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hyuniemyunie · 10 days ago

Text

After hours

House m.d characters x gn reader

gregory house, james wilson, lisa cuddy, eric foreman and robert chase

Sfw ish (very suggestive, no sex)

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(ФωФ): NO SEX BUT BORDERLINE NSFW!!

making out at the hospital late at night😝 gn reader, suggestive, groping, established relationship.

its suggestive..yurr..im edging yall ig💔 i could probably make a part2 or sum if yall want it. anyway yes hi hello im back. this time yes cuddy no cameron bc ion wanna

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

Sterile Rooms, Dirty Minds

The lights above were dimmed—unusual for Princeton-Plainsboro’s diagnostic department, but not unusual for House’s office at this hour. His cane was leaning crooked against the desk, a half-empty Vicodin bottle sat beside an abandoned file, and the air smelled faintly of takeout and hospital-grade disinfectant. You were sitting on his desk—legs spread just enough to accommodate his body between them, the sharp edge biting into the back of your thighs through your clothes, though you could barely register the discomfort.

House's mouth was on yours, and it was messy. Sloppy. His stubble scraped against your skin, his teeth tugged at your bottom lip in a way that was too practiced to be accidental. One of his hands gripped your jaw, holding you in place, fingers spread over your cheek and under your ear like he was memorizing the shape of your face by touch alone. The other hand had slid under your shirt at some point—fingers splayed wide across your stomach, calloused and hot and shameless.

You could feel the push of his thigh between your legs as he leaned in, chest brushing yours with every breath, his pelvis flush with yours. You were gasping against his mouth now, struggling to keep up, especially with the way his thumb kept stroking upward, inch by inch, toward your nipple, only to stop short. He enjoyed teasing himself more than he enjoyed teasing you. Bastard.

"How many hours do you think we’ve got before Cuddy starts wondering why I haven’t caused a catastrophe today?" he muttered against your lips, words muffled by the way he kept kissing you between phrases. “Two? Three? Long enough for me to disappoint you thoroughly in an on-call room?”

“Long enough,” you breathed, sliding your hands under the back of his shirt and dragging your nails up his spine, just to hear the grunt it pulled from him. “But I think you like the desk more.”

“I do.” He grinned. “It’s sturdy. Handles trauma well. Like me.”

He ground down just slightly, just enough that you could feel him, hard and insistent through his jeans, pressing right where you needed him. You let out something between a sigh and a groan, and he rewarded you by kissing you deeper—tongue parting your lips, hand moving to grab your ass over your clothes, fingers digging in.

You let your head fall back, mouth open as his teeth scraped down your neck. “Fuck, House…”

“Is that a request or just a lament?” His voice was low, rough, edged with amusement and arousal and something else underneath that he never liked to name. “Because if it’s the first one, I can be very accommodating.”

“Not here,” you said, even as your hips rolled up against him. “We shouldn’t.”

House huffed a breath against your throat, pressing a kiss there that lingered just a second too long. “You’re on my desk, legs around me, and I’ve got my hand down your pants. I think we crossed that line twenty minutes ago.”

“Your hand is not down my pants.”

He leaned back slightly, smirking, eyes glinting in the low light. “Would you like it to be?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. He kissed you again, harder this time. When his fingers returned to your stomach, they dipped lower this time—over the waistband of your pants, tracing the line of your underwear, knuckles brushing where you were hot and needy for him. He didn’t move further. Didn’t need to. Just the hint of it had your whole body tensing.

“You’re not exactly making a case for patience,” he muttered, lips brushing the corner of your jaw. “I could fuck you right here and blame the mess on Foreman.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Say that again when you're not grinding on me.”

He was right. Of course he was. You didn’t care. His name was on the door. The blinds were mostly closed. The hall outside was quiet except for the faint buzz of fluorescent lights and the distant squeak of a janitor’s cart. It was just you and him, and the pressure of his mouth, his hands, his body pressing yours into wood and glass.

House kissed you again, but slower now. Less biting, more tasting. He kept his hand resting low on your belly, thumb dipping just beneath the waistband, teasing—not quite enough, never enough. He pulled back only when you were breathless again, and even then, it was only a few inches. His face was flushed, lips red, pupils wide with want. He looked at you like he was reading you—diagnosing something beneath your skin that had nothing to do with blood or bones. You’d never seen him look at anyone that way before.

“I want to fuck you,” he said, blunt and low and close to your ear, voice cracking just slightly with how tightly he was holding himself back. “Not here. Not rushed. Not with the janitor two doors down and my team probably fucking up a case without me.”

You swallowed hard, nodding, your fingers fisting the fabric of his shirt. “Your place?”

“My place,” he echoed, breath warm on your cheek. “My couch. My bed. My kitchen table if you’re good.”

“You are such a piece of shit.”

“Yeah. But you’re coming home with me.”

His hand slid fully under your waistband now, palm cupping you through your underwear, slow and deliberate. You gasped, back arching off the desk, hand flying to his wrist—not to stop him, just to feel. He leaned in and kissed you again, gentle this time. Soft, like an apology for stopping. Or maybe a promise to continue later. Either way, it was the kind of kiss that said you’re mine, and not here, and soon.

When he pulled away, he didn’t step back right away. Just rested his forehead against yours, breath warm and shared, both of you flushed and trembling and way too aware of how wet both your underwear probably were, how hard he was still pressed against you, and how badly this needed to happen somewhere else.

“You still gonna come home with me,” he asked, voice rough and barely above a whisper, “or do I have to kidnap you?”

You laughed softly, tilting your head just enough to brush your nose against his. “Get your coat, House.”

He pulled back finally, hands sliding out from under your clothes, adjusting himself shamelessly while you fixed your shirt and tried to stop trembling.

He winked, already limping toward the door. “Come on, babe. Let’s get the hell out of here before I lose all self-control and fuck you on top of my MRI results.”

You followed him, cheeks still hot, heart still racing, legs just slightly unsteady. And god help you—you couldn’t wait.

Close the Door

The soft clack of the door latching behind you was louder than expected in the quiet of the oncology department. It was nearly midnight—long past when the fluorescent lights should still be on in Wilson’s office, long past when either of you should still be there. But the low hum of the computer screen cast a dull glow over the desk, illuminating his tired eyes as he looked up from a file, pen paused mid-sentence.

“You’re still here,” he said, voice roughened from disuse, tinged with surprise but no disapproval. His jacket was draped over the back of his chair, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie loose and crooked, the first two buttons of his shirt undone like he'd tried to breathe for once but couldn’t quite manage it.

You crossed the threshold without answering, let the door close behind you with a soft click. Something about the air between you shifted—subtle, but charged. He watched you approach with careful eyes, the edge of a smile twitching at his mouth. He already knew what was coming, he was just waiting for you to admit to it.

“So are you,” you murmured as you came to stand beside him. Your fingers brushed against the back of his chair. “All your patients asleep. No emergencies. No excuse to still be hiding in this office.”

Wilson leaned back in his chair slowly, pen set down, hands resting on the arms. You stepped closer.

“I didn’t want to go home yet,” he admitted, tone quieter now, more honest. His gaze dropped to your mouth and lingered there. “Not without you.”

The silence pressed tight between you, thick with things left unsaid and all the things already known. You bent down slowly, your hand curling around the edge of the armrest just above his, the fabric of his dress shirt warm against your knuckles. His breath hitched. You could feel the tension coiling up in both of you, the way his thighs stiffened slightly beneath his slacks, the way his throat worked as he swallowed.

“You’re not even pretending to do paperwork anymore.”

“No,” he said, and his voice trembled just faintly. “I was waiting for you.”

The kiss was inevitable. Desperate. Your lips met his hard, mouths pressing together in something that couldn’t be mistaken for a greeting or a thank you or a goodnight. It was hungry. It was impatient. His hands flew to your waist as he stood abruptly, the wheels of his chair skidding behind him. You staggered back a step, but he followed, pressed you against the wall just beside the bookshelves, hands gripping your hips.

He kissed you like a man starved. His mouth opened against yours, tongue sliding in without hesitation, devouring you in ragged, open-mouthed kisses that left both of you gasping. His fingers tugged at the hem of your shirt, pushing it up just enough to feel the heat of your skin, and his groan against your mouth was hoarse, raw, needy.

You arched into his touch as he dragged his palms up your torso, thumbs brushing the sides of your ribs, not quite frantic but close. It was careful for half a second—then it wasn’t. His mouth traveled down to your throat, teeth scraping across your pulse point with a pressure that sent heat racing low in your gut.

“You taste like coffee,” he murmured into your skin, voice low, almost reverent, before his teeth sank into your collarbone. Your fingers twisted in the fabric of his shirt.

“And you taste like desperation,” you muttered back, breathless, tilting your head back to let him have more.

His laugh was choked, nearly a groan. One of his hands slid down between your legs, cupping you over your clothes with a firm grip that made you whine before you could stop yourself. He squeezed, slow and deliberate, watching your face with eyes gone dark.

“Fuck,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “You like that?”

You nodded. You were already half undone, pressed hard against the wall with his body between your legs, his hands everywhere—one rubbing you with just enough pressure to make your thighs twitch, the other up under your shirt, fingertips teasing at your chest, grazing your nipples until you gasped into his mouth.

Your own hands finally moved, clumsy with urgency, dragging his shirt up and over his hips, slipping beneath the fabric to trace the trail of soft hair down his stomach. He shivered, cock twitching against your thigh through the layers of fabric still separating you. You reached between you, palmed him through his slacks, felt how hard he already was.

“Jesus,” he hissed. “We’re in the goddamn hospital.”

“So lock the door,” you said, not stopping.

He laughed, forehead pressing to yours. “You’re going to kill me.”

Your fingers dragged down his zipper, slow enough to tease, not slow enough to be patient. He groaned into your mouth again, hand tightening in your shirt. He was trying to decide whether to stop you or fuck you right there on the floor.

His hips jerked forward when you brushed over the outline of his cock, and he bit your bottom lip hard enough to sting. “If you don’t stop now,” he warned hoarsely, “I’m not going to stop either.”

You stilled, lips swollen, chest heaving.

Then, slowly, you leaned up and kissed him again—deep, hot and slow.

“We should go to your place,” you said when you finally pulled back, voice low, rough, your lips brushing his as you spoke. “So we can fuck properly.”

Wilson’s groan was full-bodied and exasperated and turned-on all at once. He rested his forehead against yours for a long moment, both of you breathing hard.

“God,” he muttered. “You’re insufferable.”

“Mm. And you love me for it.”

“Shut up.”

You grinned and kissed him again.

He shut the office lights off on the way out.

Overtime

The blinds were half-shut, casting long slats of shadow across her office walls, broken by the soft golden spill of her desk lamp. Outside, the hospital had gone quiet in the way it only ever did past midnight — the buzz of daytime urgency traded for the occasional distant beep of monitors and the dull roll of a gurney wheel down some far-off corridor. The air smelled faintly of her perfume, sharp and expensive, tinged by the paper scent of hospital files piled high beside her elbow.

Cuddy’s fingers tapped a soft rhythm against her glass desk surface, eyes scanning the page in front of her without really reading it. She could feel your stare. Not overt, not hungry, but insistent. You sat across from her, ankle hooked over your knee, pretending to be focused on the budget projections she’d asked for — or maybe just giving yourself a reason to stay. You always found a reason.

She didn't look up when she spoke. “You’ve been in here a long time.”

“Mm. So have you.”

Her pen paused. She leaned back slowly in her chair, gaze lifting at last to meet yours, eyes flickering with that clinical scrutiny she always wore like armor—until something else softened it. The sharp edge rounded. You could see it in the way her eyes dragged down your face, to your mouth, her thoughts were only half about whatever line item she was supposed to be signing off.

“Still pretending this is about work?” she asked, her voice low, too smooth for how tired she should be.

Your lips twitched. “That depends. Are you?”

Cuddy arched a brow, lips curling at the corners as she stood, drawing herself up from the chair with that deliberate grace that made you ache. She was all authority—pencil skirt taut across her hips, blouse unbuttoned just enough to make your mouth dry, dark waves of hair falling just loose enough to tell you she’d run her hands through it more than once tonight. She stepped around the desk with slow, practiced ease, heels quiet against the floor.

Her hand settled on the back of your chair before you could move. The heat of her so close made your back straighten without thinking. Her perfume was stronger here. Jasmine, clean skin, and something darker underneath. Her thumb traced a line across your shoulder, just once.

“I could write this off as a supervisory meeting,” she murmured, low against your ear. “Late-night strategy session. But then someone might ask why I’ve got you sitting here looking at me like you’re seconds from climbing across the desk.”

You turned your head slightly, enough to see the gleam of amusement — and want — in her eyes. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to lie for you.”

Her smile was sharp. “I don’t pay you enough for that.”

“You don’t pay me enough at all.”

“Then you really have no excuse.”

Before the words had finished leaving her mouth, you’d reached for her waist, fingers hooking just above the curve of her hips, pulling her down onto your lap with one smooth tug. She didn’t resist—didn’t flinch—only let out the faintest hum of approval, her weight settling onto your thighs, one knee slipping to the outside of yours. Her arms went around your neck as naturally as if she’d done it a hundred times, which she had, and still you felt your heartbeat slam harder like it was the first.

“God, you’re smug,” you whispered against her mouth, just before you kissed her.

