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i-did-not-mean-to · 3 years ago

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Come sail away - Part II

So, here's the second part of this :D (Part I)

Words: 3.6 k (I'm so sorry...it's rather long for me)

Warnings: NSFW, SMUT, Citrus all around...and sea, and accidents, and the usual nonsense

Summary: Fíli and Maura are taking out the boat while Lexi has an unfortunate accident!

With an exclamation strangled by a fit of laughter, Maura slipped out of her bikini bottom as well and jumped after him, letting the blessedly cold ocean swallow her just as Fí’s arms closed around her body and brought back the heat.

“Hello beautiful,” Fíli laughed and pressed a salty kiss onto her lips while he treaded water with the ease of a duck and the elegant strength of a big cat.

“Hi baby,” Maura replied and slung her legs around his, shamelessly rubbing herself against his groin underwater until he went cross-eyed with want; she was entirely naked while his swimming trunks grew tighter and more uncomfortable by the second.

“Oh God, I want you,” he moaned when she dug her fingers into his hair and pulled on it so his face floated like a sacrificial offering on the azure sea.

“If you can catch me,” Maura laughed, “you shall have me, but you’ll have to catch me first.”

And – before he could fully process her words once more – she had let go of him and pushed him under, already swimming away from the boat in elegant, forceful movements.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Fíli groaned and dove after her ambitiously.

The way her naked body cleaved the waves made him dizzy with desire, his mouth felt dry despite the endless amount of water around him, and the hot knot of lust thrumming in his gut paralysed his legs; Fíli decided that he would have to close his eyes if he didn’t want to literally drown in his love and concupiscence for this woman.

They were more or less of one height and so it took longer than he would have liked to admit catching up to her, but – in one last, herculean leap – he closed his arms around her legs and pulled her under the surface.

Her body flowed like warmer, smoother water through his hands as she rose up again, whipping back her long hair, looking black with wetness now, and laughing breathlessly.

“Let’s get back to the boat,” he purred seductively. Thankfully, she did not try to race him back as well for – by now – Fíli deemed himself fortunate if he didn’t sink like a stone.

“Oh, how I yearned to be alone with you,” Fíli admitted as they reached the small vessel, but then, a terrible realisation hit him; they had not let down the little latter that was to be attached manually.

“Erm,” Fíli chuckled, “I guess I’ll have to give you a boost.”

“Why can’t I give you a boost?” Maura asked suspiciously.

“I’m stronger, you’re lighter, take your pick,” Fíli said, his words underscored by rumbling laughter that melted into blubbering when his chin slipped under the surface of the water.

When his hands espoused the curve of her ass though, Maura knew that he had much baser motivations for privileging this constellation; while she scrambled madly for purchase – her wet hands slipping on the worn plastic – his thumbs curled inwards, pressing seductively against spots that were too close to different erogenous zones without hitting any of them.

She groaned, fighting the desire to let herself sink back and hence invite more of those tantalising caresses with which Fíli teased her now under the pretence of heaving her back onto the dangerously swaying cockleshell.

When she had finally made it onto the hot, sticky deck, she turned around to pull Fí up as well.

“Nice view, definitely the right decision,” he commented as her breasts hovered only inches away from his face and – true to his playful nature – he gave them a quick nip as he pushed himself up to match her efforts.

Crashing into her and slamming her back, he came to rest – panting with exertion – on top of her naked flesh; she was made for this, truly, the way the sun caressed her skin – bejewelled with millions of sparkling diamonds of water droplets – made her glow like a goddess of old.

There was no doubt in his mind about this: Maura was the kind of woman that had pushed men to go to war in hopes to be allowed but a glimpse of her glowing beauty in the blazing sun; her whole being seemed to be moulded from silver and gold, adorned with luxuriously dyed silks and encrusted with the rarest gems, and he felt giddy with pride that he was the one getting to hold her in his arms.

There was not a pearl in this whole ocean more precious, not a dark creature more mysterious, and not a drop of water more scintillating than her; he had never needed anything or anyone as much in his whole life.

Ori bit his lip, wondering what would be considered too cute now; he had already overstepped the boundaries by cradling her hand in his, but – at the same time – he was strangely reticent to let go of it.

