelves were stuffed with books and DVDs.  The mantle over a defunct fireplace was lined with an interesting assortment of items:  a fossil propped up on a plastic stand, a geode perfectly cracked in half, a delicate looking vase.  And a framed picture.  He walked over and looked at it closer – it was you, in a grey cap and gown, and an older woman.  You came over and stood beside him.

“Graduation,” you said. You tapped the glass with your finger, pointing at the woman in the picture.  “She was my case worker for most of my childhood.”

You said it so matter-of-factly that it made his heart ache.  His own childhood had been far from idyllic, but he had a wonderful mother and grandmother and a host of aunts, uncles, and cousins.  When he graduated from Harvard, the entire rowdy bunch wanted to attend and he had to trade favors for extra tickets.  He imagined you graduating, walking across the stage with no one to cheer you on but a civil servant.  The thought made him reach for you.  He pulled you into a rough hug, and he pressed a kiss into the top of your head, inhaling the scent of your shampoo deeply.  You stood stiff and unresponsive for a moment, then he felt your arms snake under his coat and wrap around his back.

“I like your place,” he murmured against your head.  You pulled back and looked up into his face.  “You don’t need to keep apologizing for being yourself.”  He laid a light kiss on your forehead, then one on each side of your face.  He dropped his voice lower, and added, “I happen to like you the way you are.”  He watched the smile spread across your face, then he lowered his head and captured your mouth with his.

He placed one hand on the side of your face, gently tilting your head so that he could deepen the kiss. He alternated between chaste, closed-mouth kisses and searing open-mouthed ones, where he slid his tongue into your mouth, tasting the citrus and rum and your own flavor.  He took his other hand and placed it under your coat on your waist, then ran it from the roundness of your hip up to swell of the side of your breast.  He felt your hands still on his back, scrabbling against the fabric of his suit jacket.  

He broke the kiss reluctantly, leaving you both a bit breathless.  Your eyes were dark, your pupils wide, and your face was flushed with want.  Your lips were parted as you tried to catch your breath.  Barba pulled his hand away from your face and gripped the other side of your waist.  He pulled you flush against him, and you groaned when you felt the proof of his desire for you pressed against your leg.  He smirked and dipped his head beside yours, capturing your earlobe between his teeth before he whispered, “Can we finish this apartment tour now?”

He pulled back to watch your reaction – pure lust shot through with nervousness.  Maybe he wasn’t reading this situation right – you seemed to kiss him back, matching his intensity, but you also seemed anxious.  Maybe this was moving too fast for you after all, and Barba loathed to think that he might screw this up before it even started.  He took your hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.  “We can sit and talk too,” he said softly, switching his tone.  “Or maybe watch one of your terrible movies.  Whatever you want.  No pressure.”

*****

He was so understanding, you almost burst into tears.  Instead, you disentangled your arms from him and took a step back.  He looked gorgeous – his tie loosened and his suit slightly rumpled from you pawing at him, his hair tousled.  His eyes, boring right through you, making the pleasantly uncomfortable pressure low in your belly build.  

You were both still in your coats – you hadn’t even gotten a chance to remove them before he charged into your apartment and made himself at home. You smiled, and with slightly shaking hands, helped him out of his outerwear.  You tossed his coat over the back of your couch, then added your own coat and bag.  Then you took his hand and led him into your bedroom.

*****

He wanted nothing more than to toss you on the bed and ravish you then and there, but he knew he needed to go slow.  Besides, taking things slowly was its own sort of pleasure.  He wanted to make it last.  He didn’t want it to ever end.

Your bedroom was dark – the walls were painted dark blue, and heavy curtains blocked out any light from the street.  You saw him looking around and shrugged.   “It’s hard to sleep sometimes with my schedule,” you explained.  “This helps.”

“Makes sense,” he replied. He stepped around you and sat on the edge of the bed.  He patted the space beside him, and you sat down.  He took your hand and threaded his fingers with yours.

“We really can just sit and talk,” he said.  You snorted, and he continued, almost shyly.  “I’ve waited for a year just to get up the courage to kiss you.  I can probably wait a decade for more, if you wanted.”

You raised your twined hands together to your mouth and laid a kiss on the back of his hand.  You took a deep breath, and he could feel you rehearsing your words in your head first.  He smiled to himself – you seemed to run your mouth around him without much thought, sometimes.  The fact that you were considering your words maybe meant that you were worried about giving too much away.

Hands still locked, he pulled you onto his lap until you were curled against him.  He locked his arms around you, holding you close, and your face was nestled in the nook between his head and chest.  You squirmed for a moment – he groaned inwardly at the delicious sudden friction in his lap – but then you spoke.

“I’ve never really done this before,” you mumbled from your spot under his jaw.  “I had a boyfriend for a little bit in college, but it wasn’t for very long and we were both…. inexperienced.”  You trailed off for a moment, then continued.  “It wasn’t much fun.”

So that was it.  You weren’t a virgin, but you lacked experience.  Or confidence.  Or both.  He squeezed his arms, hugging you tight.  “That’s okay,” he said

He could feel the heat from your face against his neck.  “I just want to be….good.” “You’re already - “ he started to say, but you broke in suddenly, a rush of words spilling from your mouth, so fast he could barely catch everything you were saying.

“But I’m a good detective, right?  And I always try to do my best on the cases I bring you and now you expect me to do a good job, and now I feel like I’m going to disappoint you because I’ve never really dated and you probably have all this experience with beautiful sex goddesses and I don’t even know where to put my hands, let alone any mind-blowing moves - ”

He cut you off, locking his arms around you and swiveling both of you onto the bed.  You let out a surprised squeal as he laid you out and stretched alongside you, half of his weight on the bed beside you and the other half pressed against you.  You opened your mouth to talk, but he didn’t give you the chance.  The thought that you could disappoint him…ridiculous.  

He crashed his lips against yours with a growl, and you opened your mouth to him, and he shoved his tongue roughly into your mouth, tangling with yours.  He pulled your bottom lip between his, then released it.  He moved from your mouth, laying a wet trail of kisses along your jawline as you writhed underneath him.  He raised himself on his elbow and looked down at you, panting.  He waited a moment for his heart to stop racing.  

“I’ve never slept with a sex goddess,” he said with a chuckle.  He kissed the corner of your mouth, and continued.  “And as an old man, I’m not really looking for mind-blowing acrobatics.”  You scoffed at the mention of his age, and he kissed the other corner of your mouth to keep you quiet.  He reached down for your hands, placing one on his chest and then the other on his bicep.