The first press was slow and lazy. The kind of kiss that asked without begging, that lingered more than it searched. But Cuddy didn’t do soft for long, not when it came to you. Her fingers curled in your hair, dragging your mouth harder against hers, the rhythm of it tipping fast from exploratory to demanding. She’d been waiting hours for this, and was finally done pretending.

You didn’t mind the heat of her breath or the way her hips shifted subtly against your lap. She wasn’t trying to grind down, but couldn’t help herself. Your hands slid down her back, greedy, tracing every inch of her spine like it might ground you, anchor you somewhere in this too-bright, too-quiet office where she smelled like sin and looked like something you should never have been allowed to touch.

But she let you. She always let you.

Your hand found the edge of her blouse and slipped under it, warm palm against bare skin. Her breath hitched. She didn’t stop you. You moved higher, hand flattening just under her ribs, then trailing up—slow, deliberate—until your fingers brushed the swell of her breast. She made a sound against your mouth, low and half-caught, not quite a moan but nothing polite either. Her nails dug into the back of your neck.

“You’re not shy tonight,” she whispered, mouth ghosting your jaw.

“I’ve never been shy with you.”

She laughed, soft and breathless, then caught your bottom lip between her teeth, tugging, just enough to make your fingers twitch where they rested beneath her bra. Her hips rolled again, this time slower, more controlled, and you felt her exhale. She was trying not to lose control too quickly.

“Lock the door,” she murmured, dragging her mouth down your neck. “Do it.”

You didn’t argue. She slid off your lap in a motion as fluid as her entrance, and you stood, heart thudding so loud in your chest it made your hands shake slightly when you twisted the lock. When you turned back, she was leaning against the desk, blouse half-untucked, one leg crossed over the other, lips kissed pink and eyes darker than before.

She crooked a finger at you.

It took you three strides to reach her. Your hands were on her waist again before you could think. You kissed her like the office would dissolve if you didn’t, like the whole hospital might catch fire and you’d still need more. Her hands were under your shirt now, fingers cool against your skin, dragging your hips flush against hers with none of the usual hesitation. It was all friction now — mouths messy, bodies tighter, hungrier, her thigh slotting between your legs.

You palmed her breast fully this time, thumb brushing over the sensitive point through lace. She gasped, the sound raw and real, and didn’t stop you when your other hand slid down, curved over her ass, pulling her tighter to you. She rolled her hips again, breath hot in your ear.

“You make me stupid,” she hissed. “Do you know that? I have meetings at eight. A board call. And you—” she kissed you again, hard, messy “—come in here and make me forget every reason I’m supposed to say no.”

“Then don’t,” you breathed. “Don’t say no.”

She kissed you again instead. You both groaned when you pressed her harder against the desk, her hands fisting in the fabric at your back, dragging your shirt up. She wanted to take it, or tear it, or just feel skin, god, any part of you she didn’t already have.

“Take this off,” she said, tugging at your shirt.

“You first.”

Another smirk, one she didn't bother to hide as she reached for her buttons. One by one, she slipped them open, slow despite everything, watching your face as pale skin was revealed inch by inch. She shrugged the blouse off her body. The sight of her in just her bra, breath shallow and pupils blown wide, made your stomach lurch with something close to worship.

“I should make you beg,” she whispered, pulling you back in. “Make you sit there while I finish my paperwork. Watch me touch myself at my desk. Maybe let you help if you’re good.”

You groaned against her collarbone. “Jesus, Cuddy.”

“No,” she said, cupping your jaw in one hand. “Lisa.”

She kissed you again, rough and open-mouthed, and your hands were everywhere—up her sides, down her hips, one slipping between her thighs and pressing just enough to make her tremble. She pulled you closer, rocked against your hand, and when you felt how wet she already was through her underwear, you cursed under your breath, forehead dropping to her shoulder.

“God, you're unbelievable,” you whispered.

She dragged your mouth back to hers with a hiss of approval. “Then prove it.”

After Rounds

The hallway lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting a pale glow across the empty diagnostics office. The floor was mostly dark by now—nurses whispering at stations, the odd intern scribbling notes at a computer, but otherwise, the hospital had finally dipped into that rare, late-night quiet that only came when the adrenaline tapered off and the chaos slowed to a crawl.

You stood near the desk, arms crossed, shifting your weight between your feet while trying to look preoccupied. You weren't on call anymore, not technically. You had finished your last rounds over an hour ago, but the idea of going home hadn't really crossed your mind. Not when you knew who else was still here.

The door creaked open behind you. You didn't turn, because you didn’t need to.

“Still here?” Foreman asked, voice low, the kind of tired drawl only twelve hours of diagnostics could draw out of him.

You hummed, grabbing a folder off the desk without looking at it. “So are you.”

He didn’t reply at first. Just stepped farther into the room, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. You could feel the change in the air before he even crossed the space between you. The shift in tension, the silence too full for two people who weren’t thinking about each other. You turned finally, catching the shadow in his gaze, his usual stern composure looser now that the rest of the team was gone.

“You’re not supposed to still be here,” he said again, quieter this time, though there wasn’t any real protest in his voice.

"I know.”

He stood a foot away now, hands in his coat pockets, brow drawn but soft. You held his gaze, the fluorescent light above flickering once, then holding steady. The silence stretched again, and neither of you broke it. He didn’t move at first, too used to calculating his every step, too careful about what people might say, what someone might see. But his restraint never lasted long when it came to you.

His hand reached up, brushing your jaw first. Not rushed, not overly firm—just a touch meant to anchor. Then his fingers curled, and he leaned forward, lips meeting yours in one long pull, breath steady but heated. You kissed him back instantly, pressing closer, his coat brushing your chest. The folder fell out of your hand to the desk with a soft thump, forgotten.

His other hand came up to your waist, palm warm through the thin fabric of your scrubs. The door was locked—he always checked. Still, there was a thrill that shot down your spine as he pushed you slowly against the edge of the desk, your hips nudging against the wood. You felt him exhale into the kiss, the tension in his jaw melting just slightly, though his grip on you didn’t waver.

Foreman always kissed like he was trying not to. Like there was a part of him still holding back, still worried someone would open the door or catch him slipping. But not tonight. Not after the stress of three consults, two difficult differentials, and a full day under House’s impossible standards. Tonight, he let go.

Your back pressed to the desk now, your hands sliding up under his coat to feel the crisp shirt beneath, fingers curling into the fabric. You could feel the strength in his arms as he leaned into you, tongue brushing against yours in slow, deliberate strokes. His fingers dug slightly into your waist, anchoring you to him as he kissed harder, deeper, tasting the parts of you he had missed all day behind patient charts and professionalism.

He broke the kiss just long enough to press his forehead to yours, his breath hot and uneven.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he muttered, his voice rougher than usual, hand slipping down to the curve of your hip. “Couldn’t get anything done with you walking around in those damn scrubs.”

You bit back a smile, tilting your head just enough to kiss him again. This one was messier. Slower but desperate. His hand slid lower, gripping your thigh, fingers flexing through the fabric, the pressure enough to make your breath catch. You let out a soft sound against his mouth, rewarded with a soft groan from him, his fingers dragging up again to tug at the waistband of your scrubs.

He didn’t pull them down—not yet. But the way he touched you, you could tell he was thinking about it. His hand palmed your ass through the fabric, firm and unapologetic, the motion deliberate.

You gripped the back of his neck, nails lightly grazing his skin as his mouth trailed down your jaw, then lower, to the base of your throat. Warm lips, soft drag of teeth—not enough to bruise, but close. He breathed you in, his voice low against your skin. “You’ve got no idea how hard it is, keeping my hands off you all damn day.”

“You could’ve snuck me into the on-call room.”

He laughed under his breath, lifting his head to meet your eyes again. “You would’ve moaned loud enough to get us fired.”

“Would’ve been worth it.”

He kissed you again, faster this time. His tongue pushed into your mouth without hesitation, his hips pressing closer. His hand slipped beneath the hem of your shirt now, fingertips dragging up your side, hot against your skin. You arched slightly under the touch, his body pinning yours more fully to the desk.

His breathing got heavier the longer he touched you, and you could feel the restraint breaking again in the way his hand gripped your waist, tugging you tighter against him. His thigh nudged between yours, his other hand sliding back down to your ass, this time giving a firm squeeze that made your breath hitch and your nails dig into his back through the shirt.

Foreman groaned softly into your mouth, kissing you with the kind of hunger he rarely let show. “You keep making those sounds,” he muttered, “and I’m not stopping.”

“Mmh—don’t. Don't stop."

That broke something in him. His hand slipped past the waistband now, dipping into your underwear just enough to grope you properly. His touch was rougher now, more confident, more impatient, and the way he held you made it impossible to think. You gasped against his mouth, bucking slightly into his hand as he kissed you again, swallowing the sound greedily.

He didn’t let up—kept touching, squeezing, dragging his fingers in just the right way while his other hand held your face, thumb brushing the edge of your lip. His kiss turned feverish again, devouring, mouth wet and hot and open over yours. You could barely hold yourself up with how he was working you over, and he knew it. His thigh shifted to support your weight, hands steady, body locking you in place.

You pulled him closer by the collar, grinding up against him in the heat of it, and he let out a breathy curse, pressing into your movements without hesitation. His hand gripped your ass tighter, guiding the motion, helping you find that friction you both needed so badly.

“I’m not taking you on the desk,” he whispered against your ear. “Not here.”

You groaned in protest, breathless, half out of your mind. “Why not?”

“Because I want more than five minutes with you. I want your legs over my shoulders. I want to take my time.” His voice was gravel now, so full of need and want it made your knees weak. “And I can’t do that here.”

“Then get us out of here.”

He kissed you one more time—long, slow, and deep. Then he stepped back just enough to fix your waistband, the heat of his hands lingering. He smoothed his palms down your sides, breathing heavy, forehead still pressed to yours for a beat longer before finally stepping back fully.

You adjusted your shirt with trembling fingers, heart pounding as you looked at him. His lips were slick with spit, jaw flexing as he stared at you like he wasn’t finished—because he wasn’t.

He ran a hand down his face, then picked his coat off the back of the chair. “My place.”

You nodded, still dazed, following after him when he unlocked the door.

The hallway was quiet again.

But this time, it felt charged.

And you knew you weren’t sleeping tonight.

Sterile Sheets and Quiet Sins

The office was quiet in that muffled kind of way hospitals always managed when it was well past midnight. Phones muted. Voices hushed. No code blues echoing through the halls. Just the sound of tired fluorescent lights humming above and the occasional rustle of papers or nurses’ shoes down the corridor. The diagnostics office was dimly lit, only the soft glow from the desk lamp painting a halo of warmth over reports and files spread across the table, long forgotten in the wake of your arrival.

You stood behind him in the cramped space, close enough that your hips brushed the back of his chair. Robert hadn't turned when you'd entered—he’d glanced up, blinked those tired eyes at you, lips curling faintly—but hadn’t said much, already knowing you weren’t there to talk about patients. He wasn’t stupid. The tension had been brewing for hours.

"You’re not supposed to be in here," he said lowly, voice rough from exhaustion or anticipation—you weren’t sure which, maybe both. He shifted a little in his chair, straightening, but made no real move to stop you when you reached over his shoulder and slowly pushed the folder on his lap off to the side of the desk.

"Then kick me out," you murmured near his ear, letting your hand drift down the front of his chest—his tie loosened, top buttons undone, the rise and fall of his breathing giving away the rest of his restraint. Your fingers paused just above his belt.

He let out a shaky breath. Didn’t move.

"Didn’t think so."

You leaned down and kissed the side of his neck, soft and slow, just enough to make him swallow hard. His Adam’s apple bobbed under your lips. One of his hands came up, slow, a little unsure, to touch your thigh where you’d rested it beside the chair. There was the smallest squeeze, nothing confident, nothing that made you feel like he was in control. It was sweet. Desperate. He just wanted to feel where you were.

"You’re such an ass," he muttered, though it had no real bite to it. If anything, it trembled at the end, he already knew he wasn’t going to win.

"You love it," you whispered against his ear, and then sank your teeth just a little into the soft skin there, making him hiss.

He jolted, knuckles tightening where his hand held your leg now. "Fuck—"

You moved around the chair slowly, stepping between his legs until he was looking up at you. That exhausted, beautiful face flushed with something warmer now, lips parted slightly, his blond hair slightly messy from hours of shift work and now the fingers you threaded into it as you tugged his head back. His eyes fluttered closed for a second, long lashes catching the low light, and then he looked up at you, almost pleading.

"You’re gonna get us caught," he whispered.

"Only if you can’t keep quiet."

You kissed him hard, without patience, you’d been thinking about it since the minute the sun went down. His hands flew up to your hips, gripping hard, and you could feel the way he pressed into you instinctively—he couldn’t help himself—already half-hard beneath those tight, creased slacks. You could’ve laughed at how fast he responded, but it felt too good, too hot, to pull away even for that.

He kissed back like he’d been starving for it all night, tongue sliding against yours in slow, eager strokes. There was no performance in it. No arrogant show. Just raw need.

You dropped into his lap, knees pressing into the cushion on either side of him, your hands on his jaw, his throat, his hair. He groaned into your mouth, a little choked-off sound, hips twitching up against you before he bit down on the sound too late. You didn’t slow down. You just pressed harder, rolled your hips forward, and kissed him deeper. His hands flew to your ass, squeezing tight—needy, grasping, more desperate than he probably realized.