“I hope they’re alright,” Lexi mused, looking out on the water that seemed smooth as a mirror in the distance.

“No doubt, Fíli is an excellent swimmer. They’re probably doing unspeakable things on that plastic sloop.” Ori rolled his eyes – envy battling indulgent mockery – but froze when Lexi uttered a heart-rending sigh.

Did she dream of things like that, he wondered, did she imagine herself as the heroine of some three-pence romance novel?

“I’m a solid swimmer,” he burst out, not entirely sure where he was going with that.

“I do not doubt it,” Lexi laughed, her eyes sparkling when she turned around to face him.

Her mouth went dry all at once; he looked like the kind of statue one found half-buried in the dark sands of the ocean floor, a monument to the deities of cultures long forgotten.

The way the reflection of the sun on the water danced in waves – white on white – over his chest mesmerised her; she knew now what his skin felt like and – as by divine intuition – she was sure that he’d taste like salted caramel – sweat, sea spray, and innate sweetness – if she was to give in this time and steal that kiss.

In her dazed mind, the picture came alive: his fingers splayed on the small of her back and her lips pressed against the thrumming skin on the side of his neck; oh yes, she could imagine the undulating rocking of his body swayed by the current and the feeling of the thin layer of cold water being warmed between their flesh as she’d cling to him loosely.

He struck her as the kind of man who would be game for that kind of harmless tenderness.

“What is it? Do I have something on my face?” Ori asked nervously, his gaze glued to the sluggish dancing of the waves – mirrored in the depth of her eyes – to avoid being distracted by her scantily clad body glistening like gold and amber.

Every fibre in her body yearned to just flow against him softly as did the lazy water, but she held herself back – memories of the awful dates she had suffered through only recently resurfacing like flotsam – and merely shook her head.

So engrossed was she in his beauty though that she had not taken any heed of the jellyfish aggregating in the shallows until an ominous, roughly triangular, grey shape startled her into stepping back in surprise.

Her foot landed squarely on one of the creatures, making her slip backward, and she uttered a piercing cry as a sharp, stinging pain cut through her.

Before she could land on her ass though, two arms were thrown around her writhing body and she was lifted out of the water carefully.

“Blasted beasts,” Ori hissed as she got heavier in his arms when he waded to shore.

“Oh my God, what happened? It was a joke,” Kíli cried, splashing frantically in his efforts to join them rapidly; he hadn’t noticed the jellyfish either and was overcome with guilt.

He was wearing a ridiculous imitation of a shark fin on his head, but unfortunately, Lexi could not even appreciate the situation as it felt as if her whole leg was being stabbed by flaming hot needles.

“You got to pee on it,” he screamed as he stumbled but caught himself just in time.

“What?” Ori stared back at him in wordless shock.

Lexi was in considerable pain still, but she couldn’t help wondering if he would truly whip out his private parts on the beach; she knew for a fact that it was a bad idea to pee on a jellyfish sting, but she waited to tell him so until his hand actually went to his trunks.

“This cannot be the first time this has happened,” Lexi groaned, “maybe we should go to the pharmacy and ask them what to do? Get a cream or something?”

“I’ll go,” Kíli exclaimed, already sprinting up the sand towards the road, “again, I am so sorry!”

As the first panic following the incident was subsiding, Lexi could now at least conjure up a weak smile as she watched the shark fin bob chaotically along the road, but as she tried to set her foot down, new barbs of pain shot up her leg.

“I’ll bring you in,” Ori smiled, “hold on.”

Oh, it was indecent, Lexi thought, but one of the easiest way to carry another grown-up, if one was not an action-hero, was to have her sling her arms around his neck and her legs around his torso while his hands supported her ass.

“Would you really have peed on me?” she asked as he rammed his shoulder into the French window in hopes that it would spring open on its own.

He smelled like sea, salt, and sunscreen and – pretending to be weaker than she actually felt – she dropped her cheek onto his shoulder to feel his skin against her own.

“If it had helped,” Ori chuckled, “maybe the sight would have amused you? Laughter is the best medicine after all.”

“Hmmm, you can still show me,” Lexi replied dreamily, “but I doubt that I’d laugh.”

He made a strangled noise deep in his throat, carrying her past a series of doors until he reached hers, muttering that he wondered if she was suffering from toxic shock.