“You can do whatever you want with your hands,” he told you with a gleam in his eyes.  “I want you to touch me as much as I want to touch you.” He waited until you looked at him and nodded in understanding.  He continued.

“There’s only a couple rules you have to remember:  if you say stop, I stop.  And if you like something, let me know.”  He smirked, and added, “so I can keep doing it.”  

You nodded again, your face serious.  Then you shifted your eyes away from his.  “What if it takes me awhile?  To…to…you know….”

He pulled away in mock horror.  “You mean I might have to spend even more time in bed with you?  That sounds terrible.”  He stroked the side of your face and laid kisses across your forehead and cheeks, mapping your features with his lips.  Then a thought occurred to him, and he pulled back again to watch you.

“Did you ever have an orgasm with your first boyfriend?”  He watched you cover your eyes with your hand.

“No,” you replied, your voice small.

“Ah,” he said gently. He pulled your hand away from your eyes. “Look at me.”  You opened your eyes and gave him a rueful half-grin, but your face was burning hot.  

“Have you…ever had one?” he asked.  “At all?”

You shook your head and sighed.  “I don’t think so.  I don’t really, uh, look after myself.  That way. You know.”  You flapped your free hand, gesturing wildly.  “If I get, you know, worked up – I just…just go for a run. Burn off my energy that way.”  You grimaced and added, “Sorry.”

You struggled weakly against his hold on you, clearly too embarrassed to make eye contact.  This had to be killing you:  you’d been embarrassed after your drunken night at Forlini’s, and Barba was fairly certain now that Liv had been right all along – you had been nursing a crush on him.  And now, after a first date of sorts, he was in your bed while you spilled your rudimentary sexual history to him.  If he let you go now, you probably would make good on your promise.  Fake your death and turn up in another city under a new name.

He couldn’t let that happen.  He had nursed his own crush on you, but every time he kissed you, he felt something….more. Undefinable.  

“Stop apologizing,” he told you gently.

Another duck of the head.  “Sorry.”

*****

Barba crashed his mouth against yours again, kissing you deeply.  He broke contact and said sternly, “I told you to stop apologizing to me.”  His somber face shifted as a slow grin spread across his face.  It was the one you called his “shark’s smile;” he got it in the courtroom when he caught a defendant in one of his verbal snares. Seeing it directed at you made the molten heat between your legs throb with need.  You reached out for him and ran your hands lightly across his chest, awkward but unable to resist.

“Barba,” you said shyly. “Can I…undress you?”

His green eyes darkened and he sat up on the bed.  “Of course.”

He stood up and pulled you up to stand in front of him.  You hesitated.  Then you stepped around him, turning off the overhead light.  The bedroom was plunged into darkness.

“Am I that terrible looking?” he joked.  In the darkness though, he couldn’t see your face, and you felt braver and less nervous.

“No,” you answered seriously.  “You’re the handsomest man I’ve ever known.”  You returned to stand in front of him and fumbled until your hands got oriented in the dark.  You eased his suit jacket off and tossed it over the chair in the corner.  You could picture his green eyes, doing that thing where they stared a hole into you, but you were safe in the dark.  You unbuttoned his waistcoat and it joined the coat. You loosened his tie and tossed it too. He stood stock-still in front of you, silent except for the occasional ragged breath that tore out of his throat.

You laid a trembling hand on his shirt, and undid the top button.  You rocked onto your toes and kissed the exposed skin of his throat.  As you released each button, you pressed a kiss to his undershirt, feeling the heat of his skin through the cloth.  

“Is this okay?” you asked. “Am I going too fast?”

He inhaled deeply and sounded half-strangled when he answered.  “You’re doing perfect.  Not too fast at all.”

You untucked his dress shirt and pushed it off of his shoulders.  You ran your hands over his arms.  “I really like your arms,” you confessed.  “And your hands.”

He laughed shakily. “I know.  I may have caught you ogling me a time or two.”  You paused, and he continued teasing you.  “It’s not very professional, treating your ADA like a piece of meat.”

“Hmm,” you replied. “My ADA, huh?”  You untucked his undershirt and slipped your hands under the hem, sliding your palms over his belly and chest and back down again.  He raised his arms and helped you pull the shirt off of him, then he groaned as you pressed your face against his chest, your breath hot on his skin.  “Just my ADA? Not Liv’s?”  Your hands made their way to his waist, and you hooked your fingers under his waistband, inching closer and closer to his belt buckle.  He groaned again, and put his hands over yours.

“Liv and I usually start by talking about cases and then end up talking about you,” he muttered thickly.  “She was always teasing me about you, telling me to ask you out.” You fumbled at his belt buckle and he helped you unclasp it.  “But having a beautiful woman getting jealous over me is a nice shot to my ego.”  You kissed a path across his chest, relishing the feel of his coarse chest hair against your lips.  “Besides,” he added, “what about you and Amaro?”

You stilled your hands and pulled away from him.  “Nick?” You laughed.  “You think I have a thing for Nick?”

Barba sounded uncomfortable. “He’s single, good looking. Younger.”  You stilled him by tugging him by his waistband against you, pressing your pelvis against his.  He shuddered, then ground his erection against your hip with an involuntary jerk.

“Do you know what Fin and I call Nick?” you asked him, your voice husky with need.  “The Cuban Missile Crisis.  His life is a mess.”  You pressed against him harder, drawing another groan from him.  “He’s divorced with one kid, has another kid who thinks he’s his uncle, he sleeps with Amanda often enough to confuse her, he’s always punching his way into trouble….”  

You trailed off when Barba snaked his hands under your shirt, splaying them against the naked skin of your lower back.  He pulled you tight against him, and you wrapped your arms around his neck and rose up on your toes to kiss him.  

Your tongues tangled and soft moans filling the room as Barba undressed you.  He unbuttoned your shirt, trailing his thumb over your exposed skin, tracing the lace edges of your bra as you shrugged out of your shirt.  You broke away long enough to take off your boots and socks.  He kicked off his own dress shoes and socks too.  He spread his fingers wide and held you by your waist, as if he wanted to touch as much of you as he could.  

“You still okay with this?” he asked.

By way of answering him, you unbuttoned his trousers and unzipped him, your knuckles inadvertently brushing against his erection.  “Fuck,” he hissed through his teeth, and you pushed his pants down around his ankles, allowing him to step out of them.  He released your waist and made short work of your own pants, kneeling down to help work them over your feet.  