“You’re shameless,” he mumbled breathlessly against your mouth.

“You’re hard,” you shot back.

He flushed deeper, mouth falling open again, and you took advantage of it immediately. Kissed him until he whimpered, until he was shifting underneath you, one hand still gripping your ass. He couldn’t decide if he wanted you closer or if he was trying to hold himself together.

You slid a hand between the two of you and pressed your palm against him through his pants. He jolted, gasping into your mouth as you rubbed slow, firm circles over the bulge in his lap. His breath stuttered against your lips.

“Fuck—ah—don’t—”

“Don’t what?” you whispered, dragging your mouth to his jaw as your hand squeezed a little harder, palm rubbing over the fabric with just enough friction to make his thighs tense beneath you. “Don’t touch you? Don’t make you feel good?”

He shook his head helplessly, breath shuddering. “I’m—fuck—‘m already close.”

You grinned against his skin. “That’s cute.”

He groaned, loud this time, and you reached up to cover his mouth with your hand while your other kept working his lap. You could feel the way he trembled beneath you, the way his hips couldn’t stop bucking up, chasing the pressure, chasing the edge. You were so close to ruining him right there, and he knew it. You could see it in his eyes. That dazed, ruined look. Embarrassed. Completely at your mercy.

But you didn’t give him the satisfaction.

You pulled your hand back suddenly, leaned away just enough to make his head thunk back against the chair in disbelief.

“Wait��wha—” He sounded wrecked, voice wrecked, and he blinked up at you like he couldn’t comprehend why you’d stopped.

You stood slowly, smoothing your clothes as if you hadn’t just had him seconds from falling apart under your hands.

“Get your stuff,” you said, breath still ragged but steadying. You smirked at the disbelief on his face. “We’re going to your place.”

He stared at you like you’d just slapped him, jaw slack, chest heaving. “You’re—are you serious?”

“You want me to make you come in your office?” you asked, arching a brow. “You want House to walk in and find you like that? Humping the air? Whimpering like some desperate intern?”

He looked away quickly, face burning as he adjusted himself with a shaky hand, mouth still parted, lips red and swollen from how hard you’d kissed him.

“…You’re evil,” he said finally, still not meeting your eyes.

You grinned. “You like it.”

“…Yeah.” His voice cracked, almost a whisper. “Yeah. I do.”

You held the door open for him, lips curling.

“Then hurry the fuck up.”

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platonicaxaxe · 2 months ago

Text

Deathtrap & Bob ²

Bob Reynolds (Sentry) x Ex Assassin Reader

Context: Bob's Confession

The Bob(sentry) Masterlist here

It had become a quiet routine over the past six months.

Late-night motorcycle rides under city lights. Chinese takeouts on rooftops, shared from greasy cartons with chopsticks and playful bickering over the last dumpling. Bob would sometimes float the food to her with a lazy telekinetic wave, earning a half-smile and an eye roll from Y/N—though she never told him to stop.

Every time she revved up that motorcycle and told him to hop on, he didn’t hesitate. And every time they sat together under the stars, saying little but feeling more, Bob felt a part of him stitching back together.

He started smiling more.

Started sleeping a little better.

He stopped asking Yelena about her, because now… he had her, even if it wasn’t official. Even if it was just something between two people who weren’t quite ready to say it out loud.

One night, after Y/N dropped him off two blocks from the tower—because she never crossed that line—Bob walked in through the elevator doors, practically glowing.

Yelena was sitting on the couch, nursing a bowl of popcorn and flipping through security footage, when she glanced up and caught the look on his face.

She arched a brow. “Someone’s happy.”

Bob flinched slightly, adjusting the paper bag in his arms filled with leftover dim sum. “U-uh, yeah. Just… good day.”

Yelena smirked knowingly. “Right. ‘Good day.’ You look like a teenager who just got kissed behind the gym.”

Bob turned crimson. “I—I didn’t… we didn’t—nothing happened.”

“Sure,” she said, popping a piece of popcorn in her mouth. “Totally believable. Your face is just naturally that red, huh?”

He groaned softly, shuffling toward the kitchen, but Yelena’s teasing faded as she watched him go.

Her smile softened.

Because for the first time in a long while, Bob Reynolds didn’t look like he was carrying the world on his shoulders.

He looked like a man who was finally finding a piece of it worth living for.

The hill was quiet—painted in shades of gold and violet as the sun slipped gently below the horizon. The city’s hum was distant here, replaced by the whisper of wind brushing over tall grass. A soft peace lingered in the air.

Bob sat beside Y/N, hands clasped tightly between his knees, heart hammering like a war drum. He’d gone up against monsters and broken realities—but nothing had ever terrified him like this moment.

“Y-Y/N,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

She turned her head toward him, a gentle question in her eyes.

“Thank you.”

She blinked. “For what?”

“For listening,” he said, his voice cracking slightly.

She gave him a small smile—one of those rare, real ones he was beginning to crave like oxygen. “I’m a good listener, Bob. You can pour your thoughts onto me anytime.”

Her voice was steady, grounding. Safe.

He turned fully now, facing her even though his palms were slick with nervous sweat.

“Y/N…”

She hummed, eyes still on the sunset, calm and quiet.

“I… I like you. A lot,” he confessed, the words tumbling out awkward and raw.

Silence.

The kind that made time stretch and the world hold its breath.

She looked at him then—really looked at him. No mask. No judgment. Just her, and him, in a moment they hadn’t planned for but couldn’t avoid.

She didn’t say a word.

Instead, she leaned in.

And kissed him.

It was soft at first—hesitant, like neither of them quite knew what to do with something so fragile. But as Bob’s hand found hers and her other hand touched his cheek, the kiss deepened—anchored in months of shared silences, secret smiles, and a bond built in quiet spaces.

When they finally pulled back, Bob was breathless, eyes wide in wonder.

“I didn’t think you—”

“I do,” she said softly. “I just needed to know you meant it.”

And under the fading light of day, with the wind whispering through the trees, Bob Reynolds smiled the kind of smile that didn’t need powers to feel infinite.

Somewhere far below the hill, tucked behind a camouflaged bush with far too many bodies squeezed into a cramped space…

“I swear to god, you’re on my hair!” Yelena hissed, smacking John Walker’s arm.

“Well, maybe don’t wear a braid like a tripwire,” he grumbled.

“Shh!” Ava whispered harshly. “They’re talking again!”

The group peered through their binoculars, night-vision goggles, and in Alexei’s case—a pair of absurdly large opera glasses he brought just for this.

Bucky, sitting awkwardly behind them all, sighed. “This is ridiculous.”

“No, this is science,” Yelena corrected. “We are observing the mating rituals of two emotionally repressed weirdos.”

“They're just talking,” Bucky deadpanned.

“Were talking,” Ava corrected, a smirk forming. “Oh wait—wait—is that a kiss?!”

Everyone leaned in with cartoonish synchronicity.

“Yup. That’s a kiss,” John muttered, raising his brow. “Didn’t know Bob had it in him.”

“Proud of little spark plug,” Alexei said, wiping a fake tear. “I remember when he was just floating nervously around tower like lost balloon.”

Yelena grinned. “Oh, look at him! Holding hands! He’s gonna combust, I swear—”

Snap.

Everyone froze.

“...What was that?” Ava asked, slowly turning her head.

Bucky lifted a branch and muttered, “You all broke the bush.”

Bob suddenly glanced around like he sensed something.

“Abort!” Yelena whispered.

“ABORT MISSION!” John shouted.

The whole team scrambled like busted raccoons—Bucky casually standing up and pretending to “stretch,” Alexei rolling down the hill by accident, Ava phasing through the ground to hide, and Yelena cursing in Russian as her boot got stuck.

Up on the hill, Y/N turned her head slightly.

“…Your friends are the worst spies I’ve ever seen,” she said, unimpressed.

Bob covered his face with both hands, cheeks bright red. “I’m so sorry.”

Y/N chuckled, leaning her head on his shoulder. “It’s okay. They’re kind of cute.”

Behind a half-crushed bush, Yelena pumped a fist. “She thinks we’re cute!”

The Avengers Tower common room was unusually loud that night—and not because of a mission briefing or a sparring match gone wrong.

Nope.

It was Bob Day.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Yelena said, hopping onto the back of the couch like a gremlin. “Walk us through it—everything. Where did the lips make contact? Did your powers surge? Did you float into the sky like a helium balloon?”

Bob, red-faced and curled on the couch like he was trying to sink into it, groaned. “Can we not do this?”

John Walker plopped next to him, smirking. “Sorry, buddy. You let yourself get caught smooching Deathtrap on a hilltop. That’s like begging for the rom-com commentary.”

“Her name’s not Deathtrap—” Bob muttered.

“That’s literally her Red Room code name,” Ava chimed in from the kitchen, spinning a spoon like a baton. “You’re dating someone named after a booby-trapped hallway. I’m both scared and impressed.”

Alexei shuffled in, wearing a “#TeamBob” apron he definitely had custom-made. “I am so proud of you, Bobby. You are flower blossoming in warzone. You kissed her! Like real grown man!”

Bob buried his face in his hands.

“Yelena told me she kissed him,” Ava said smugly.

“Oh. So proud of her,” Alexei corrected dramatically.

Bucky, leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee, chuckled. “To be fair, you’ve been walking around like a lovesick cloud for months.”

“I have not,” Bob protested weakly.

“You float when you think about her,” Yelena added. “Like, literally. Feet off the floor, dreamy smile, humming Frank Sinatra. It’s disgusting. I love it.”

“Guys, please,” Bob groaned.

“Are you two, like… a thing now?” Ava asked, plopping beside him. “Or is this still your tragic slow-burn fanfic?”

“Fanfic!” John repeated, pointing like it was a crime.

“We’re—” Bob stammered, “we’re… taking it slow.”

“Awwww,” everyone chorused.

Alexei wiped another fake tear. “He even says it like gentleman. Slow! Like hot stew.”

Bob stood abruptly. “Okay. I’m leaving. I’m going to go find Y/N and tell her my entire team is insane.”

“Oh tell her we said hi,” Yelena grinned. “And that we support her decision to tame the golden retriever with emotional damage.”

As Bob fled the room in embarrassment, everyone exchanged high-fives and chaotic cackling filled the tower.

Yelena leaned back, arms crossed proudly. “Our boy’s in love.”

“Terrifying,” Bucky said with a smirk. “But kind of adorable.”

#bob reynolds #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #buckysam #marvel #marvel mcu #mcu #sentry #marvel x you #marvel x reader #sentry x you #sentry x reader #fanfic #thunderbolts #the void #robert reynolds

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sunday-bug · 3 months ago

Note

Can you write about Bucky being insecure about his arm malfunctioning? Maybe you’ve only been dating for a short while and he is still wearing the gloves to cover it but something happens and he ends up having to tell you about it and he feels like you would reject him, but you’re really comforting and it’s like super fluffy

Oh my gosh I love this idea 🥲

🦾💗🦾💗🦾💗🦾💗🦾💗🦾💗🦾💗🦾💗🦾💗

The subzero February weather outside seemed to be seeping into your ancient apartment, and you pull your cardigan tighter against your body as you look out the window. You’ve been dating Bucky for a couple weeks, and he is over at your place for the first time tonight, dim sum in hand.

He’s setting up the takeout on your tiny dining table, still bundled up in his coat and typical layers.

“That all smells amazing,” you say, walking over to help him. “Can I take your coat?”

“Uh, sure,” he says, shrugging out of it, “Thanks, doll.” You hang it up on a hook by the door, and you both sit down to eat.

“Your apartment is neat,” he muses, biting into a dumpling. “How old is this building?”

“Hmm, like 1920’s, I think? I like it enough,” you answer, going for a steamed bun.

You are both quiet for a moment, enjoying the food, able to hear the wind outside and the sounds of your apartment.

Bucky glances over at your sink with a concerned look, “That faucet always drip?”

“Ah, yeah. I put in a maintenance request last week, but they haven’t gotten to it yet.”

“Let me take a look,” Bucky says, getting up from his chair and walking over to the sink. “You got a wrench?”

“Yeah, one sec,” you say, walking to the hall closet to get your small pink tool box. “This was a gift from my best friend when I moved in,” you explain, looking down with a blush at the hot pink tools.

Bucky chuckles lightly, “Hey, a wrench is a wrench.”

He grabs it from you with his gloved hand and positions himself on his back under the sink, using his phone as a flashlight with the other, ungloved hand. You’d asked him about the glove on your first date, and he’d given a non-answer so you dropped it, not wanting to press the issue. He starts tinkering with the pipe under the sink. You hear a strange clicking noise, like metal gears, before Bucky whispers, “What the hell?”, and sits up quickly, removing his glove.

You blink once. Twice. Is his hand… metal? He flexes the hand’s fingers, and you hear the clicking sound again.

“Uh…” you start to say, bringing him back to the moment.

He stands up suddenly, wide-eyed with worry, “I was-I was going to tell you… eventually. Um, yeah… my, my arm is metal.”

“Metal?” You ask, looking from his eyes to his hand.

“Vibranium, actually,” he clarifies. “I-I didn’t know how you’d react, and I didn’t want you to be scared or weirded out, so…”

“Bucky,” you cut him off, taking a step toward him, “it’s okay. Why would you be scared to tell me?”

He runs his hand through his hair, “I like you, and I just didn’t want you to, like, stop… seeing me.”