“Take me to the bathroom?” she pleaded.

One look told her that the area looked as if she had put it into particularly vicious stinging nettles, which – in a way – she had: red, swollen, and acutely aching, her foot looked like it was destined to end up as minced meat.

“Alright,” Ori said nervously, “what would make it less painful? Cold water?”

He sat her down onto the rim of the bathtub and turned the old-fashioned faucets to fill it with ice-cold water while they waited for Kíli to come back from the pharmacy.

Careful to stay behind her at all times, he had to reach quite a bit, but the friction of her almost naked body – clammy and yet so warm – against his own unclad skin had had effects on him that he’d rather not rub in her face – quite literally as she was now seated at the perfect height – accidentally; in a few minutes, or so he hoped and prayed, it would subside anyway.

A draft – smelling of sun and ocean – blew in through the open window and Lexi shivered slightly; Ori was torn between offering to leave her so she could get out of her wet bikini and the reticence to desert her when she was in pain.

After wavering for a few seconds, he wrapped a towel around her and closed the window while Lexi moved her foot – red and slightly swollen – in the cold water languidly.

“Thanks for catching me and carrying me all the way,” she whispered without turning around to look at him; she found it somewhat peculiar that he’d stand behind her back, but – at the same time – he would have had to climb into the tub if he had wanted to face her.

“My pleasure,” he replied in a voice that sounded so earnest that it made her smile.

“You are not on any dating apps by chance?” she quipped, remembering that laughter was the best medicine apparently.

“No,” Ori laughed, “never had much success with that; it eats away at what little confidence I have. Why? Want to go on another disappointing date? I am pretty sure ‘had to slather him in sunscreen before stepping onto a jellyfish’ wins the prize anyway.”

“Hmmm, that’s not how I would have described it,” Lexi mused silently, “but yeah, I’d definitely swipe right on you.”

“You would?” Ori sounded honestly surprised, “Even though I was not in the least cute?”

“You can be cuter than this?” Lexi imbued her voice with a challenging note.

“Oh, watch me!” Ori laughed and squeezed her shoulder shortly when he heard Kíli come back, his naked feet slapping against the wooden floorboards and his frantic panting echoing through the whole cottage.

“You drive me insane,” he groaned, “I cannot think of anything but you.”

There were so many other words he wanted to say, but this was neither the time nor the place to bring up the wishes and needs of his yearning heart; sooner or later, he would have to let her see just how needy he truly felt underneath the air of bonhomie and the pretence of careless charm, but not quite yet.

“Is that so?” Maura cocked one eyebrow, her body blurring in the blinding sunlight as she lay – sprawled out and comfortable – with her eyes now closed as if the world only existed to serve as a backdrop to her glory.

Instead of answering, Fíli tore off his own swimwear – sticking uncomfortably to his heated skin – and covered her body with his; the literal sun was hence replaced by a metaphorical one, his hair glowing like a halo around his ruggedly handsome face when she pried open her lids upon realising that a shadow had fallen on her seconds before his skin came to rest on hers.

“Let me just look at you,” he breathed, more to himself than to her; he had seen her a thousand times and yet, as soon as she was out of sight, he berated himself for not having looked at her more.

“You idiot,” she laughed, lifting her legs to pull him closer again after he had risen to his knees to drink in the way the light played on her curves – painting highlights and shadows across the paradisiac expanse of her bare chest – or to follow the faint lines of dried salt that all led to the dimple of her navel still holding that last drop of ocean water like a sacred chalice.

“I love you,” he whispered, giving in to her tugging willingly and groaning when his cock brushed against the wet heat that was nothing like the cool ocean they had just left.

His lips – and all those beautiful words – travelled down Maura’s warm skin; “I adore you” – kisses down her neck; “I cannot live without you” – a flick of his tongue against the salty peaks of her breasts, “I miss you as soon as you’re gone” – a dip of that same tongue into the hallowed pool of sea water in her belly button; “You’re mine” – a chaste, closed-lip kiss on the velvety skin between her legs.

“Fí,” she sighed; it was a plea and an exhortation so airy translating a yearning so voracious and deep.