On one knee, he held you steady by your hip as he lifted your left leg to ease your pants off, then repeated the gesture with your right leg.  Instead of releasing your right leg, though, he hooked it in one smooth movement over his shoulder.  He turned his head to lay a path of wet, open-mouthed kisses along your calf and on the side of your knee. And up your inner thigh.  You reached out, shaky on your one foot, and grabbed at his head.  You ran your fingers through his hair, gentle at first.  You gave it a sharp tug, however, when he sank his teeth in the soft flesh of your inner thigh and then ran his tongue over the stinging skin. You yelped, and he released your leg, standing in front of you.

“Was that too much?” he asked.  He couldn’t see your face, so he ran his hands over it instead, searching with his fingertips for any clue of discomfort on your part.

“Oh no,” you breathed out. “That was very good.”  You grabbed his hips, pulling them against yours, then walked both of you backwards until your legs bumped against the bed.  You sat down and scooted back until you were laying down.  “You’re very good with your mouth, counselor.”

He practically snarled as he crawled on top of you.  He laid his full weight on top of you, and you melted at the feeling of being pressed into the mattress.  He reached up and tilted your head to the side, then he started by kissing you sloppily under your ear.  

“Remember,” he growled. “You say stop, I stop.”

You wriggled underneath him. “Well, don’t stop yet.”

He kissed you under your ear again, then worked his way under your jaw to your other ear, then down your throat.  He pressed the tip of his tongue against your pulse point, and you whimpered at the sensation.  He moved to the crook of your neck and sucked a stinging bruise there.  He then continued across your collarbone and down to the swell of your breasts, running his tongue along the skin just under the edge of your bra.

You raised yourself up, allowing him to unclasp it and ease it over your arms.  He tossed it somewhere on the floor, then turned his attention to your breasts, capturing one in his big hand, kneading it gently. His mouth was on the other, leaving a wet trail of kisses before he placed the edges of his teeth on your nipple, flicking his tongue against it.  Your college ex hadn’t done any of this; he’d been a virgin too, and his idea of foreplay had been less than a minute of aggressively pawing at your chest.  No wonder it had been so unfulfilling.

“Oh, god,” you breathed shakily.  You griped Barba’s shoulder with one hand, and threaded the other through his hair at the back of his head.  You pulled his head against you tighter, your hips juddering upwards to meet his.  

Barba broke away from your embrace for a moment.  “You know, you were very worried, but your hands seem to know exactly what to do after all,” he said with a laugh.  You smacked him playfully on the arm, your face red in the darkness.  He laughed again, then returned to his ministrations, shifting to your other breast and then continuing lower.

“Wait!” you gasped. You realized what he was planning next.  “You can’t do that.”

He pressed his face against the softness of you belly with a groan.  “Why?” he asked.

The want in his voice was apparent, making your core throb with desire, and you felt your resolve weakening.  “It’s just that guys don’t really want to do that,” you said, apologetic.  “You don’t have to….”

“Hermosa,” he said, strain in his voice.  “How can you know what guys really want to do?”  He shifted his face and kissed the swell of your hip, right above the waistband of your panties.  “I can tell you what I want.”  He turned and kissed your other hip, tugging at the lace with his teeth.  “I want to strip these off of you, throw your legs over my shoulders, and devour you until you cum so hard you see stars.”  You whimpered and felt his lips curve into a smile against your skin.  “I want to make you unravel with my mouth, and I want to taste you.  Fuck, I’ve imagined this so much…. just give me one minute, and if you want me to stop after that, I promise I will.  Please…just trust me a little….”

You thought about it a moment.  This could go so badly.  You were already in too deep here – you were colleagues.  What if you messed this up and had to face him at work, a good detective and a terrible lay?  But no…Barba wasn’t that type.  If it was truly terrible, he’d never say so.  Under that gruff exterior was, you thought, a very kind-hearted man.  And he’d told you to have a little faith in people, after all.

You reached down and stroked his face.  “I trust you,” you whispered.

He leaned his head against your stomach again.  “Thank you,” he replied.  “Just one minute, that’s all I ask.”  He got up and slid you down the bed until your legs hung off the side.  “Just relax,” he whispered, and you lifted your hips to help him slide your soaked panties off.  You were grateful for the darkness; your face burned like the sun, embarrassed by how turned on you were, your arousal practically flooding the bed.  

Barba seemed to see it differently – he swiped a thumb over your slit and groaned loudly at how slick you were.  He ran his thumb across your seam as he knelt at the foot of the bed, placing the backs of your knees on either shoulder.  He turned to the left and kissed his way up your inner thigh, then did the same on the right, pressing an extra-firm kiss to the general vicinity of where he nipped you earlier.  The entire time, he worked his thumb against you.

You couldn’t see him, but you could feel his breath tickling your most intimate parts.  You squirmed, and he laid a heavy forearm across your hips, stilling you.  

“None of that,” he said sternly.  You took a deep breath and started to apologize; you swore he could sense the “sorry” on the tip of your tongue, so with one swift movement, he buried his face between your legs, inhaling deeply.  You were so stunned, you didn’t react, and then he replaced his thumb with his tongue, drawing a long, wet line along your dripping core.  

The effect was like a bolt of lightning.  You arched your back involuntarily, struggling against the arm that pinned you down and pressing yourself against his mouth.  “Oh, god!” you moaned.  You felt him grin against you, and you settled back against the bed.  He parted your lower lips with his tongue and set a rhythm:  alternating between slipping his tongue into you, lapping up your essence, and sucking on your tender bundle of nerves.  

As if it didn’t feel amazing on its own, the sounds Barba was making would have been enough.  He sighed and groaned, and he ate you like a starving man.  Every so often, he paused and pulled away, pressing his face against your inner thigh, panting.  Then he dove back in, putting his mouth to a different task than his usual sarcastic banter and courtroom elocution.

You melted under his touch, and an unfamiliar feeling began to build in the pit of your stomach, like a growing tension that made you try to squirm against him.  Suddenly, he stopped.

“That’s been about a minute,” he said.  His voice sounded shaky.  “Should I keep going or….” He trailed off, and you could hear the knowing smirk in his voice.