You step up to him, offering your hand. He gently offers his metal hand to you, and you take it in both of yours, “I like all of you, Bucky. Please don’t feel like you need to hide anything from me, or be worried about me bolting. I’m not going anywhere.” You squeeze the hand gently, “This is nothing to be ashamed of.”

You watch his shoulders relax as you reassure him, and he envelopes you in a hug.

“Thank you… I really needed to hear that. In that case, I don’t actually need a wrench,” he flexes his hand and gets back under the sink with a smile, fixing the leak in 10 seconds.

“Oh. That thing is handy,” you muse, “no pun intended.”

Bucky sits up and chuckles heartily, before his gaze softens, “Thanks again, for being understanding and just being you.”

“It’s nothing,” you shrug. “Now let’s finish dinner, and maybe you can fix my bent wheel axle next.”

“You got it, doll,” Bucky says with a laugh.

-the end-

Hope this is what you’re looking for 🦾

#bucky barnes #winter soldier #james buchanan barnes #sebastian stan #congressman barnes #thunderbolts #thunderbolts*#bucky’s metal arm #vibranium #bucky fic #bucky x you #bucky x reader #boyfriend!bucky #ask reply #inbox open #blurb requests

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dallaji · 2 years ago

Text

Save some room for us.

♡ bada lee x reader / NSFW❗

SUMMARY: This could’ve been a perfect night: it was your first time being invited to a sorority house party and you were promised alcohol, decent music and good company. So naturally, because nothing is ever truly perfect, your ex-situationship had to be a part of said sorority.

WORD COUNT: 7k

CW: ex-fwb, university setting, lengthy smut (like 50% ratio), both bada and reader are switches, relationship is the epitome of "its complicated", bada is a mess but please forgive her, author has never used a dating app before, kinda angsty?? hopeful ending though!!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this was inspired by this post by @moonsvrse but it honestly spiralled so um, i'm so sorry if it's not what you hoped it'd be (╥﹏╥).

————— ୨୧ —————

It was almost comedic, honestly.

When Minah had invited you to her sorority’s house party with a hopeful glimmer in her eyes, you had said yes without a second thought. It wasn’t your scene at all, but you and Minah shared a Sociolinguistics class that became considerably less boring once you sat down next to each other.

Usually a Saturday night was spent with your two roommates, eating at the cheap fast food joint around the corner of your shared dorm: you were always back in the comfort of your own room before the clock struck 11pm. For the sake of experience you decided, why not. Maybe you’ll finally get a taste of that wild university life.

Now, at 11:05pm, you were crammed into a sorority house with at least 150 other people: the bottom of your sneakers sticky after stepping in an unidentified puddle on the floor, speakers blaring whatever Spotify selected for the RapCaviar playlist that week, and a bottle of lukewarm beer in your hand. It was fine, though. Minah had introduced you to some of her friends who you had hit it off with quite effortlessly. One girl called Lusher couldn’t stop gushing over your outfit, though by this point she had knocked back quite a few drinks.

You were having a good time.

But it became comedic once you headed to the kitchen with the group of girls to grab more drinks and were faced with a ghost from a not-so-distant past.

Bada Lee was leaning over the kitchen counter, smiling sweetly at a girl chattering animatedly in front of her. She looked just as attractive as you remembered her. Perhaps even more so.

Naturally, your first ever house party had to be hosted by a sorority she was seemingly a part of.

Really. It was straight out of a comedy skit.

Bada and you had met on a dating app about a year ago: you saw a picture of a girl standing tall in a dance studio while donned in a sweater, jogger and Jordans, and you had instinctively swiped right. You don’t know what Bada had thought of your low effort selfie - posing inside a coffee shop - but it must’ve impressed her somehow. You were matched by the end of the day.

“fuck marry kill: han so hee, bruce wayne, me” had been her introductory line. And despite your answer (you had, in fact, answered that you would kill Bada), you did end up fucking after spending your first date at a dim sum restaurant.

This was, coincidentally, right after she had confessed she wasn’t interested in anything serious right now. She had still wanted to meet you however. You were, in her words, “too pretty not to take out”.

You didn’t have a lot of time to mull over the initial disappointment, because she was fingers deep in you later that same day; lips attached to your neck and a rogue hand fondling your breast. Regrettably, the sex had been ridiculously good.

Chin up, though! It wouldn’t be the last time.

The second “date” was spent watching a schlocky horror flick in her small dorm, before you ate her out on the couch until she was shaking and panting underneath you; bad movie and takeout pizza long forgotten. What you had initially disregarded as an incredible one-night stand became a biweekly hookup for the 5 months that followed.

The both of you had set rules in place, though these were mostly driven by Bada: this was just sex. She didn’t have the time or the “emotional bandwidth” for anything serious.

The problem was that the lines got blurred pretty quickly. After a month you had begun meeting up without the pretense of sex hanging in the air. You would rent some more schlocky horror movies together and actually watch them, popcorn propped up in your laps. She would wait up for you after class to go grab some coffee, even if her own schedule was mismatched. You had cooked chicken noodle soup in a pinch at her dorm when she was down with the flu. She would slip her arms around your waist from behind and call you her “baby” in the softest voice.

And yet, the rules were simple. There were no strings attached to this arrangement, and you would be reminded in subtle ways. While you knew how she liked her eggs in the morning and that she’d much rather spend her time on watching terrible TLC reality shows than studying for her finals, you had no clue who her friends were or what hometown she grew up in. Sometimes your text messages would go unread for days at a time, but she would still post on Instagram. Bada’s Tinder profile picture would change every now and then, despite her continuously finding her way back into your bed.

But it had been fine. The rules were simple, and it never really drove you to heartbreak levels of sadness. At the very worst you had been annoyed by her flakiness, but you enjoyed her company too much to ever mention it.

That was until you woke up one day to find yourself blocked on Instagram, her account set to private without a clarification or even a final goodbye. You had sent exactly one text asking if everything was alright, but it never went through. Her Tinder profile stopped updating. The message was more than clear, and you were not one to chase someone down. You were much too prideful for that.

A few days after being locked out of her life, your roommate (who had taken it upon herself to keep tabs on your past situationship) showed you a picture of Bada wrapped around a girl who was everything you were not: where she looked soft, you were sharp edges; where she was exuberant, you were placid. And then everything clicked. She had met someone who made her want to go steady, and that person was resoundingly not you.

You met your roommate’s eyes with such a forced indifference, it almost felt defiant: “Good for her.” You had mumbled, unpausing the TLC reality show Bada and you used to watch together.

Thus, exactly as she had bulldozed into your life, she had promptly disappeared. You, too, stopped using Tinder. When your friends asked about your dating life, you would shrug and say you didn’t have the time for it. But truthfully, the pit in your stomach became a permanent fixture whenever the topic arose.

You carried on with your life; there were no “stuffing yourself with chocolate” or “locking yourself in your bedroom sobbing”, but the hurt you felt was akin to pulling back when a candlelight grew bigger under the palm of your hand. You felt slighted and confused, frustrated that she never felt an explanation was warranted. But perhaps this was your problem: putting expectations on a woman like Bada, who had never done the same for you. The rules had been simple, after all.

It had been 7 months since then, and you had genuinely not thought of the girl in a long time. Yet there you stood, frozen in the doorframe as Minah and her friends rushed into the kitchen. The way Bada was looking at the girl in front of her almost reminded you of the way she looked at you on that faithful first date. The girl in question, however, looked nothing like the girlfriend she had introduced to the world months prior.

You were normal about it.

So normal that you had traced your steps back unnoticed and hid around the corner with your back pressed against the wall. A guy you didn’t know gawked at you like you were a safety risk, but you were too busy trying to think of an escape plan to really pay attention.

“Bada! We were looking for you earlier— Wait, Minah, where’d your friend go?” You heard Lusher’s voice question.

“Oh? I swear she was just behind me.”

“Friend?” The familiarity of Bada’s voice made your stomach churn. You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

“Yeah! Don’t think you know her, she’s in my Sociolinguistics class— Seriously, where’d she run off to?”

“Sociolinguistics, you said?”

You couldn’t listen to it any more: you downed your beer with a grimace, left the bottle on a nearby table and then pushed through the partygoers. The living room was currently packed with people dancing, playing beer pong or lazing on and around the couch. It was busy enough to drown yourself in the crowd and thus slip away from Minah’s searching eyes.

You found a free spot on the carpet in front of the television and sat down unceremoniously, legs crossed as the partygoers around you did not spare you a single glance; way more focused on things you weren’t doing. Like having fun, for example.

You suddenly became much more conscious of how loud the music was. It was absolutely going to leave your ears ringing once you were back in the safety of your own bed.

Fishing your phone out of your pocket, you sent your roommate a tentative text asking if she was still awake and could come pick you up. You would give it half an hour, you told yourself. If she didn’t get back to you beforehand, you were honest to god willing enough to call an Uber.

You kept track of your surroundings, dropping your head whenever you noticed Minah or her friends move around the room. You could’ve sworn they were calling for your name. Luckily no one else in the sorority house knew you, so your cover wasn’t blown.

It took 20 minutes.

You had been scrolling through your Instagram feed when a beer bottle was shoved under your nose. Flinching, as if you were snapped out of a trance, you looked up only to meet the eyes of the one person you had been trying to avoid.

Bada had come to sit next to you on the floor while you weren’t paying attention, and held out the drink with a soft smile. There was a point in time where you were obsessed with that smile, but right now it was ticking you off.

“Hey there.” She sounded painfully nonchalant as if she were greeting an old friend, voice loud enough to be audible over the music. You suppose she was, if you were to have a habit of making out with people you considered old friends.

You felt like a cornered animal; your brain urging you to just get up, walk away and call an Uber, but your body remained frozen in place. You took the beer from her hand with little acknowledgment, breaking your shared eye contact, and took an immediate swig from the bottle.

“Hi.” You muttered bitterly, staring straight ahead.

“Never pegged you as a sorority girl,” She was still looking at you, smile unmoving as she brought her own drink to her lips, “Minah invited you?”

“Yup.” You popped the ‘P’, turning the bottle in your hand to keep your eyes occupied. “Could say the same for you.”

“I moved out of my dorm at the start of the semester. This place is much bigger, so the sorority formalities are only a small sacrifice.” Bada laughed good-naturedly, as her head tilted to the side to get a better look at you, wordlessly encouraging you to meet her halfway.

You kept your eyes on your drink, fighting the urge to ask her what the hell she could even want from you. “Cool.”

“How have you been?”

Was she really going through all the steps of small talk 101?

“Fine, what about you?” You took another swig from the bottle.

“Okay,” Bada replied vaguely, but the amiable smile did not leave her face, “What is it you did again- Political science?”

You tightened the grip on your bottle and scoffed, tongue digging in the hollow of your cheek. She knew damn well that you had a major in Anthropology. The smart thing to do would be to get up and leave, but you liked having a retort ready: something Bada had said she loved about you in the past.

“What is it that you did? Computer science?” You looked up at Bada, who was very much a Dance major.

For the first time Bada’s smile faltered. Perhaps it was something about the look in your eyes or the combativeness in your body language, but it was enough to downturn the corners of her mouth. She put down her drink. “Sorry, I thought—” She began, suddenly unsure of what to say, “I was joking.”

“I don’t know what you think.” You retorted plainly. The words, which were clearly not only meant for the current conversation you were having, hung in the air like a dark cloud. “Look, I didn’t know you were going to be here. So before you get the wrong idea—”

“I’m sorry.” Bada blurted, but her eyes were no longer scanning your face and rather seemed much more preoccupied with the sleeves of her hoodie, slender fingers picking at the fabric.

“You already said that.” You sighed, not letting up. You didn’t like the sudden rigidity in her posture, but it was hard not to feel like your anger was well founded.

“I know you wouldn’t know I would be here. It’s not like I…” She glanced up at the ceiling and gestured vaguely with her hands. “It’s not like you would’ve had a way of finding out.”

You arched an eyebrow, quietly waiting for her to continue.

Bada pressed her lips together in a fine line, worrying the skin between her teeth as she pondered her next words carefully. “I’m sorry for the way I left things.” Finally, she turned to look at you, her eyes intense and pleading. For a second your mouth went dry, vaguely registering how close she was. You wanted to scoot away, but her stare was begging you to hear her out. “A lot was happening— A lot has happened. I was a complete coward, and so immature, I- I’ve regretted it since.”

“You could’ve unblocked me any time.” You spoke slowly.

“I could’ve.” Bada agreed, scanning your face. “Maybe I’m still a coward. But then I saw you just now and…” Her lips parted as she mulled over her next words: “I don’t know. I just needed to talk to you.”

The bottle of beer was becoming lukewarm in your hold. You didn’t like seeing this Bada: guilt and shame written all over her face and shrunken into herself. It seemed completely unnatural to the girl you had come to know for those 5 months, who did everything but make herself smaller. You desperately wanted to tell her everything was okay, but you knew you would regret leaving things unsaid. Even now, when you think back to the moment where you found yourself locked out of all her accounts, you could feel your heart plummeting down your chest so vividly; as if you were experiencing it all over again.

“You didn’t owe me a lot,” You admitted, attempting to hide the quiver in your voice, feeling silly as soon as the words had left you, “but you could’ve said something. Anything.”

“Yes.” Her voice was almost a whisper, eyes downcast. “I want to tell you everything that was going through my mind at the time but, maybe not now.”