When he allowed that devout tongue – busy in the worship of the goddess who was sun and moon to him – to delve into the salty heat of her lust, they both moaned at the same time; she smelled like the ocean, and she tasted like heaven.

Writhing on the rough surface of worn plastic, Maura saw stars spinning overhead in the endless blue of a midday sky; eternity contracted into a single grain of sand under her helplessly clawed fingers as he lapped at her lazily like the sea washed against the shore.

Fíli listened to her pant his name as he brushed his thumb – broad and as smooth as the algae-covered rocks – from the entrance to that cave of wonders to the pearl of her lust and back in slow, deliberate strokes.

“Come to me,” she begged, but he was unable to let her off the hook; he had caught himself a mermaid – mesmerising and dangerous – and he could not let her slip back into the depths of the ocean.

Redoubling his efforts, he felt her tense under him.

The spasms shaking her felt like an underwater volcanic eruption; the sea – so calm and placid on the surface – seemed to be churning wildly and Maura felt herself being tossed around violently from the sheer intensity of her release.

Before she could catch her breath though to beg him anew, Fíli had slipped into her with the same ease as displayed while jumping into the water; the familiar and yet ever exciting feeling of being stretched and filled made her groan with pleasure.

They were one – with each other and with the universe – and he started moving to the rhythm of the sea; every wave rocking the boat seemed to make him flow in and out, and the gentle tides of his tender lovemaking conjured up a happy smile on her face.

Soon though, the invisible storm was back and hurled them around mercilessly – flinging them against the rocks of passion to shatter like seashells – as Fíli surged and crashed into her like the angry, stormy North Sea threw itself against the rocky shore in defiance.

Their whimpers of encouragement and self-abandoned pleasure bled into the cacophony of the seagulls screaming somewhere in the distance until – with a shuddering, hoarse scream – Fíli lost himself in that other kind of wet paradise, pumping his own warm contribution into her while hugging her to his chest almost spasmodically.

The feeling of his coarse chest hair against her sensitive nipples was enough to push Maura over the edge as well – that second climax coming fast and hard on the heels of the first one that had never been allowed to fully ebb away and lose itself in the sands of time – and she sank her teeth into the flesh of his shoulder in an insane attempt to not let him go.

“My God,” Maura laughed, “they’ll think that we’ve drowned.”

Fíli just shrugged; he was fairly certain that none of his kinsmen had wasted a single thought on him this far, but then again, he didn’t exactly know how long they had been gone.

He was perfect, Maura thought hazily, the way he was stretched out – naked and proud – under the sun, letting sea water and other fluids dry on his skin that was already gilded by the golden rays; unapologetic by nature, Fíli didn’t feel the need to hide who he was in private, and she felt honoured to be allowed to witness these moments of vulnerable truth.

“As much as I’d love to stay here forever like this,” she sighed, “I think we should get back. You can sneak into my room after dinner?”

The summer camp atmosphere – secret meetings and stolen kisses – stoked their desire more than either one of them would have cared to admit.

“If you manage to get away from your chaperone, you mean?” Fíli chuckled as he slipped back into his wet trunks with a grimace; he could imagine the women sitting on a bed, booze at their side, and gossiping about men while doing their hair to go nowhere at all.

“Hmmm,” Maura winked, “we’ll see how she has fared with those two.”

Fíli’s face grew serious.

“We should really get back,” he mumbled, “I wouldn’t put it past them to have chased her all the way home with their idiocies.”

That, he thought, or into hospital; he had been reprehensibly selfish, he should never have left a poor, unsuspecting woman alone with his brother and his cousin.

He was a computer programmer, not a nurse, Lexi tried to remind herself, but when Ori came back, cream in hand and sat down in the cold water without so much as a groan to take another look at her foot, all those reservations just drained out of her mind.

“All done,” he said after having checked for stingers, dried, and treated her foot, “I think it should be fine, but I can go get you something against the pain?”

“No,” Lexi smiled, “it’s better already. Thank you. So…Would you help me back into my room so I can get out of these wet things, please?”

Ori swallowed heavily but nodded.

“Mister,” Lexi laughed, “you wanted to whip out your cock in front of me! Don’t tell me you’re a prude now?”