“Don’t stop,” you begged. “Please…”

He plunged back in, his nose brushing against your clit as he lapped at you.  You grasped at the sheets, twisting them in your fists as the tension returned to your core, building and building.  Barba kept up his ministrations, and then you felt a finger at your entrance.  He slid it in slowly, until he was fully submerged in you.  You tensed up for a moment, and he pulled off of your clit with a wet smack.  “Just relax,” he whispered, his breath tickling you.  He shifted his forearm that had been across your hips, reaching up to drag his thumb against your nipple.  You shuddered, then focused on relaxing.

He returned to his pattern, multitasking between rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, and licking your core, and gently sliding one finger in and out of your tight sheath.  You relaxed with a moan, and he added another finger, stretching you out carefully.  It felt amazing, and deliciously intimate, and the coil in your belly tightened to an uncomfortable degree.

“Barba,” you warned breathlessly.  “I….”

“I know,” he said, his voice husky.  “Come for me, hermosa.”  He gave you one final swipe of the tongue along your slit, then replaced his mouth with his thumb.  He plunged his two fingers into you and pressed his thumb firmly along your clit. The sudden pressure was too much, and you felt the tension in you snap in an explosion of pleasure.  

You clasped a hand over your mouth, biting into the meaty part at the heel of your hand, stifling your scream.  You arched off the bed, and you wrapped your legs right around his shoulders, pulling him against you as your first real orgasm thundered through your body.  Your legs trembled, and your vision went white with sparks.  You were dimly aware of Barba, coaxing you through it.  As it subsided, he gently disentangled himself from your now-limp legs and came to join you on the bed.  He pulled you up so that you were no longer half-hanging off.  He was quiet while he waited for you to catch your breath, only stroking your head gently.

*****

His only regret was that he let you turn the lights off.  He so wanted to watch you come for the first time.  And if he’d known you were going to stifle your scream, he would have reached up and stopped you.  If he couldn’t watch you, he wanted to hear you.  Then again, he thought, he barely was able to keep himself from coming, just from going down on you.  He had to pause a few times to get himself under control.  Of course, the torturous foreplay of you undressing him hadn’t helped. The agonizingly slow disrobing paired with your suddenly brave admissions made him painfully hard.

He lay beside you, his hand lightly holding your wrist.  He could feel your erratic pulse and smiled, knowing that he was the cause.  He was glad for the break, actually.  It gave him more time to get his own arousal under control.  He could still taste you on his tongue, though, and smell your uniquely feminine scent from where it had coated his mouth and lips.

You gave a big sigh, finally recovered.  He reached over and stroked your face, and you turned to face him in the dark.

“That was amazing,” you whispered in awe.  “Is it always like that?”

He considered your question for a moment.  No, it wasn’t always like that.  He thought about his own sexual history.  With Yelina, there was criticism about his stamina, but he’d been young and clumsy. Later lovers varied, from the bored trust fund baby in college to the overly aggressive partner at his first job out of college, the one who tried to choke him out.  You were different, but he wasn’t sure he should tell you that. You were naked in his arms now, but he didn’t know what you were thinking about the future, if anything. For all he knew, this was just an itch that he was scratching.  If so, he was at least happy for this moment, even if it didn’t continue beyond this night.

Instead of answering you, he leaned over and kissed you, prying your lips open and slipping his tongue in so that you could taste yourself on him.  You moaned and slid your own tongue in his mouth, licking against him.  He smiled a bit – as your nervousness dissipated, you became bolder.  He liked it. A lot.

You reached down, and he felt you tentatively cup his clothed erection in your palm.  He hissed a sharp intake of breath, and you stroked his length. You broke the kiss and whispered, “Barba, I want you.”

He steadied his breathing. “Then I’m yours, Detective.”  He half-rose, and you helped him push his boxer briefs over his hips, laughing as he kicked them from his ankles.  He cut your laugh off by settling his weight on top of you, placing a knee between your legs to gently prize them apart. You whimpered when you felt his cock, heavy against your hip, bump against your still-sensitive entrance.

“You remember the rule,” he said.  “If you say stop….”

“You stop,” you finished. You placed your hands on his chest, digging your nails lightly into his skin.  “But if I say ‘don’t stop,’ does that mean you’ll never stop?”

He growled at the sudden boldness, dropping his head to the juncture of your neck, pressing his teeth against your pulse point.  He started to push forward, the crown of his cock slipping against your slick heat, then, with enormous effort, stopped.

“Do you have protection?” he panted.

“Condoms.  In the bedside table drawer,” you replied.  He pulled away from you reluctantly and fumbled in the dark for the drawer.  He found it, opened it, and pulled out the new box.  From the feel of it, it was an economy sized pack.  He grinned in the dark as he opened it and tore one off, opening the foil and rolling it onto himself.  “Did you buy these specifically for this purpose?” he asked playfully, settling back onto top of you.

He felt you nodding.  “Yes,” you replied seriously.  “I’ve only been doing a good job at work in the hopes of nailing the ADA.”

He dragged his hand up the side of your leg, over your hip and side, and settled it on the side of your face.  “I feel so used,” he murmured against your mouth.  You laughed softly, and he once again wished he could see your face.  He wanted to look you in the eye so that you knew he was serious now.

“I’m going to go slow,” he said.  “I will not hurt you.”  He felt you nodding again, so he pressed your legs open and settled between them. He dragged the head of his cock up and down your wet heat, gathering your essence, then pushed the crown into you. Even through the condom, he felt the unbelievable heat of your core.  He kissed along your jawline and pushed in a bit further.

That’s how he proceeded, painfully slow.  His baser side wanted to plunge into you in one smooth motion, but the thought of hurting you was unacceptable.  So he pushed in a fraction at a time, then shifted to kissing your or kneading your breasts until you relaxed and he could proceed.  He gritted his teeth when your clenching pushed him to the edge of his own release.  You seemed to sense his conflict, and you laid a shaky hand on the forearm that braced him near your head.   “I’m sorry it’s not very good,” you whispered. You sounded almost in tears, and he stopped, holding himself halfway inside of you.

“Hey…” He stopped when he heard you choke back a sob.  “Oh, god, hermosa.”  He brushed his hand across your eyes, thumbing away one tear and then another. “It’s so good,” he assured you.  “You’re so good.  I just want to make it good for you.”

“Sorry,” you said again.

“You keep apologizing,” he replied with mock sternness.  “You have nothing to apologize for, but if you insist on it, I’ll have to punish you.”