“Maybe not now.” You concurred. Not because you weren’t near desperate to know, but rather the timing didn’t feel right. You almost felt like she had to fight for the right to tell you what had happened. She should have to fight for your listening ear.

“You have actually been doing good?” Your eyes met again, and something about the way she spoke sounded hopeful; prodding.

“I’ve been good.” You replied, unsure of how to navigate the conversation any further.

You had half expected her to get up and leave with that, perhaps deem this closure enough to go on with her night, but she stayed put. Bada took another sip of her beer, the way her shoulders sagged an indication of how uneasy she felt. Yet she stayed put. You took this moment to take her in with a more discerning eye: her hair loose and dyed in streaks as opposed to the blonde head of hair you had met her with. She was in an oversized t-shirt and baggy pants, bright tech sneakers carrying over the colors of her outfit. Just as she had been in the past, she was your polar opposite. You were all sleek lines, minimalism and soft colors, your belted loose-fitting dress pants not fitting the energy of the party whatsoever.

Then, you noticed something colorful on her forearm.

“Is that a breakup tattoo?” You blurted dryly, eyes glued to the intricate wave drawn on her skin.

Bada chuckled, holding out her arm with a smile. “Something like that.”

“Never pegged you as the type.” You parroted the drawl of the same words she had used earlier, and Bada shook her head with a disbelieving grin. “When’d you get it?”

Her grin wavered, slowly morphing into something more calculating as she tilted her head to lock eyes with you once more: “About 7 months ago, give or take.”

————— ୨୧ —————

You barely noticed the doorknob pressing into your lower back as Bada held you down by your hips, your lips locked in a hungry kiss as the muffled sounds of the party downstairs thumped underneath you. Your fingers carded through her hair as she pushed her tongue past with a deep, shaky inhale through her nostrils. One of her hands came up to cradle the side of your face, deepening the kiss with the urgency of a starved person zeroing in on their last meal: if they wavered, it may be frisked away from under their nose.

The kiss was all spit and heavy breathing, mouths gliding together fluidly as if you had choreographed this in the past. Bada hummed approvingly into your mouth as your hands found the hem of her shirt and pulled upwards, eager to feel her bare skin again. She broke the kiss with a wet noise, albeit apprehensively, and let you tug the fabric off, leaving her in a mere sports bra. Your hands smoothed along her waist, reacquainting yourself as she licked into your mouth again without hesitation, now both hands cradling your face as if she was marveling at a treasure.

A particularly eager suck on your tongue made you moan against her lips, and Bada parted the kiss with a smug grin, half-lidded eyes scanning your features in amazement. “Your turn.” She whispered, gaze back on your saliva-slicked lips.

Before she could kiss you again, you crossed your arms over your stomach and pulled your sweater over your head, revealing a non-padded lace bra; the sheer fabric leaving little to the imagination. Something about the look in Bada’s eyes deepened as you both kicked your shoes off in a hurry, and she made immediate work of your belt: tugging at it roughly, your hips pulled forward by the force she exerted, before unhooking the clasp and throwing the garment on the pile of clothes left in your shared wake.

She planted one hand next to your head, against the wooden door, as the other one clutched onto your waist with a burning touch, effectively keeping you in place. Her parted lips attached themselves to the crook of your neck and she let her tongue swirl against the patch of skin, drawing a quivery exhale from you. Baring your neck further, you allowed her to mark you up without a second thought, and she seemed to take that job very seriously.

“You haven’t changed.” Bada noted against your skin, her breath skirting along your earlobe. Something about the tone of her voice sounded delighted at the fact, and you felt your lower stomach warm up impossibly more.

She kissed her way to your collarbones, your skin shivering at the sensation and letting your hands find purchase atop her shoulders. You let your head fall back against the door with a quiet ‘thud’, back arching when she sucked another hickey right above your cleavage. Then, her hands came up to your chest, squeezing your breasts together and watching the way your cleavage deepened. She bent over and licked up a stripe along the slit, tongue digging into the crease. You pushed your chest out instinctively, sucking in your lower lip.

Bada locked eyes with you as she brought her lips to one of your breasts, letting her tongue lap across the lace fabric covering your nipples. Your hand came up to tuck her hair behind her ear, your movements delicate as she licked at your other nipple, forcing them to stiffen under the heat of her tongue. Her soft hums reverberated against your skin, her thumbs digging right below the hem of your bra and skirting along your underbreasts.

Impatiently you brought your hand up to your back and unclasped your bra. Bada moved away, watching the fabric drop to the floor with a bemused expression, but her hands immediately pressed over your breasts in a possessive manner, kneading the flesh before locking your lips once again. Teeth clashed together, the desperation in both your ministrations making the kiss so uncoordinated you were both left panting. She nudged her hips against yours, writhing against you as your name left her lips.

Your fingers meaningfully hooked underneath the straps of her sports bra. “Your turn.” You mimicked her request from earlier, and she obeyed with a pompous grin.

But as usual, she had to one up you with a burning defiance in her eyes: she hooked her thumbs into her pants and tugged them off, underwear following suit. Eager hands grabbed onto your hips again as she rotated your positions; your back facing the bed.

“Try to keep up.” She whispered hotly against your mouth, the two of you immediately turning into a mess of limbs and unfocused kisses as she steadily walked you towards her bed.

The back of your knees hit the edge of her mattress, and you toppled backwards, barely able to register your new position before nimble fingers began unbuttoning your dress pants. Resting on your forearms, you raised your hips to give her easy access and soon enough she pulled off your final garments with haste; leaving the both of you completely bare.

You scooted backwards as Bada climbed on top of you, your arms instinctively wrapping around her waist as she leaned down to kiss your lips, her ass resting in your lap. You had no time to feel skittish about the state you were in, much too familiar with the scenario as Bada’s well acquainted touch found its way to your breasts again, rolling your nipples between her fingers. You missed this, but you would never admit that to her.

Suddenly, she parted the kiss to instead look down at you contemplatively. You tilted your head, a snarky response on the tip of your tongue before the palm of her hand pressed down right above your chest, halting your actions. Her eyes scanned along your figure ravenously, and you, too, took her in: she was somehow both lean and soft, her hair falling over her shoulders like a curtain, strong thighs keeping your hips in place. She was beautiful.

“Do you trust me?” She asked, forefinger tilting your chin upwards.

“No.” You replied honestly, not breaking eye contact.

She grinned wider, finding tremendous joy in your words before she climbed off of you. Leaning over her bed, she began rummaging through her bedside table drawer as you sat up, watching her curiously. You heard a clanging noise when she pulled something silvery out, hiding it behind her back before you could properly register what it was.

“Turn around for me.” She requested, and because you were all bark and no bite, you obeyed.

As soon as your back was facing her, you felt her gentle touch grab a hold of both your wrists, crossing them against your lower back. You felt the cold press of something sharp close around them and lock into place, and heat pooled in your lower stomach, immediately recognizing what she was doing.

You looked down at the handcuffs wrapped around your wrists over your shoulder before meeting Bada’s smug grin and blown pupils: as if her wildest dreams had just come true. She looked like she was ready to devour you.

“How many girls wore this before me?” You asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” She responded blithely, letting your fingers tangle together affectionately as she pressed a sweet kiss on your bare shoulder.

“Maybe I would.”

“Why does it matter if none of them look even half as good as you do?” She gave the cuffs a playful tug, nuzzling the back of your neck fondly before moving to lie down flat on her back; a hand pressed on your shoulder signaling you to stay put.

“And how many girls have you told the same thing?” You wondered loudly, unable to hide your own smile when Bada laughed at your words.

“Seems I have a lot to make up to you.” Her hands grabbed onto your hips and she began pulling you backwards. “Get on top of me, baby.”

Once again you obeyed because, well, she did have a lot to make up to you. And the way she called you 'baby' had you dripping.

Through her guiding motions, you scooted back on your knees until they were pressing down on either side of her head; Bada’s hands immediately came up to smooth along your curves until she cupped your ass, watching the jiggle as if she was hypnotized. Her eager touch almost made you purr, and you instinctively straightened your back to move all your weight to your legs, opening up for her as your arms were inebriated by the tight hold of Bada’s handcuffs.

“Good girl.” She crooned. And then, her hand came down to slap your ass.

You let out a surprised gasp but didn’t move. Bada hummed from beneath you, appreciating your responsiveness and letting her nails scrape along the back of your thighs, feeling you shiver under her touch.

“Unfair that you’re still so pretty from this angle.” Bada mumbled, mostly to herself. She placed her palms on your asscheecks and parted them, and you bent forward ever-so-slightly out of instinct, sinking deeper into the mattress.

Bada cooed and before you realized it, her hand was on you. Her slender fingers dragged along your glossy folds and coated your heat with your own wetness. You sucked in your lower lip, effectively muffling a surprised moan, but leaned into her touch all the same. Then, she blew cold air against you, gloating over the shiver that ran down your spine.

“So pretty.” She reaffirmed, bringing her fingers to her lips and licking them clean, her other hand spreading your folds.

You almost expected her to ask you to start begging: she had always relished in breaking down your rebellious defenses until you would desperately beg her for more. This time, however, she seemed just as keen as you - if not more - to get her hands on you. Saliva-covered fingers pressed back against your folds and she began drawing circles across them with a maddeningly soft pressure. A shaky exhale left you, hands curling into fists at your lower back as you slowly began grinding your hips against her touch, hoping to find more friction.

“That’s it.” She muttered, adding more pressure to her ministrations and beckoning you closer and closer, her other hand squeezing your ass.

With a particularly deep rub, you moaned her name and sank lower, the strain of holding yourself up while she was driving you mad almost unbearable. Bada groaned underneath your weight, basking in the way your hips gyrated with your heat so close to her face and she rewarded you by caressing her thumb along your entrance; circling it with more force as soon as she heard you keen. You felt heat course up your spine, immediately chasing her thumb through the grinding motions of your hips.

Bada, who had already found your most sensitive spot, giggled; prodding at your entrance with a forced carefulness she damn well knew you didn’t need. With a high-pitched whine, as the circling of her fingers against your clit sped up, you arched your back, wrists tugging at your handcuffs in frustration as she continued teasing you.

Finally, her thumb pressed into you, the circling of her wrist against you not pausing and you moaned, pushing your hips out impossibly further until Bada had to give your ass another forceful squeeze, urging you to stay put. She fingered you with delight and you felt yourself drip under her care, but what really made you twitch dangerously was the feel of her parted lips moving along your hip. She dug her teeth into your skin and slapped your ass once more, your body flinching inadvertently causing you to sink down on her finger with more force.

You knew you looked like a desperate mess, mindlessly chasing down whatever she was willing to give to you, but it didn’t stop you from whining out her name, your lower stomach clenching.

“You better not be close already, baby.” You were surprised by how out of breath and wrecked she sounded while you hadn’t even gotten to properly touch her yet. You once again tugged at the handcuffs and you heard her tut. “So impatient.”

She removed her thumb and you almost cussed at her, but were quickly shut up when both hands moved to your hips in a vice grip, pulling you directly onto her open mouth. A moan got stuck in your throat and you almost faltered, nearly falling forward but forcing your legs to keep you upright.

Bada began swirling her tongue along your folds as if she was parched, hands keeping your cheeks spread as she groaned hungrily against you. Bobbing her head up and down, she lapped at you, tongue digging into your folds before giving your clit a sharp suck; over and over again.

“Bada…” You moaned, head dropping and only having half a mind to wonder if anyone downstairs could hear you. You realized you kind of didn’t care when Bada was making the kind of noises underneath as if you were doing her a favor.

You had stopped moving your hips, too stunned from pleasure to even consider it, until Bada began forcing you to do so; tight grip on your hips as she lightly bounced you up and down against her mouth. You began rocking back, cursing softly when Bada slurped under you, drinking at the wetness she continuously drew out of you.

You then noticed Bada had spread her legs with a hum, her own hips gyrating against nothing as she ate you out. She was getting off to this, and you felt yourself go all the more insane with want. She was so wet and you wanted to touch her so badly, but your shoulders started to strain through the position you were locked into.

“Bada,” You started, but another eager suck made you cut yourself off with a moan. “Let me—”

She caught her breath against you, chest heaving, still insufferable enough to find the energy to say: “Be my guest.”

She dug right back in, this time her tongue prodding against your entrance, purposefully leaving you a despairing mess in your handcuffs.

You didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of begging for a release from your confines so you dropped forward, face down and ass up, forcing Bada to sit up a little higher to keep her lips pressed against you. You heard her curse.

You didn’t waste any time teasing her, instead immediately closing your lips around her glistening folds. There was no need to toy with her, because her thighs twitched as soon as your lips met her heat, and you felt her moans vibrate against you. You sucked harshly on a bundle of nerves before collecting spit in your mouth and coating her with it, slurping around her breathlessly. Her thighs spread apart even further and you felt her lips falter against you, overcome with pleasure as she began grinding her hips up into your mouth.

Soon you realized she was much closer than you had anticipated because she began sucking on your clit even harder, in complete and utter desperation, before digging her tongue into your entrance, nails pressing crescent marks into your asscheeks. You ground back against her mouth as you tried to keep a steady pressure on her, licking her with fast but deep strokes. You felt a familiar pressure tighten in your stomach and became involuntarily more erratic, muttering soft ‘uh-huh’’s to encourage her to keep going at the exact pace she was using on you.