“It was for first aid,” he mumbled miserably, but extended his hand to her and – when she tottered – he lifted her, still wrapped in her fluffy towel, back into his arms with a tiny sigh, “I would never do anything like that…I’m not a creep.”

“Oh, but I am still aching,” Lexi whispered into his ear and the low moan she earned for that had nothing to do with her weight or the physical effort of carrying her.

“I don’t really know what you mean…”

Lexi just rolled her eyes and – unable to withstand the constant temptation of his siren skin – she turned her head and pressed a careful kiss onto his cheek that flushed with heat almost instantly.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying? I didn’t even realise that you were flirting!”

“Evidently,” Lexi laughed, “and I didn’t expect to do so, but…you’re just too cute not to…”

“Damn,” Ori exclaimed in a strangled voice, “Fí and your friend will roast me like a lū’au pig!”

So, this was the second part of this and - as you can see - there is room for a third and final part...if anyone would want to read that...

Please let me know!

@laurfilijames thank you for having my back on this one and motivating me ❤️ your support means everything ❤️

Ah yes, @fellowshipofthefics, this one theoretically qualifies as well :D

Lots of love to all of you from me <3

-> Part 3

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justmorerpmemes · 4 years ago

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Things I’ve Said at Work Starters

“A little bit of arson would be really therapeutic right now.”

“I have all this ambition, but the gods got scared of it and nerfed me with this mortal coil.”

“Who has the brain cell? I need it for five minutes.”

“I’ll go get you a body bag, hold on.”

“Oh look, it’s all sticky for you.”

“The concept of time has left me and I have no clue what day it is.”

“First it was cat scratch fever, then potentially a flesh eating disease, then less of a chance of that, so I’ve had a roller coaster of a week.”

“This guy refused to set foot there, and I couldn’t have been happier.”

“You know why I’m so thrown off? I haven’t had my latte in like, a week.”

“I’m gonna be such spitfire on Saturday like, you don’t even know.”

“Cool I’ll just light it on fire. Probably.”

“Hmm... no I think it’s a little too wet.”

“If I could sense their inevitable presence as a psychic, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

“That guy knew what they were about. Came in, candy, and left. Bless ‘em.”

“Has anyone seen the sacrificial knife? Y’know, the sharp thing?”

“Alright, I shall abscond and stop pretending that this is all reality.”

“So what you’re saying is that you wouldn’t object to some morale doughnuts? Free morale doughnuts?”

“The toaster I can understand... but why the a waffle iron?!”

“I was gone for four minutes, how did I miss three high people at once?”

“I’m sorry, but the laws of physics simply say no to your stupid request.”

“Listen, I just wanna float enough to not touch the ground. Screw gravity.”

“This is the pile of the soon to meet ‘emergency storage’ and this is the pile of maybe we’ll use them before they go to ‘emergency storage’.

“A yes, glitter. Well time to light myself ablaze to get rid of the evil.

“I put those in the temporary heat prison for about five hours.”

“Someone only almost fell through the ceiling, like the place only almost burned down. One of those is gonna happen for certain eventually.”

#rp meme #rp starter #rp memes #rp starter memes #rp starters #rp starter meme #rp starters meme #rp sentence starter meme #rp sentence starters #rp sentence meme #rp sentence starter #rp sentence memes #drug mention #disease mention

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lafiametta · 4 years ago

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Nina x Matthias, a missing scene from 1x08 → from a prompt borrowed from this list: “24. Dust floating in golden sunlight”

“I can’t wait to introduce you to my truest love,” she says, and he wants nothing more than to believe her, to believe as she does in a world of love and pleasure and warm, bright laughter. As a rule, drüskelle had little use for such things—strength and self-sacrificial honor were the austere pillars of their faith. But at this moment, Matthias’s vows seem very far away, and Nina Zenik much closer.

His heart is leaping, compelled by a magic all its own.

She straightens up, as if readying herself to go, and so he reaches out to stop her, the only way he can think to: by cupping her jaw in his hand and bringing her mouth to his.

He should not be surprised at her softness—and yet he is, the fullness of her lips a revelation that nearly steals his breath away. Her eyelids flutter shut and he can feel the corners of her mouth curl up into a smile. As if by instinct, Matthias’s right hand moves up to mirror his left, holding her between them, like a treasure he cannot bear to watch slip from his grasp.