You scoffed at him, but he felt you relax under him again.  He kissed your lingering tears away, and you asked in a small voice, “what sort of punishment?”

He pushed forward, sliding another inch into your tight sheath.  “You have handcuffs here, I presume.”  He shifted between your legs and eased in another inch.  “I could cuff you to the bed…”  You lifted your hips a fraction, allowing him to slide in more.

“That doesn’t sound like punishment to me,” you murmured in his ear, your voice tight.

“…and after I cuff you, I’ll sit on the edge of the bed and read from legal journals to you until you beg for forgiveness.”  You laughed at this, inadvertently relaxing, and he slid the rest of his cock into you, or at least as much as he felt comfortable giving you.  You gave a sharp intake of breath underneath him, and he felt alarmed.

“Is that too much?” he asked.

“No,” you replied.  You drew it out, a little breathless.  There was a beat, and then you  writhed under him, but he begged you to hold still for a minute.

“I’m so close,” he whispered hoarsely.  “Just hold still.”  You ran your fingers through his scalp, scratching him lightly until he propped himself up and started, ever so slowly, to thrust into you.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, setting a gentle pace of in and out against you.  He reached down and grasped the leg alongside him, twining it around his waist and holding it there.

“I feel….” You panted along with his thrusts.  “…. like you could split me in half.”  You dug your nails into his back, leaving half-moon indents.  

“I think you’re sturdier than that,” he replied.  “But I could try to, if you want.”

You groaned in his ear, and he felt the fire of your burning face radiating like a furnace.  “Jesus, Rafael.  You already made me come once with your mouth….”

He slowed in his movements. You called him “Rafael.”  He could hear the gears turning in your head while you replayed what you had just said.  

“Is that okay?” you asked. “Or I can just call you Barba….”

He cleared his throat. “No, no.  Rafael is fine.”  Who was the last person to call him Rafael, other than family?  To everyone else, he was Barba.  If you called him by his first name, what did that mean about how you thought of him?  He smiled and picked up the pace, thrusting a bit faster now, still careful not to fully seat himself into you.

He couldn’t fool you though, the girl-genius detective.  “Rafael,” you whispered in his ear.  “Are you holding out on me?”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said through gritted teeth, schooling his gentle back-and-forth into you.

Your hands on his back slid lower, reaching to cup his ass as you wrapped both legs around his waist now.  He stopped thrusting, and you tilted your hips up.  Digging your nails into his ass, you pulled him into you, those final few inches, so that he was fully buried to the hilt in you.  You shuddered against him, letting out a soft “oh” as the tip of his cock pressed against your cervix.  

“You okay?” he asked, panicking.  You answered him by fisting a handful of his hair and dragging his mouth to yours, kissing him sloppily until he started thrusting again, this time pulling halfway out and then pushing completely into you again.  Every time he filled you, you moaned – his name, pleas to god, unintelligible nonsense words.  He ground his pelvis into yours, grinding against your sensitive clit as he drove into you.  Your breathing was erratic, and he knew you were getting close again.  He shifted and removed your hand from his head, pinning it along your head, threading his fingers through yours.

“You feel so good,” he whispered in your ear as he picked up the pace.  “I bet you’ll feel good coming on my cock.”

“Oh, Rafael,” you moaned. “Please….”

“Come with me,” he begged you.  He pushed firmly against your clit – once, twice.  The third time pushed you over the edge, and he fell with you.

He wished, one last time, for just a little light, just enough for him to lock eyes with you when you both came together.  You clenched around him, screaming through your release as you arched underneath him.  If he thought you were tight before, now you gripped him so hard, he could barely drive into you.  He felt his own tight coil of tension snap, and he groaned your name out as he came too.

Gradually, you both recovered, panting and shaky and sweaty.  He dropped his head beside you, and let out a shaky breath by your ear.  He eased out of you, missing instantly the feeling of you surrounding him with your core.  You lay there, silent except for your own uneven breathing.  

He was unnerved by your silence and suddenly was anxious.  “Was that okay?” he whispered.  He felt you turn your head on the pillow to face him.  You ran a hand over his forehead, pushing back a strand of tousled hair from his furrowed brow.

“Oh, Rafael,” you whispered back at him.  You ran your finger over his scowling eyebrows, smoothing out his worry lines, tracing your finger over his kiss-swollen lips.  You leaned forward and replaced your fingers with your own lips, feather light against his.  You may not be a so-called sex goddess, but you were infinitely tender.  “You’re amazing,” you told him.

He lay there a moment, then climbed out of bed to remove the condom, tying it off and tossing it in the bathroom garbage before he returned to bed with you.  He crawled under the covers and wrapped you in his arms.  You nuzzled against him sleepily, breathing against his bare chest.  He rubbed your back and you hummed contently.

“Good sex makes me sleepy,” you murmured against him.  “Who knew?”

He chuckled.  “Is it okay if I stay the night?”

“Mmm-hmm,” you voiced. Before you fell asleep, you placed a gentle kiss on his chest, aiming for where his heart was.  “You can stay forever, if you want.”

[educatedinyellow]

Top 5 Books to Read in 2022, tagged by @sanspatronymic

Yay! This is a random assortment of books I’ve heard good things about or would like to get back to :)

The Lady’s Not For Burning by Christopher Fry. As a gift for Christmas my aunt sent me a box with some of her favorite books in it, with little notes inside to tell me what she liked about them. This was at the top of the pile, a play that she fell in love with as a girl. Written in 1948 by a playwright stubbornly trying to resurrect a place for verse in modern theater, it’s a comedy set in early modern England and probably quite well known to theater aficionados, but not to me! I have no idea what happens in it and I look forward to finding out -- so far I’m only about 30 pages in, but it’s both mildly confusing (perhaps chaotic is a better word?) and a hoot! The author is clearly drunk on language, the putative protagonist is demanding to be hanged, and the humor is...well, it’s kind of like if the Marx Brothers and Tom Stoppard had a love child? It’s fun, is what I’m saying.

Reconstruction: America’s Unfinished Revolution 1863-1877 (updated edition) by Eric Foner. I read this in school but haven’t revisited it in years. One of my uncles read it more recently, though, and was amazed at the way it reoriented his understanding of American history. Foner is an excellent historian and even though this book is long (nearly 700 pages) and old (first published in 1988), it’s a thorough work that has remained important and engaging, and it’s past time for me to reread it.