Bada whined against you, the muscles in her upper thighs tightening next to your head. “So close—” She gasped, and you closed your lips around her clit and began sucking. Simultaneously, she dug her tongue impossibly deeper into your entrance.

That’s what did you in: a moan got stuck in your throat as you felt your full body quiver at the orgasm that rippled through you. Bada let out a guttural moan underneath you, her thighs clenching around your head and toes curling as she shook incessantly. Rocking your hips back against her in a daze, she continued to suck on you through your orgasm as you lapped at her clit, soon enough the both of you shivering against each other from oversensitivity.

Panting, you dropped yourself next to her, your legs and shoulders straining from exertion. You were about to ask her to get the handcuffs off of you, until she crawled on top of you.

She was completely flushed, bangs sticking to her forehead, nipples perked and chest heaving as she pinned you down against her pillows, your wrists still pressed into your lower back.

“Not done.” Bada managed to gasp out as she swept down for a needy kiss, your tongues meeting messily through parted lips. You did not know where she was gathering the energy from, but her hands were back on your hips to slide you further down the bed.

She threw her right leg over yours and you immediately realized what she was trying to do. “Can you still cum like this?” She wondered coyly, angling her hips against yours before pulling your own leg up, hooking your heel over her shoulder.

Her hold on you was burning, almost having the potential to leave bruises behind, and you didn’t even know how you felt yourself getting wet all over again. The handcuffs were digging painfully into your lower back but you didn’t care, your lips parted in anticipation as Bada stared you down with such a deep longing it made your stomach coil. She twisted her head and pressed a kiss to your ankle, never breaking eye contact with you, before grinding her hips against you in a tentative manner; her folds gliding flush against yours.

You bit down on your lower lip as you felt her wetness grind against you, a quiet whimper slipping past and the smile on Bada’s face widened, eyes turning into crescent moons despite her own excitement.

Yeah, you could still cum like this, and she knew it.

She began working up a pace against you, first slow and deep, and then letting it build up to something faster. The way your mounds met each other had your eyes rolling back, soft moans falling from your lips as your hips ground against each other. Never once did her eyes leave you and you almost felt drunk off her attention, eyes falling shut as she hummed in pleasure.

The bed shook, headrest slamming against the wall over and over again with the quickening of her pace. Bada brought a hand to your breast, kneading it into her palm as she spoke lowly, her own eyes half-lidded in exhilaration: “Can anyone else fuck you this good?”

Your lips parted in a gasp, your desire so intense you didn’t even know what you wanted to say. You wanted to say something snarky, but the urge to burst into tears and tell her ‘only you can’ closed around your throat like an invisible hand. Bada’s head fell back as both of your hips moved impossible faster; her tongue dragging messily along your ankle in a complete daze as you panted her name.

“Answer me.” She gasped, the hand that was previously preoccupied with your breast coming up to grab a tight hold of your chin. And as if to prove her point, she began fucking you. Hard and deep, your body shaking with every thrust.

Your brain was short-circuiting and you shook your head, eyes shut tight. “N- no…”

Then, her hand moved to your throat squeezing lightly, but possessively. “Say it.”

Feeling her hips falter, you panicked and cried underneath her: “No one can fuck me this good!”

Bada hummed approvingly, picking up the pace again and sliding her hand to the back of your neck. “That’s my baby.” She leaned down, your leg still hooked over her shoulder and stretching along with her movements, yet the pace at which she fucked into you never wavered. “Stick your tongue out.”.

Disoriented, you arched your neck and obeyed, her own tongue gliding against yours in such a filthy manner you became lightheaded. Then, she closed her lips around the wet muscle with a moan, before meeting your mouth in a full kiss that was more exchanging saliva than anything else.

She parted and moved back, her hips pausing momentarily as she looked to where your vaginas met. Before you could object at her lack of movement, she lowered her head and slowly let her spit dribble from her lips and fall onto your folds. Immediately, she picked up the pace again, watching the way the added lubrication made the two of you slide together even easier. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of her.

Bada met your gaze with a wolfish grin and immediately switched gears to an unforgiving pace, the sound of wetness and skin slapping together filling the room as you couldn’t even register the music that was still playing downstairs. You felt the pressure in your upper thighs build up again at a dizzyingly fast pace, and cursed under your breath.

“Please…” You gasped as you threw your head back, unsure what you were begging for but writhing your hips against hers so frantically the message should be anything but unclear.

“Am I gonna make you come again, baby?” Bada panted, slamming herself harder against you.

You nodded, feverishly: “I’m gonna- I need—” But the words died on your lips as your lower stomach folded dangerously. You needed to come. You needed Bada to make you come.

A palm flattened between your breasts as Bada leaned down on you impossibly harder, keeping you in place as her thrusts took your breath away. Without your body giving you another warning, you orgasmed a second time with Bada’s name in your mouth, legs spasming in her hold as she forcibly held you down; taking in every second of the ecstasy that overtook you with such a warmth in her gaze you almost felt yourself overcome with the urge to burst into tears again.

“So beautiful…” She whispered. “That’s it.” Her hands caressed up and down your thighs, whispering praises into the air to will the heaving of your chest away, feeling your heartbeat under the palm of her hand.

Finally, Bada dropped herself onto the bed next to you entirely out of breath with a self-satisfied grin, officially having spent the last bit of energy that was left in her. You watched her catch her breath with a fond gaze, wanting to reach out and hold her but being held back by the jingle of the handcuffs.

Bada snapped out of her stupor, almost appearing flustered for leaving you in such a state, and helped you sit up with a soft encouragement, promptly freeing you from your handcuffs. You felt a sharp strain in your shoulders as you shook them loose, a little dumbfounded when you noticed the red marks around your wrists.

Bada had noticed it as well and gently grabbed a hold of your hands, thumbs caressing along the bruises with a touch so careful it seemed she thought you would shatter. Slowly, she brought your wrists higher and began pressing delicate kisses against them.

“Sorry…” She said, sheepishly, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to scold her. Instead, you looked back at her with a dazed expression, heart constricting in your chest. You hadn’t seen this level of gentleness from her before.

Leaning over her bed, Bada grabbed an unopened bottle of water and uncapped it before handing it to you. You accepted it wordlessly, her actions making you aware of how parched your mouth felt.

Taking big gulps, you hoped to ease away the tension building up in your chest. Perhaps it was due to your post-orgasm state, but you felt anxiety spike up your heart rate as your head flooded with all kinds of thoughts. Was this a one-off? Was she going to ghost you again? Momentarily you felt like an idiot for even landing yourself in such a position, but before you could climb out of bed Bada flipped her blanket open.

“Tired?” She asked, picking up on how quiet you had become but assuming it was due to exhaustion.

You nodded timidly and crawled under the blanket with her, Bada slotting herself against you like a missing puzzle piece. Her fingers found the bruise at your lower back, where the handcuffs had been scraping against, and drew soothing circles against the skin. She mumbled something about having ointment for bruises, but the both of you were too slumped to get out of bed.

You nestled back against her despite the way your head yelled at you to take your leave, much too enthralled with the way her arm curled around your waist protectively. Bada giggled when she felt you snuggle closer and pressed a soft kiss to your neck, inhaling your scent with a hum.

The music downstairs had stopped and the house seemed quiet, the last guests likely having left ages ago, so all you could focus on was Bada’s soft breathing which slowed down by the minute. Your own eyelids began to feel droopy, too, and right before the both of you fell asleep, you felt her hold on you tighten.

————— ୨୧ —————

Your eyes snapped open, heart hammering in your chest as you became aware of your surroundings. Bada’s arms were still around you, loosely, as she slept soundly next to you. It was still dark outside but you saw the early beginnings of sunrise setting in the distant sky, signaling it was the very early morning. As your hands came up to rub your eyes, you became aware of the ache in your wrists and mentally cursed yourself.

This was easily the most irresponsible thing you’ve ever done: letting yourself be lured right back into Bada’s bed after she had passed you off like you meant nothing. You couldn’t believe how naive you had been; how enchanted you were by her every time. Staying here was setting yourself up for heartbreak, when she would inevitably ask you why you were still at the sorority.

You needed to leave.

Images of the night you had spent together flashed in front of your eyes, and you felt your lower stomach heat up.

You needed a lobotomy.

Slowly you grabbed a hold of Bada’s arm curled around your waist, the girl still sleeping serenely and entirely unaware of your panicked state, and moved it off of you. You paid close attention to her breathing, which remained even, and then deemed it safe enough to crawl out of bed. Your legs were wobbly once you stood, the strain caused by the position you had underneath her from the night before hitting you like a truck. You winced, groggily looking around as your eyes got used to the darkness and trying to navigate where your clothes had gone.

Before you could move to the other corner of the room, you felt a hand curl around your forearm. You gasped in surprise, whipping your head around to find Bada peering up at you through sleepy eyes. Your chest constricted painfully.

“Where ‘r you going?” She slurred, waking up slowly as the grip on your arm tightened.

“I…” You began, but the words got stuck in your throat once you saw the realization fall over her face. She frowned.

“Please don’t go,” Bada pleaded, voice much clearer this time though still hoarse with sleep, “Stay the night.”

“Bada, I don’t know if that’s a good idea…”

“Please,” She repeated, and she sounded so heartbroken you could die. “Let’s start over.”

You gazed back at her in wonder, trying to search her face for more clarity but all you found was too much. The look in her eyes was so vulnerable, so desperate.

She gave your arm a tug and whispered: “We can start over. Please get back in bed.”

You carefully moved your arm out of her grip, but she let go easily: not because she wanted to, but because she understood it wasn’t fair to hold you hostage. She wasn’t crying, but the way she looked up at you made you wish she was.

“I just- I’m going to use the bathroom.” You mumbled and immediately willed yourself to look away. You couldn’t take it anymore.

Your throat closed up painfully as you walked to the other side of the room and bent over to pick up your clothes. As you pulled your underwear on, you felt Bada’s prodding eyes in your back. With the rest of your clothes in your arms, you walked over to the door without sparing her a single glance, unlocked it and stepped out into the hallway. You clenched your jaw to hold back the tears from falling. The room remained quiet.

You found the bathroom right across Bada’s bedroom, and sat down on the shut toilet seat with your hands in your hair. You knew that you weren’t being totally unreasonable— so why did you feel like the worst, most cruel person in the world?

With a deep, shaky sigh you pulled your phone out of the pocket of your dress pants: it was 5:30am on the dot. Your roommate hadn’t responded to your text message yet, indicating that she had been fast asleep the entire time.

As you searched for an Uber in the area willing to drive this early, your phone dinged with a familiar notification.

Tinder.

You forgot you still had that installed.

You tapped the notification bubble and a familiar chat room opened up; one of Bada’s mirror selfies staring back at you at the top of the screen.

Today 5:36am fuck marry kill: kim tae ri, dick grayson, me

A breathless laugh escaped you.

Suddenly, you were filled with a clarity, thinking of the wave tattooed on her forearm.

You were willing to take the plunge.

Slowly, you stood up, leaving your clothes behind on the bathroom floor and headed back into Bada’s room. She was wide awake, face lit up by her phone screen as she looked up at you in apparent shock and gratitude.

You crawled back in bed, Bada’s arms curling back around your waist.

#bada lee x reader #swf2 #bada lee #street woman fighter 2 #bada lee smut #dalla!writes #i guess bada reads dc comics now idk

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emsprovisions · 9 months ago

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Happy Sunday everyone! Manifesting the dodgers win today 🕯️🕯️🕯️ Manifesting 5x05 will air tomorrow as scheduled 🕯️🕯️🕯️

TK decides to order dim sum.

He also decides it’s not weird. He needs to eat. Carlos needs to eat. Carlos is coming over for work purposes. Plus they had lunch together literally earlier today. It’s not a date. It wouldn’t look like a date. There is absolutely nothing sexy about takeout containers full of steamed buns and noodles and a missing wife’s case file spread out over the dining table.

Except there’s a tiny, Nancy-sounding voice that keeps nagging at the back of TK’s mind that is telling him, “Dude. This totally feels like a date.”

TK decides to ignore that voice too.

Dinner arrives shortly after nine, which is also when TK gets a text from Carlos letting him know he’s on his way.

TK doesn’t know why he trades his t-shirt for a cashmere black sweater with thin white stripes, but if he had to be interrogated, he would say he’s chilly from the cool October evening and the drafty, thin walls of his apartment complex. The A/C never regulates well, he would say. And besides, it’s just a sweater.

Thank you for the tags @ironheartwriter @heartstringsduet

No pressure tagging @strandnreyes @reyesstrand @lightningboltreader @alrightbuckaroo @lemonlyman-dotcom @paperstorm @butchreyes @chicgeekgirl89 @eclectic-sassycoweyes @carlos-in-glasses @corsage @firstprince-history-huh @decafdino @welcometololaland @nisbanisba @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @bonheur-cafe @tellmegoodbye +Open 🏷️

#seven sentence sunday #tarlos #911 lone star #em writes #top secret au

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achinafood · 6 days ago

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Discovering the Rich Flavors of Chinese Cuisine

Chinese cuisine is one of the oldest and most diverse culinary traditions in the world. With a history that spans thousands of years, it offers an extraordinary range of flavors, techniques, and ingredients. From street food stalls in Beijing to family kitchens in Sichuan, Chinese food reflects the culture, geography, and philosophy of its people.