There is little grace to the way he kisses her; he feels big and clumsy, unmanned by his need, and she is so small in his hands. No doubt his inexperience is showing as well, for while he has knowingly sent three men to their deaths, he has never kissed a woman besides his own mother, and even then it was barely more than a boyish peck on the cheek. He has never been ashamed of it—until now.

Thankfully, Nina seems unconcerned with his fumblings, patiently showing him what to do, how to change the pressure and the angle, when to go fast or slow. He’s a quick study, following her direction as best he can. Then she opens her mouth against him, her tongue tracing warm and wet along the seam of his lips, and he abruptly loses all capacity for rational thought.

“Drüsje,” he growls, the word no longer a threat but an invocation, and hauls her up into his lap.

She squeals, and for a moment Matthias fears he has hurt her, but then her arms curl eagerly around his neck and her mouth finds his once again. He feels slightly more prepared this time, enough so that he parts his lips and lets her guide him, her tongue brushing against his, urging him onward. He takes a tentative swipe, lapping gently into the depths of her mouth, praying to Djel that he’s doing it right. She kisses him harder—as good a sign as any—and runs her fingers from the nape of his neck up into his hair. It’s only slightly mortifying to hear the low groan that escapes his lips, his embarrassment tempered by the thick haze of desire that’s rapidly emptying his head of any other consideration.

The room has turned ridiculously warm—she must feel it too, no?—and there’s no reason for him to still be wearing this heavy coat. He pulls himself away from Nina just long enough to slip his arms out of the sleeves, and then, grinning in triumph, leans over to press her back against the coverlet. It’s a far cry from that cot in the whaler’s hut—the bed’s twice as big, for one—and he can easily imagine laying down to sleep for a fortnight or two, with Nina curled in his arms.

She’s staring up at him, those sea green eyes grown needfully dark, lips full and red from being kissed. His gaze drops to follow the rise and fall of her chest, shame flooding his cheeks once he looks up to see that she’s been watching him.

But there’s no recrimination in her eyes, only sparks of fire catching along their depths.

“It is rather warm, isn’t it?” she murmurs, and reaches up to unbutton the corner of the embroidered panel that runs down the front of her blouse. The unbuttoned panel reveals, naturally, more buttons, arrayed in single file from collar to navel. She starts at the top, unfastening three or four before she sighs and glances up at him, one dark eyebrow cocked. “You could help, you know.”

Matthias nods, breath frozen in his throat as he follows her path, slipping each button from its threaded enclosure. When the last is free, she extends her wrists toward him, and he unbuttons the cuffs as well, letting the pad of his thumb slide against the soft, pale skin underneath. Is that her pulse he feels, beating a skittish rhythm in her veins?

She sits up a little, pulling the blouse out of her skirts and then up and over her head. It catches in her hair, just enough to pull some of the strands loose, leaving them in soft dark waves against her pinked cheeks and the back of her neck.

His eyes widen as he takes her in, following the lines of her corset as they flow from waist to bust, the lace embroidery of the chemise that peeks from out of the top of the corset and runs over her shoulders, and finally the creamy expanse of skin from chin to wrist that now lies almost entirely bare. He had seen it before—seen much more, in fact—but that was different. That was survival, necessary to keep them warm and alive. This is—well, it’s something else. A choice, certainly. It almost feels like an offering.

“Cat got your tongue, drüskelle?” Nina asks as she lays back down, gently mocking him in that maddening way that only she knows how to do.

“No,” he stammers, only to shake his head. “Yes.” He decides at once to stop talking, the only thing that makes sense now that all the blood is flowing away from his brain. He could try switching to Fjerdan, perhaps, but he’s not entirely sure he could trust himself in any language, at least not one that involved speaking. Instead, Matthias reaches out and rests his palm along her waist, slowly skimming along the stiff boning of the corset as it begins to flare along her ribs. His eyes follow the line of metal hooks that run along the center of the garment, as he momentarily wonders how difficult they might be to unfasten.

As he leans in closer, he catches sight of the dusting of tiny freckles that blanket her chest and shoulders. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed them before—perhaps he had been trying desperately not to notice anything about her—but now they’re all he can see, arrayed across her like constellations of stars against a midnight sky.