A Marvellous Light by Freya Marske. I know this author for her fanfic, and while I never got to know her personally, I was always touched by her beautiful writing. A BSG fic she wrote called Amateur has stayed in my heart for 15 years. Now she’s publishing original magical realism m/m romance, yay!! I would have bought the book to support her regardless, but this summary from skygiant’s book blog absolutely sold me:

“Unfortunately for Robin, his predecessor was Mixed Up In Mysterious Magical Business, which means that instead of getting shuffled back into a safely unmagical department he shortly finds himself: 1. cursed (painful) 2. reliant on Edwin to help him break the curse (socially awkward) 3. stuck in the middle of a boisterous and also potentially murderous magical house party at Edwin's family's country home (probably worse for Edwin than Robin actually despite Robin's lack of magic and ongoing general peril) Over the course of the book, Edwin and Robin proceed to uncover a magical conspiracy, support each other through various sibling and family issues, trip and fall into various unusual magical inheritances, and, of course, fall in love! Freya is an incredibly romantic writer who's brilliant at drawing connections between outwardly-dissimilar people and showing the draw that they have for each other, but she also has unfair gifts for setting, language, and set pieces that jump back and forth on a dime between extremely tense and extremely funny.”

That is 100% my jam and I’m excited to get my hands on this book and (eventually) its sequels.

Discworld, the Witches subseries by Terry Pratchett. One of the obstacles I’m running into in my Vimes/Vetinari fic is that I don’t know enough about how magic works in Discworld. I’ve always meant to catch up with the Witches books, so perhaps this is the year for it. Not sure whether I should read in order or start with the Tiffany books instead, but there’s probably no wrong way to go about it.

Those are the ones at the top of my TBR pile, but since I have a little extra space here at the end of my list and I know @sanspatronymic will be seeing this post, I will just venture two suggestions for books that I think might interest you, my friend!:

The Guardian recommends a new biography that just came out last year of one of your go-to authors: The Adventures of Miss Barbara Pym by Paula Byrne.

And skygiants strikes again with her delightful review of Gordon Corera’s WWII British espionage history Operation Columba: The Secret Pigeon Service. To wit: “The book is more or less split between the bureaucratic details of the pigeon service on the British side -- a riveting tale of pigeon politics and hobby drama, featuring, among other elements, a gay occultist Baron, a pair of Girl Guides, and accusations of national secrets splashed in Racing Pigeon magazine -- and the much more dramatic story of a group of Belgians who picked up a pigeon early on and were inspired to form themselves into a proper spy ring, making beautiful secret maps in the hopes that they could eventually get a second pigeon to send them to Britain. (...instead, Britain parachuted in a couple MI6 spies to make contact with them ...who were greeted with a general sentiment of "nice to meet you? but where are our pigeons??" At least, this is certainly the tone conveyed by author Gordon Corera, who also very clearly feels this way about MI6.) As a result, the book itself manages to be both a compelling narrative about ordinary people running great risks to express resistance under occupation, and an extremely funny account of Weird Wartime Activity. Gordon Corera absolutely cannot resist a single opportunity to make a pigeon joke -- the book is littered with phrases like ‘pigeons were low in the pecking order of intelligence requirements’ -- and to this I say, with all my heart, more power to him. Write what you love!”

I tag anyone who would like to chat about books they’re excited to read!

[isolctions]