🌍 A Cuisine of Regional Diversity

China is a vast country with numerous regional cuisines, each with its own unique characteristics:

Cantonese (Yue) Cuisine – Known for its fresh seafood, dim sum, and lightly seasoned dishes that emphasize the original flavor of ingredients.

Sichuan (Chuan) Cuisine – Famous for its bold and spicy flavors, especially the numbing heat of Sichuan peppercorns. Dishes like Mapo Tofu and Kung Pao Chicken are internationally loved.

Shandong (Lu) Cuisine – Rich in seafood and known for its hearty flavors and strong techniques like deep-frying and braising.

Jiangsu (Su) Cuisine – Elegant and refined, often using delicate cooking methods to enhance freshness.

Hunan Cuisine – Spicier than Sichuan, it uses fresh chili peppers and is often oilier and more aromatic.

Zhejiang, Anhui, and Fujian cuisines each have their own styles, known respectively for freshness, wild ingredients, and complex broths.

🍜 Iconic Chinese Dishes

Some Chinese dishes have earned worldwide fame and are staples in Chinese households:

Peking Duck – A crispy, aromatic duck dish served with pancakes, scallions, and sweet bean sauce.

Hot Pot – A communal meal where diners cook meats, seafood, and vegetables in a simmering pot of broth at the table.

Xiao Long Bao – Soup-filled dumplings from Jiangnan, beloved for their juicy and flavorful interior.

Chow Mein and Fried Rice – Adaptable stir-fried dishes that vary from region to region.

Sweet and Sour Pork, Braised Pork Belly, and Steamed Fish with Ginger and Scallions are also popular comfort foods.

🍵 Chinese Food Culture

In Chinese culture, food is more than sustenance—it's a way to connect with family and friends. Meals are often shared, and harmony in flavors and balance in nutrition are key. Traditional Chinese medicine also plays a role, with food seen as having properties that affect health and energy.

🧧 Festivals and Food

Chinese cuisine is deeply tied to festivals and seasons:

Dumplings (Jiaozi) are eaten during Chinese New Year to symbolize wealth.

Mooncakes are enjoyed during the Mid-Autumn Festival.

Zongzi (sticky rice wrapped in bamboo leaves) are traditional during the Dragon Boat Festival.

🌐 Global Influence

Today, Chinese food is loved around the world. Whether it's American-Chinese takeout, traditional Cantonese banquets in Hong Kong, or modern fusion restaurants, the influence of Chinese cuisine is everywhere.

✨ Conclusion

Chinese food is not just about what’s on the plate—it’s about the story behind every dish, the history of every flavor, and the community around every meal. Whether you're tasting spicy Sichuan hot pot or sipping on a bowl of wonton soup, you’re experiencing a piece of China’s rich and flavorful heritage.

So come hungry and stay curious—Chinese cuisine has something for everyone.

If you want to learn how to make Chinese food, please see here: https://www.achinafood.com

#food

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blue-disco-lights · 2 years ago

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🌿w e e k l y 🍄 t a g 🕯️ w e d n e s d a y🌙

Thank you @darlingian for creating this - and thank you to this incredible group of lovely people for tagging me! @energievie @creepkinginc @stocious @mybrainismelted @dynamic-power @rayrayor @deedala @mmmichyyy @such-a-barbarian @skylerwinchester @jrooc @lingy910y @palepinkgoat

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which character from any media would you like to have as a father? #1 devoted dad Charles Ingalls, from Little House on the Prairie

if money, laws, time, and effort were no object, what animal would you want to have? A wall-size aquarium, and marine biology experts to help me keep those fishies thriving

what is your Chinese takeout order? every single thing on the dim sum menu. too much?

what's your favorite emoji? I’m currently very into 🫠

would you rather have a library, greenhouse, or home theater in your house? Library - gimme all the shelf space. Will try not to organize by color.

what childhood tv show do you think of the most fondly? You Can’t Do That on Television (hi to all my Canadian friends)

what was your tumblr like when you first joined? It was only like a year and a half ago, so a sparser version of what it is now :)

what clothing style do you love but don't feel compelled to replicate yourself? I love the tailoring and structure of clothes from the 1940s & 50s, but very much don’t have the energy, attention span or the occassion to wear anything like that. So beautiful though.

if you were plopped into a fictional world, which one would you know the layout of the best? All the sets on Beverly Hills 90210?

what is your favorite piece of art? anything by Kandinsky

do you have a water bottle? what does it look like? I have a GIANT water bottle on my desk, I’m staring at it right now actually - the one that has the time of days etched up all on it, to cheer you on! I haven’t touched it in months.

what fanfic trope is a quiet fave? fall in love in 24 hours (angst and slow burn are my loud faves).

do you carry a daily bag? what does it look like? what's the weirdest thing in it? My work backpack… equipped with emergency socks because you never know.

if you had to ship Mickey with another Gallagher, who would it be? Probably Carl because they’d be absolutely ridiculous together.

what is a fanfic trope you didn't expect to like and then very much did? As someone who knows pretty much nothing about sports, those sports AUs really hit hard!

Do you think s11 Mickey can still carry s11 Ian? LIkely not - he tries though. They’ve fallen down a couple of times and Mickey still complains about the lower back pain it all caused.

who got custody of the killing bat when they sold the house? They FedEx’d it to Fiona with wedding photos and a batch of homemade cookies.

Tagging in @transmickey @ian-galagher @ohkate @gillyp @look-i-love-u @alexfanheart @sweetperversiongirl @callivich @suzy-queued @crossmydna @jessieoneday @ryantryinx @krystallouwho @too-schoolforcool @michellemisfit @deathclassic @vintagelacerosette @sweetbee78 @silvanshadow @gallawitchxx @mickeysgaymom @tanktopgallavich @grumble-fish @francesrose3 if you'd like to share!

#tag games with friends ✨

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deadgeisha · 3 months ago

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Best dumplings in LA?

Ocean seafood dim sum in Chinatown on N hill street was the place I used to go to since a child but it closed rip I heard mama lu’s on N spring street near union station is good but it’s a chain around the city 😭 when I wanted to be boujiee I’d go to bao dim sum house near Beverly center but for takeout I’d always order from this place in Chinatown called Tian’s dim sum it’s hard to find like a good authentic little galley style dim sum joint where they cart it around and you get to choose without them being overly expensive now or having time to try different places out🖤

#asks #I take my dim sum very seriously if you didn’t notice LMAO

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globalfoodtraditions · 4 months ago

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Chinese Dishes That Conquered the World

China’s culinary heritage is one of the richest and most diverse in the world, with regional flavors and techniques that have influenced global cuisine. Over the centuries, Chinese dishes have traveled far and wide, adapting to local tastes while maintaining their authentic roots. Here are some of the most famous Chinese dishes that have found a place on tables across the world.

1. Dim Sum

Originating from the Cantonese tradition, dim sum refers to a variety of bite-sized dishes, often served in bamboo steamers. These include dumplings, buns, rolls, and pastries. Whether it’s shrimp dumplings (har gow), barbecue pork buns (char siu bao), or egg tarts, dim sum has become a global favorite, particularly in areas with large Chinese communities.

2. Peking Duck

This famous dish from Beijing is known for its crispy skin and succulent meat, traditionally served with thin pancakes, scallions, and hoisin sauce. Peking duck has been served to emperors for centuries and is now a delicacy enjoyed in high-end restaurants worldwide.

3. Sweet and Sour Pork

This vibrant dish, characterized by its balance of sweet and tangy flavors, has been embraced internationally. Originally from Cantonese cuisine, sweet and sour pork consists of crispy fried pork chunks coated in a glossy, flavorful sauce made of vinegar, sugar, and ketchup.

4. Kung Pao Chicken

A Sichuan classic, kung pao chicken is a spicy, nutty dish made with diced chicken, peanuts, and dried chili peppers. The combination of heat and crunch has made it a popular choice in Chinese restaurants worldwide, often with regional variations.

5. Hot Pot

This communal dining experience, originating from Northern China, involves cooking a variety of meats, seafood, and vegetables in a simmering broth at the table. Hot pot has gained immense popularity, with variations appearing in different countries, incorporating local ingredients and flavors.

6. Chow Mein

Stir-fried noodles with vegetables, meat, or seafood, chow mein is one of the most widely recognized Chinese dishes. The dish’s adaptability has allowed it to take on different forms across cultures, making it a staple in Chinese takeout menus worldwide.

7. Mapo Tofu

A fiery and flavorful Sichuan dish, mapo tofu consists of soft tofu cubes simmered in a spicy, numbing sauce made with fermented black beans, chili paste, and ground pork. It has become a beloved dish among spice lovers globally.

8. Spring Rolls

These crispy, golden rolls filled with vegetables, meat, or seafood are a staple appetizer in Chinese cuisine. Originally enjoyed during festivals, spring rolls have now become popular in many countries, often appearing on Asian restaurant menus.

9. Fried Rice

One of the most versatile and easily recognizable Chinese dishes, fried rice is a simple yet flavorful dish that has been adapted in numerous ways worldwide. Whether it’s Yangzhou fried rice, egg fried rice, or customized variations with different proteins and seasonings, this dish is a global comfort food.

10. Sichuan Hot and Sour Soup

A popular starter in many Chinese restaurants abroad, hot and sour soup is a tantalizing mix of mushrooms, tofu, bamboo shoots, and eggs in a broth infused with vinegar and white pepper. Its bold flavors make it a favorite among lovers of tangy and spicy food.

Chinese cuisine has significantly influenced global food culture, with many of its iconic dishes becoming everyday staples in different parts of the world. From the delicate flavors of dim sum to the fiery heat of Sichuan dishes, Chinese food continues to captivate taste buds and bridge cultures through its incredible diversity and deliciousness. Whether you’re dining in a Chinatown abroad or trying to cook these dishes at home, Chinese cuisine offers an endless journey of culinary discovery.

Have you tried any of these dishes? Which one is your favorite? Let us know in the comments!

#chinese foods #traditions #cultures

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jrooc · 2 years ago

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Weekly Tag Wednesday 💃🏼🤩✨

Thanks for tagging me @such-a-barbarian @darlingian @mmmichyyy @stocious @skylerwinchester @rayrayor @creepkinginc and @mybrainismelted

which character from any media would you like to have as a father? Richard Gilmore, from Gilmore Girls

if money, laws, time, and effort were no object, what animal would you want to have? A tiger 🐅 or a monkey 🙈 (but not an asshole one)

what is your Chinese takeout order? Eggplant and shrimp, Dim Sum or general tao but I’ll eat it all

what’s your favourite emoji? 🤦🏻‍♀️💯🤷🏻‍♀️ :ChompMickey: or :guestWombIan:

would you rather have a library, greenhouse, or home theater in your house? Library with one of those secret doors that open when you pull a book

what childhood tv show do you think of the most fondly? Sabrina the teenage witch maybe? The X-men cartoon. I was obsessed with the Price is Right

what was your tumblr like when you first joined? I joined in May and it was a lot like now only @bawlbrayker had to tell me how to use it and to stop looking like a bot

what clothing style do you love but don’t feel compelled to replicate yourself? Over the knee boots. So hot but I feel like a stripper and tend to dress down so I can’t pull it off

If you were plopped into a fictional world, which one would you know the layout of the best? Stars Hollow or a Shameless world

what is your favourite piece of art? Oh jeez. Right now? This one from Society6

do you have a water bottle? Yes but they’re all cycling water bottles. I’m usually holding a coffee cup til it’s wine hour

what fanfic trope is a quiet fave? Hmmm soulmates maybe

do you carry a daily bag? what does it look like? what’s the weirdest thing in it? Usually a brown leather backpack. Probably the spare contact lenses or the bike tool in the summer.