His hand moves up, fingertips slowly grazing the dip of her collarbone. The skin there is delicately soft—and warm to the touch. He brushes aside the strap of her chemise, letting it fall along the downy curve of her shoulder, and then he pauses, his breath stilling with the sudden realization of how impossibly perfect she is. It goes against everything he’s ever been taught, all the unshakable truths he had never sought to question, but he cannot deny it. This Ravkan witch could stop his heart with a mere gesture of her hands, and yet he feels more at peace in her arms than he has in a very long time.

She’s probably laughing at him by now, ready to tease him for his naiveté, for his foolishness and bumbling hesitation. He wouldn’t blame her.

But as he glances up, he can see that she is not laughing, not at all.

Her lips are slightly parted, just enough for him to notice the tiny shudder of her breath, the way her gaze is darting from his eyes down to his mouth with undisguised anticipation. A blade of golden sunlight falls across the coverlet, catching along the side of her face and the dark corona of her hair. Everything is still and silent, dust motes floating in the hushed air, and for a moment Matthias swears he can hear the thrumming of her heart as it echoes his own.

Nina bites against her lip, the mere hint of white against rosy red enough to unleash a wave of desire that he feels unfurling from deep within his belly. There’s no time for thought or self-conscious hesitation: he leans down and roughly captures her mouth, feeling her warm and pliable beneath him.

He would worry about crushing her—breaking her, somehow—but she doesn’t seem to mind his weight. Her hands are grasping, greedy, curling hot against the back of his neck, clutching against his ribs. And as their lips meet again and again, each brush sending a river of sparks up his spine, he feels himself falling, drowning, lost in her like a man set adrift in a raging sea.

She shifts underneath him, hooking a leg over his hip and letting him sink deeper into the cradle of her thighs. Even through her skirts, Matthias can feel the heat of her, the way their bodies are fitting together that’s making every inch of him catch fire, from his toes to the very tips of his ears. He wants nothing more than to get closer, to press his lips against her throat and the pale span of her neck.

And yet a part of him pauses, whatever infinitesimally small part that still possesses the capacity for caution. He may be inexperienced, but Matthias knows enough to foretell what lies at the end of the path they’re headed down. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to—Djel knows, there’s nothing he wants more at this very moment—but it isn’t what he wants for them.

Nina—this infuriating, intoxicating woman in his arms—she deserves more just than a quick tumble in a rowdy travelers’ tavern in the middle of the afternoon. And he wants more than that for himself, if he’s being truthful; if he is to break his vow, it should at least be with intention and a proper measure of solemnity.

It’s impossible to know how their story will unfold, but at least Matthias can make sure it begins in a way that brings them both pleasure at the memory, and not regret.

He pulls back a little, stilling in her embrace, and with his free hand gently shies her leg free from his hip. It takes a moment or so for her to realize he’s no longer kissing her, an eternity as he waits, hoping more than anything that she’ll understand.

“Nina,” he says quietly, even as blood pounds in his ears.

She glances up at him, green eyes meeting blue, and he watches as the initial lines of confusion lining her brow begin to melt away, replaced by a soft, knowing expression.

“It’s all right,” she eventually replies, and he’s dumbstruck at how grateful he feels that she’s not going to make him explain himself. Instead, she places the flat of her palm against his chest and gently pushes him up, her other hand searching for her discarded blouse. Her smile is wide, indulgent. “Come on, let’s go find you some food. Then we’ll come back here and stay up all night while you tell me all your stories about Fjerda.”

“Stories about Fjerda?” he asks. “What stories?”

“Did you never go ice-fishing, Matthias? Or dive head-first into a fjord?” She pulls the blouse back over her head, eyes sparkling with mirth. “I’m certain you must have wrestled at least once or twice with a bear.”

“Only once,” he tells her, feeling himself being caught up in the magic of her spell. “And he was very moody.”

Nina laughs as she rises to her feet, the sound like the chatter of sparrows circling in the summer sun. “A moody Fjerdan bear, hmmm? Was it like looking in a mirror?” She takes his hands and tugs him up—she’s surprisingly strong, his Nina—so that they’re standing face to face.