▌real name: zephyr warren brigham — a middle name that she actually despises after learning her mother was going to name her ‘warren’ if she was a boy. so fuck her. ▌single or taken: subject to change depending on the vibes, but permanently she’s engaged to @blackplanct​‘s maliq azad. ▌abilities or powers: this bitch can’t do shit. ▌eye color: dark brown. ▌hair color: she wears as assortment of wigs with an array of colors, but naturally her hair is a very light brown. ▌family members: whew, okay. her family’s kinda fucked up. paigon (pay-zee-ohn, in case anyone was looking at her name like what the fuck is that ghetto ass shit) reed is allegedly her mother, if mothers are allowed to be literal pieces of shit (antonique smith). dion brigham is her formerly estranged father (khalil cain). tristan brigham is her aunt, and her guardian since the age of fifteen (tia mowry). tinnia brigham-mayfield is her other aunt, tristan’s twin sister, and Not the fun aunt (tamera mowry). eamonn brigham is her uncle who is surprisingly only three years older than her (tahj mowry). a shit ton of cousins on her father’s side that she either doesn’t remember or doesn’t care to know, two aunts and some family members on her mother’s side that she definitely doesn’t want to know. unknown to her, she has an eight year old half-sister named lisa reed-perez. ▌pets: claims her aunt’s cat named alex. shares two cats named munch & baby with maliq. ▌something they don’t like: her mother. but, she also doesn’t like people that overshare. she’s very turned off by sudden contact, and doesn’t warm up to people immediately unless they’re really interesting, so people talking zephyr’s ear off and treating her like family that she’s just met like five minutes ago really bothers her. she also doesn’t like being emotional, and abandonment is a pretty traumatic topic for her. ▌hobbies/activities: online shopping, eating hot wings, and being a bitch. but artistically, she’s really good at making and producing beats and her own songs — zephyr actually taught herself how to make beats as a coping mechanism after suffering a miscarriage at nineteen, and eventually taught herself to rap and eventually sing. however, getting her to be committed to this hobby and release material? i think the fuck not. she prefers vibing. ▌ever hurt anyone before: emotionally and physically, yes. zephyr has been in multiple fights before with multiple people and multiple genders, and she’s very aggressive and tends to win majority of her fights. but, as mentioned earlier, she’s also a bitch and has hurt feelings before, intentionally or otherwise. ▌ever killed anyone before: no! she’s a bitch, not a monster. ▌animal that represents them: a bodega cat. just chilling, unbothered, surrounded by food. ▌worst habits: she’s very emotionally closed off. so getting her to open up, specifically about her family or her life while living in chicago, is basically an uphill battle and she’s not very nice about it. she’s also very self deprecating, and is prone to suicidal ideation when her depression is on high. but in general, she’s very aggressive so if she feels trapped by something, she can resort to foul language and violence. and really, she holds grudges like her life depends on it, so forgiving her father probably took up all free chances of her getting over things. she holds onto the things that hurt her, even if it’s detrimental to her health. ▌role models: honestly...none. but her aunt tristan really seems to have her shit together, so that was really her only positive familial role model during her teen years. it hits her harder much later in life, after realizing that a woman only ten years older than she was had been made to raise her depressed brother’s out of control daughter while struggling to keep and maintain a business during a recession in brooklyn and love her as if she were her own. ▌sexual orientation: demisexual. ▌thoughts on marriage/kids: at first, zephyr was really shifty about having kids, especially since her upbringing wasn’t the greatest. her father worked nonstop to support her and her mother after barely finishing senior year due to her birth, while her mother was an addict who very openly cheated on her father and treated zephyr like shit (see: calling her own daughter a whore, wishing she’d never been born, blowing smoke in her face, etc.). after being abandoned by paigon, her father fell into such a deep depression that he kinda stopped noticing zeph — and self aware of her own shit, she never wanted to put a child through that. it only worsened after miscarrying during her first accidental pregnancy and her then boyfriend leaving her. she had her objections on marriage as well, because she’s not the marrying type and while her mother was terrible, her words had an affect on her. she wasn’t worthy of a man loving her. of course, now? she’s the mother of two daughters, and engaged to be married to a man that adores and supports the fuck outta her, and loved her when she needed it the most. so, that’s that. ▌fears: abandonment, above all. also, heights are pretty terrifying. and spiders. and being broke.  ▌style preferences: visually, it’s very much on par with that of her faceclaims. she doesn’t follow any particular trend, and couldn’t give a shit about what people think of her outfit choices. she enjoys bright colors, faux furs, and very gaudy clothing, and really kinda adjusts her clothing based on either her mood for the day or what wig she chooses to wear. her choice in clothing is also considered eccentric, but falls into the category of urban streetwear or even a sort of afro-futuristic or punk vibe. basically, she wears whatever makes her comfortable and makes her feel pretty, and given her curvy stature, she has to get a lot of things custom made or adjusted by tailor cause babes got thicc thighs and hips and tummy pouches and rolls. ▌someone they love: first and foremost, her aunts tristan and tinnia — without then, she essentially would either end up killed in a fight or in jail...due to a fight. she also loves her fiance maliq unconditionally (but she will deny every word of that and there are indeed conditions), otherwise they wouldn’t be such an iconic couple. she loves her best friends, which are only a handful, but she prioritizes time spent with @armsdealing​‘s jerome kendricks & marcelo reyes, as well as @saturnrang​‘s jasmine higgins because they essentially egg on her chaotic energy. it was a long time coming, but she loves her father very much. and lastly, she loves her daughters sola & sinead azad, because they’re truly the best things to ever come out of her. ▌approach to friendships: very hard to say. it really depends on the circumstances behind meeting a person — she doesn’t make friends at work because that’s just weird. if she meets someone during an outing with mutual friends or otherwise, and if food and alcohol are involved, she’s a little warmed up to conversation after indulging in either. she’s not exactly awkward as a person, but instead pretty stand-offish, and can come off as either intimidating or simply uninterested unless they happen to share some personality traits. and in friendships, she’s not responsible whatsoever. it doesn’t matter if she’s the oldest, she’s immature and whiny. and a bitch. and a little messy. but when she does make friends, she’s the sweetest and most reliable there is — and in return, you get to be apart of her little family! hers is pretty messed up, so any friendship she has is considered a found family in her book. ▌thoughts on pie: sweet potato or blueberry. ▌favorite drink: she likes teas and cold pressed juices, and will sometimes indulge in a fancy cappuccino or frappe. will only drink water if it’s fruit infused because she’s a child. very big fan of milkshakes and smoothies. keep her away from hennessy, d’uesse, tequila...basically anything with alcohol unless you want her to act a goddamn fool. ▌favorite place to spend time at: her aunt’s flower shop. somehow, flower arranging brought a lot of control in her life as well, so she essentially spends all of her time there due to work and being around tris. she likes being anywhere with maliq, until he does something weird. other than that, she’s comfortable anywhere where there’s food. ▌swim in the lake or in the ocean: zephyr doesn’t swim — she’s the kinda girl who puts on a cute bikini just to sit and take pictures by the water. she may even get her feet a little wet here and there, but she actually doesn’t know how to swim. ▌their type: i gotta say, it’s pretty difficult to describe considering she’s up her fiance’s ass so much that i can’t imagine what it is — mainly because maliq is not her type. at all. she’s into articulate, well-spoken, fresh smelling, hood ass dope dealers essentially. but she also likes people who are creative and enjoys being in their element, people with drive and ambition and actual goals, people who are open minded and vocal about things that they want, and although she’s pretty shitty at it herself, someone who’s first instinct is to communicate when things go wrong instead of reacting in anger. also anyone who’s sexually open to exploring things and can make her cum multiple times.

tagged by: @armsdealing​ tagging: myself. steal + tag me in it!

[btsreactionsandtexts]

GOT7 REACTS TO: Honeymooning at their s/o hometown in Jamaica

Anon Asked:  Hi Pls can you do a Bts and got7 reaction to honeymooning in Jamaica where their s/o grew up

There’s a shit ton of Jamaica-based requests and i got a rising suspicion its from the same person lmao - Admin Dayna

Mark

It was a cute idea to spend time at your grandmother’s house for your honeymoon seeing you’ve been away for so long. Mark initially thought it was a considerate. He had taken up on how homesick you’ve been as of late. He thought it was the perfect gift to start off as newlyweds.

However, pulling up to the gates of your grandmother’s house only to see family members awaiting your arrival made him nervous – it was like meeting your parents all over again. Mark’s need to appear somewhat impressive – or at least a little interesting gave him a lot of anxiety… you know… up until your aunts started yelling across the household and cackling over how good looking he was.

“Raaayyyy! [y/n] catch ‘ar a goodieeee!”

“’im Pretty, pretty ee? Mi shoulda catch man outta farin!”

And Mark is sitting there all flustered and giggly and awkward

Jaebum

Immediately after landing and getting out of the airport, your first stop with Jaebum was to Tastee Patties. It’s been forever since you’ve had a Jerk Patty that taste like real jerk. Jae made the incredible mistake of getting the spicy beef patty instead of mild… suffered the entire process eating it, but stuffed his face nonetheless, raving about how good it was through tears.

Since then the entire honeymoon consisted of cooking and treating Jaebum to Jamaican dishes and lovingly watch him inhale it and praise it within the same breath.

Jackson

Jackson gave you his undivided attention the entire vacation.

Up until the welcome back party your aunt threw for you at her house. 