If you had to ship Mickey with another Gallagher, who would it be? *panic* Lip I guess but it would be turbulent AF and end in ruin

what is a fanfic trope you didn’t expect to like and then very much did? ABO

do you think s11 Mickey can still carry s11 Ian? 💯

Who got custody of the killing bat when they sold the house? Debbie

Tagging @transmickey @redwiccanrobin @michellemisfit @deathclassic @cynfinsaa @too-schoolforcool @sweetbee78 @sgtmickeyslaughter @juliakayyy @silvanshadow @gillyp @krystallouwho

#weekly tag wednesday #tag you're it #why is this so hard on my phone #gallavich #gallavich fanfic #tag game

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ceciliatan · 1 year ago

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Duck Day 2023: Full Canto

If you've read my "Duck Day" posts before, you know it's my rundown of what corwin and I made for Thanksgiving. In 2023 we left for Aruba with my Mom that Saturday, and I thought I would work on the recap post then. But "Aruba" and "work" do not mix, and instead I read two lovely books and lounged about in the shade (and finally began to feel a little bit recovered from having had COVID in September...) Anyway, now it's February 2024 and I'm finally posting this so I can close the dozens of tabs still open on my browser since November! In Duck Days past, corwin and I have cooked up some high concept menu themes (like the time we traced a map of the Silk Road, or the parody menu "American Classics," or the year we did "togetherness"...), while other times we've stuck to a single cuisine as a theme (i.e. French). This year we decided to go for full-on Cantonese which means including a couple of nods to the Philippines and Singapore, where there are large Cantonese populations and the cuisine has been adapted with local flair. (Same could be said for the USA....) Having grown up as a mixed-race Chinese-filipino kid in the 1970s, I spent a lot of my childhood eating in Chinese restaurants throughout suburban New Jersey, with very regular trips to NYC Chinatown. We ate a lot of takeout from "American" Chinese joints, and often had Christmas Day dinner at one of the slightly fancier Chinese restaurants (because my mom's birthday is on Christmas and she would rather not cook on her birthday). If we went shopping in Manhattan in the morning, we went to dim sum after. If we went to a Broadway show at night, or even to Yankee Stadium which is way up in the Bronx, we still drove all the way down to Chinatown for a late-night dinner. I understood as a kid that there was something "cultural" about going to Chinatown that I was supposed to "get," but I didn't really know what it was, and my family didn't explicitly talk about it. But it meant I felt some kind of connection even if there really wasn't a functional difference between me and non-Chinese tourist kids from the suburbs. If I absorbed some cultural values on these trips they probably boiled down to these: - It's a virtue to eat. - It's a virtue to eat everything. - It's a virtue to eat everything your ancestors (probably) ate. For a while my grandfather came to live with us, and I found it extremely frustrating that we had no common language, because I really wanted to grill him all day long about what his life was like growing up when there was still a dynasty going on. Like, whoa. He liked going to Chinatown even though he spoke a different dialect from most of the merchants there. Because he could write things down, though, he could request special things from the waiters and go into the Chinese pharmacy and get various remedies. One thing, though, that he had going on was high blood pressure, and so his doctor (and my dad, who was an MD) had told him to cut salt out of his diet. So my mom was cooking everything low salt. (My grandfather must've just thought she was a terrible cook.) But his blood pressure didn't go down. They couldn't figure it out. Until my dad found the tub of pork floss he had hidden in his room. For those not familiar with pork floss, try to imagine if chewing tobacco were made from beef jerky so finely shredded it had the texture of dryer lint. (It's DELICIOUS.) Anyway. Probably 90% of my identification with my Chinese heritage comes through food (the other 10% comes through kung fun movies, and I'm not even kidding). tl;dr -- Deciding to do a heavy-duty Cantonese meal is kind of a big deal for me. But of course this is us, so we couldn't ONLY do straight-up traditional, we had to find ways to bistronomize and fuse and elevate and have fun with the dishes.

The menu at each dinner guest's place, a take-off on the old cheesy US Chinese restaurant menus from our childhoods. The Menu: 1) Amuse & Opening Cocktail: A Savory Fortune Cookie Name of the cocktail: ネグロに (Ne Gu Ro Ni, yes we're writing it in Japanese) 2) Dim Sum: Chashu Duck Baked Bun Duck Meatball w/ Yuba Chinese Broccoli in Oyster Sauce with Oolong tea 3) Soup: Duck Kut Teh with You Tiao (Chinese "crullers") served with a Crispy duck-confit filled Lumpia 4) Noodles: Hand-cut Sweetwater noodle w/ ground duck topping 5) Palate Cleanser: Trio of sorbettos: ginger, lychee, orange 6) Main Course: Sticky-rice stuffed roast duck With Scallion & Cucumber garnish 7) Dessert: Yuzu Creme Brulee Pineapple Bun Orange Slice 8) Tea & Coffee ** Candied things

The cocktail is garnished with candied Buddha's Hand that I made. In the background you can see the savory fortune cookies. Opening Cocktail: Ne Gu Ro Ni (you can spell this with katakana) Inspired by a friend's recent musing on what counts as a negroni (e.g. by some definitions, concrete is a negroni...), corwin invented this one using the idea that a negroni is one part base spirit, one part bitter, and one part sweet. It uses Gokoo Shochu, which is very whiskey-like, as the base spirt, a Japanese "Bermutto" as the sweet component, and a black jasmine tea as the bitter.

The savory fortune cookies. (Scroll to the end of the post to see what they said inside.) The Savory Fortune Cookie: I like my amuses to be, well, amusing, and this seemed a good way to inject some whimsy. When I ran the test recipe for this, I made test fortunes that said things like "This is a test of the fortune cookie broadcast system." "This is only a test." "If this had been an actual fortune cookie, you would have received some Orientalist B.S." and so on. I based my recipe on this one for "Brown Butter Fortune Cookies" from Cook It Delicious: https://cooktildelicious.com/brown-butter-fortune-cookies/ The consensus among my foodie Twitter/Bluesky/etc cohort is that because the fortune cookie batter is mostly sugar and egg whites, trying to reduce the sugar wouldn't work. But plenty of Cantonese cooking is savory while also being sweet, so I kept the sugar content the same and just pumped up the savory aspect. One test batch I added sesame oil to the brown butter and they were okay. Next batch I added the sesame oil FROM THE JAR OF LAO GAN MA and that kicked it right into the savory stratosphere! Delicious! (it also made the cookies slightly pink) The other thing I added was a sprinkling of sesame seeds and flake salt onto the unbaked cookies right before putting them in the oven. They came out fantastic. The biggest problem I've usually found with homemade fortune cookies is that they come out soggy (or chewy) rather than crispy. What I found during the tests was that I could just keep putting the shaped cookies -- held in shape by putting them into an egg carton the moment they're shaped -- into the oven on a low-ish heat (300 degrees, I think) for another few minutes beyond the expected bake time.

The fortune cookies, still soft, right before being peeled off the silpat and shaped by hand.

An egg carton is the best thing to tuck the fortune cookies into the moment they are shaped, and then stick them back in the oven to finish crisping up. THE DIM SUM COURSE: We don't go into restaurants indoors when the COVID numbers are over a certain threshold, which means we haven't been to a dim sum palace since before Omicron. And damn, I miss it. Chashu Duck Baked Bun Duck Meatball w/ Yuba Chinese Broccoli in Oyster Sauce

All three elements of the dum sum course. The chinese broccoli in oyster sauce is basically an excuse to get some green vegetables into our guests. According to Buddhist tradition, oyster sauce is vegetarian. No, really. (Chinese Cooking Demystified did a whole video on this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mDC6Q5upKPE) DUCK MEATBALL on Yuba This is a duck version of the beef ball you usually get on tofu skin. corwin learned the technique that makes those balls so soft yet bouncy (it has to do with lye water), and guess what? It works for duck, too. (Another nod to Chinese Cooking Demystified, who posted their recipe here: https://www.reddit.com/r/Cooking/comments/bh7pjc/recipe_dim_sum_beef_balls_/ and the video here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NsEPOKveJFQ) Chashu Duck Baked Bun This is basically the classic charsiu siopao but with duck instead of pork. We've made these before, but it's a classic and good to return to to scratch that dimsum itch!

For one friend who keeps kosher, we gave her the meat filling without the bun, which is made from a milk bread. Duck Kut Teh with You Tiao (Chinese "crullers") served with a Crispy duck-confit filled Lumpia One of the best foods we ate in Singapore was Bak Kuh Teh, which comes from the hokkienese (Fujianese) words for "pork bone tea." We had it both at the truly delicious and well-known chain restaurant Song Fa, and also as late-night eats in the one area of Singapore where there are all-night dim sum joints (because no matter how much the government wants everyone to get up early to go to work and be orderly and sorta British about everything, you simply cannot completely stamp out this Cantonese cultural norm, apparently?) Song Fa has a Michelin Bib Gourmand award seven years running, and yeah, damn it's good.

I really should've bought 20 of these when we were in Singapore... Song Fa sells spice packets for making bak kut teh at home both in their stores and on the website (I've also seen it on Amazon) and in Singaporean grocery stores. I've made bak kuh teh a few times since our 2022 trip and I think it comes out best with a combination of the Song Fa packet and additional fresh spices. The main thing you can't believe until you do it is just how much white pepper it takes to really get the flavor right. (Also 5 heads of garlic per rack of ribs.) I used the following reference recipe, as well as the instructions on the Song Fa packet, and a few others I looked up: https://delightfulplate.com/bak-kut-teh-singapore-pork-rib-soup/ But here's what I ended up with: My BAK KUH TEH recipe - 1 rack of pork ribs (12-13 ribs) - 25 fresh peeled garlic cloves (or 5 heads of however many cloves) - one Song Fa spice package - several slices of fresh ginger - one cinnamon stick - two tablespoons white peppercorns - 2 star anise - 1 tsp dark soy sauce - 1 tsp light soy sauce If you don't have the Song Fa packet, you can replace it with 30 grams of white pepper (yes that is most of a grocery store container of white peppercorns) whether as whole peppercorns or ground, 10 grams of sea salt, 5 grams of cinnamon chunks or sticks, and 4 broken star anise. (And MSG if you want it. I find this meal has enough umami and salt without it.) Buy a long flat rack of pork ribs when it's not grilling season and you can find them on sale for $5.99 a pound (they'll jump to $12.99 a pound or more in barbecue season). In fact, buy a few and freeze them until you're ready to use them for bak kuh teh. First bring a LARGE pot of water to a boil (large enough for all the ribs.) Cut up the ribs and peel 50 cloves of garlic while you're waiting for the pot to boil. Put a few pinches of salt and some slices of ginger in the water. Once it gets to a rolling boil, put all the ribs in and return it to a boil. Parboil one minute, then discard the water and rinse the ribs well with cold water. Clean out the pot. Some recipes now have you toast the spices and garlic cloves in the bottom of the pot before you refill it with water, but I have not done that. Add fresh water, and the ribs, and bring it to a boil again. Then add all the garlic cloves, and both soy sauces. Have the spices in either tea balls or other infusers, or those disposable tea bags, and halfway through the cooking, be sure to move them around a bit (but don't break them or the soup will be gritty). Simmer 90 minutes to 2 hours. Serve with 3 ribs per large soup bowl and a ladle or two of the broth. In the Song Fa restaurant, they strain the garlic cloves out to make the broth clear again, but I leave them in. (They're mostly disintegrated.) If you've ever wondered why "vegetarian delight," the really bland vegetable dish served at Cantonese restaurants, exists at all, it's because it's the perfect balance to offset the intensity of bak kuh teh. Of course, because this is DUCK DAY, we cooked up a version that used duck legs with some meat still on them as a stand-in for the ribs, and duck stock, and the rest was the same spice mix and garlic, and it came out fantastic. (There are many non-pork variations including duck to be found around Malaysia, Indonesia, etc. but I didn't really look up any recipes, I just swapped in duck for pork and it worked.) Somehow I didn't get a photo of the duck kuh teh, but here's one from Regis's instagram (full post here: https://www.instagram.com/p/C0CC9Z2L0oM/): Duk kuh teh as served. Photo by Regis. The other traditional accompaniment is a long, bumpy "cruller" -- you tiao. The first time I made the crullers, I used a gluten free recipe because I was making this meal for a friend who with a few dietary restrictions and they came out surprisingly great! So I thought surely with actual gluten in them they should be even better? (I actually think they came out about the same.) The gluten free version came from Fun Without Gluten (https://funwithoutgluten.com/chicken-congee-with-gluten-free-chinese-doughnuts/) and the regular version came from What To Cook Today (https://whattocooktoday.com/cakwe-you-tiau.html).

The lumpia and the crullers ready to deep fry! DUCK-CONFIT FILLED CRISPY LUMPIA So, lun pia, or lumpia if you're filipino, are another southern Chinese specialty that are all over the Philippines. They require super-thin, almost lacey skins, and I've made them by hand before. The recipe I use comes from the indispensible cookbook that is Andrea Nguyen's ASIAN DUMPLINGS. You can read a review of her recipe on the aptly named Burnt Lumpia blog: https://burntlumpia.typepad.com/burnt_lumpia/2009/09/homemade-lumpia-wrappers.html However, this time, in the middle of the heat of service of an already too-long meal... I could not get the dough to work. The pan was too hot, then it was too cold, then the dough was too wet, or maybe too dry? I don't know why it didn't work, and I didn't have time to figure it out, so I defaulted to the back-up plan: the "shanghai style" extra-thin spring roll skins I had bought at H-Mart a few days earlier, for just such a contingency. The filling was shredded duck confit, which stands in very well for the finely shredded pork one often finds in these at parties catered by filipino caterers. (I just gave myself such a craving for lechon, holy cats.)

corwin and me plating the noodle course. Photo by Scliff. Hand-cut Sweetwater noodle w/ ground duck topping corwin learned to make these thick, chewy, rustic noodles from, where else, Chinese Cooking Demystified. Here: https://chinesecookingdemystified.substack.com/p/chengdu-sweet-water-noodles But I'm the one who ended up actually doing the hand-cutting of the noodles, and I fixed up these accordion dividers out of wax paper to keep them from sticking together.

Making sweetwater noodles by hand. Trio of sorbettos: ginger, lychee, orange We made these three sorbets that came out in three different textures as well as three flavors. The ginger was so intensely gingery and so intensely sugary (because corwin used the sugar that was left in the pot after I candied ginger to make it) that it wouldn't actually freeze. It remained creamy in texture and had to be kept in the deep freezer, not the upright, or it turned to soup. And he used the sugar leftover from me candying the buddha's hand to make the orange sorbet. And we used canned lychee for the lychee sorbet, but I don't remember the details now... The main thing is we have a decent ice cream maker (Whynter brand) that can be left unsupervised while it aerates and freezes.

Closeup on the candied buddha's hand.

The roast duck before carving. Sticky-rice stuffed roast duck (main dish) With Scallion & Cucumber garnish

The traditional roast duck accompaniments, cucumbers and scallions. Read the full article

#duckday

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