You left him alone for a minute or so to catch up with cousins and friends, only to come back and find the kid cussing and slamming dominoes on the table with your loud ass uncles and dad with a glass bottle of half empty Red Label at arms reaching.

“How you fi mek di likkle picknie ya fuck up di bard suh!”

“Yuh know seh di chinie people dem like fi come inna yawd n teef yuh tings dem di bloodclaat retch - gimme back mi rum, yah!”

“You’re blaming me but your eyes trash, Uncle?!”

“[y/n] get yuh rassclaAT BWOI SEE IF MI NUH SLAP OUT ‘IM TRIPE!”

Jinyoung

A lot of the local grandmothers in the area loved to point you two out when walking together. They always brought up how handsome he was and how damn cute the “likkle chinie baby dem” would look. Jinyoung would get all flustered and worked up whenever they said it which made you let out the ugliest cackles sometimes.

You tried to convince Jinyoung to go out with you to a dancehall club somewhere deep in concrete jungle but the kid always pussied out and tried to act like he was too tired to go out.

Youngjae

He plays well with the kids, you noticed.

You had invited your cousin and her kids to the hotel the two of you were staying at for your honeymoon. Youngjae got along with the kids right away, playing with them in the pool and hotel arcade. They took an instant liking to him, hogging his attention for most of the day. Your cousin’s daughter even threatened to steal him and marry him herself.

Youngjae was too busy trying to learn how to play “Teffin’ Castle” to catch on to the little girl’s advances.

BamBam

Beach Bum BamBam™.

Knowing the two of you would be flying to Ocho Rios for the honeymoon meant bags full of swimming trunks and assorted sunglasses. God fucking knows why he was so persistent in maintaining whatever high fashion reputation he thought he had out here in these streets – but it’s the wrong streets Bam.

Coconuts for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

It took a while to teach him that there’s more to Jamaica than just coconuts.

We also have bomb ass mangoes.

Yugyeom

He insisted on going out to the beach every waking day on the trip there. You were hoping to see a couple family members while you were there, but instead you were watching Yugyeom deep dive and scream whenever he saw a lion fish get too close for his comfort.

You lost your shit that one night you took him to eat at a beach shack and he found out the fish in the fish and chips plate was actually lionfish.

On the bright side, you could stock up on rum cream and grapefruit.

[tebbyclinic11]

The Raita Formula I’ve Memorized for Yogurt Sauce ...

New Post has been published on http://kitchengadgetsreviews.com/the-raita-formula-ive-memorized-for-yogurt-sauce/

The Raita Formula I’ve Memorized for Yogurt Sauce ...

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In the U.S., we’re used to eating yogurt for breakfast like it’s an ice cream sundae. We toss on some fruit, granola, a drizzle of honey, an assortment of powders and pollens or whatever. Sometimes the yogurt itself is flavored like ice cream or strawberry cheesecake or Boston cream pie. A lot of it: Blech!

By contrast, in Indian cuisine yogurt is, more often than not, savory. It’s eaten with every meal, and it’s flavored not with fake strawberry powder but with freshly roasted cumin or crisped-up curry leaves. What I’m trying to say is: Our yogurt is better.

Yogurt is essential to Indian cuisine. In a category of food filled with hearty, spicy stews, yogurt is a necessary refresher for tempering all that heat—and it does a far better job at that than water or beer. In our house, we, like many Indian families, make our own yogurt regularly, and have a culture that’s been hanging around in our freezer for decades. And out of all the yogurt-filled dishes in Indian cuisine—lassi (like a smoothie), dahi vada (yogurt dumplings), kadhi (a yogurt-based stew)—the most wonderful and accessible is raita.

Laura Murray

Kheera (cucumber) raita at Babu Ji in New York.

Raita is a condiment/side dish typically made of yogurt plus some combination of vegetables, spices, and if it’s a fancy occasion, teeny fritters made of chickpea flour called boondi. I can’t imagine an Indian meal without raita. It’s what I eat when I need to come up for air in the midst of all those sabzis and dals. It’s how I survive my mom’s delicious but somewhat cruel addition of hidden whole dried red chiles to most of her food.

The other thing I like about raita is that it’s not a throwaway part of a meal like a basket of stale bread or an awkward mid-dinner cup of sorbet. It’s seasoned in the same layered way as other Indian dishes—usually with small amounts of sugar, salt, and some spice combo. And there’s texture, too, whether from grated cucumber or diced potatoes. It has the nuance of Indian cooking but also plays that much-needed role of the refresher.

We love raita in our family so much that we even have raita-related inside jokes. Like when my uncle and aunt ended up at dinner with my uncle’s ex-girlfriend in Delhi, and she tried to serve them raita made with cauliflower (which is blasphemous, I found out, because cauliflower ends up soggy and gross when mixed with yogurt). The phrase cauliflower raita is enough to make any member in our family burst into laughter. Weird, I know.

So as long as there’s no cauliflower involved, my mom’s sweet-with-a-bit-o’-heat raita formula is very simple. Here’s how it breaks down:

Start with plain (not Greek, as you want the liquid) yogurt+Mix in a pinch of sugar, salt, and red chili powder+Add spices (cumin works wonderfully as does a combination of pan-fried curry leaves and mustard seeds)+Add grated/cubed/raw/cooked vegetable of your choice. Go with a robust vegetable that won’t turn to mush when mixed with yogurt—cucumber, squash, potato, and the like. (No cauliflower!)

And you’re done.

Raita can also be deployed beyond Indian cuisine. You can eat it by itself as a savory yogurt snack; you can use it as a marinade for chicken; you can serve it as a side or topping to any hearty dish in need of a light accompaniment—lamb chops, fried things, stuffed breads, roasted vegetables.

Savory yogurt is by no means unique to Indian cuisine—countless countries from Iran to Lebanon dress their yogurt in spices and salt. And yet, my Brooklyn bodega is still stocking five varieties of the saccharine fruit-on-the-bottom stuff that the kids from the middle school across the street can’t seem to get enough of.

We deserve better from our yogurt. We deserve raita! With that, here’s a handy chart my mom helped me whip up for turning any bowl of plain yogurt into a multi-purpose raita of your choosing.

Click here to open full-size chart.

Priya Krishna’s cookbook Indian-ish, documenting her journey of learning to make the distinct, hybridized cuisine of her chic, extremely skilled-in-the-kitchen mom, Ritu, will be out from Houghton Mifflin Harcourt in spring 2019. Follow her progress on Instagram @PKgourmet.

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