It’s where he’s meant to be, he realizes, her hands still tightly clasped in his. And, Djel willing, it’s where he will stay.

#shadow and bone #helnik #nina zenik #matthias helvar #six of crows #fanfiction #1x08 #missing scene #helnik fic

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the-shadows-request-candy-corn · 24 days ago

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Look at this man

He hurts everyone and everything he comes in contact with because he was psychologically conditioned, tortured, and had a 700-year old consciousness (who was also psychologically conditioned and tortured through dozens of previous incarnations) implanted into his brain. He runs away to a monastery in the middle of the ocean, just so he will never hurt anyone again

But then people come to the island and he has to do the one thing that he never wanted to do again, fight, in order to protect his brothers. When Azrael starts going too far, JP has to drown his thoughts out by thinking of horrible ways to die

Except he went through all of that for nothing, because once again, his mere being around other people has resulted in bloodshed. Because the woman who was seeking shelter at the monastery turns out to also have been conditioned and murdered all of the monks.

Speaking of the weird angel conditioning, all that the Azrael System can remember over 700 years is kill, die, kill, die.

Azrael has a break down and identity crisis after learning that he was created and manipulated by the very "saint" that he idolized

Leading to Jean-Paul Valley to get crushed at least twice by a giant spiked wheel, have to drag himself to the dying husk of yet another one of Saint Dumas' experiment/victims, and kill him in the saddest most pathetic way possible. Then, wet with blood and tears, with multiple broken bones and probably internal bleeding, he wails.

And then there's this:

Really, the special thing about Azrael and JPV is that they're two pathetic wet cats in one body. A two-for-one deal.

And this isn't even getting into what he went through his abuse as a child in "Saved by the Belle Reve", or his psychosis and crippling inferiority complex in Knightfall.

In conclusion, not only does everything he loves either die painfully, use him, and/or cast him aside, but instead of being a whiny sad drunk know-it-all who knows nothing to cope, he has no coping mechanism except to melt into a puddle. This man is sad when he's angry. He's punching someone in the face while crying. When he was Batman's replacement, it wasn't even because Bruce believed in him. Bruce knew that JP was inexperienced and unsure of himself. JPV/Azrael was chosen because BRUCE KNEW HIS FIRST CHOICE (NIGHTWING) DIDN'T WANT TO BE BATMAN, BUT WOULD FEEL TOO GUILTY TO SAY NO.

JPV/AZRAEL WAS THE SACRIFICIAL LAMB CHOSEN TO SUFFER IN DICK'S PLACE, AND HE WAS BROKEN UNDER THE CRUSHING WEIGHT OF THE MANTLE OF THE BAT BEFORE BRUCE WOULD EVEN ADMIT THAT THERE WAS ANYTHING WRONG

#dennis o'neil's poor little meow meow #<- Actual tag that exists #azrael #jean paul valley #azrael agent of the bat #dc comics #dc characters #azrael dc

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sooibian · 4 years ago

Text

Flambé - I

poster and edits/collage credits to @is-that-baekhyuns-shirt !

chapter two | moodboard by the lovely @pororodks

🍜 pairing: kyungsoo x fem!reader ft. baekhyun, mark lee

🍜 description: pull up a chair. take a taste. come join us. life is so endlessly delicious. - ruth reichl

🍜 themes: fluff, crack (ish), slight angst, a lil bit of spice (in the future), rivals to lovers au

🍜 word count: ~ 9.7k

🍜 a/n: writing this makes me feel lonely and hungry and that, my friends, is a deadly concoction of emotions so while i wallow in my misery, i dearly hope you’ll enjoy this creation. i'd love to hear from you <3<br>

🍜 reference notes: yt channels: maangchi, one meal a day, bore.d; netflix shows: midnight diner, street food: asia, chef’s table

🍜 tag list: @changshapatrol @j-pping @kyungseokie @exosmuttytalk @his-mochi-cheeks @littleflowercrown13 pls lmk if you’d like to be added/removed from the tag list!

Water bobs in frenetic bubbles in a massive ancient stone pot perched atop a fort of raging wood. Amidst brutal peals of thunder, a gushing stream rises from a nearby hill, obscuring the shrill cries of the sacrificial crab.

Chanting a spell, you lift the enormous crustacean by its pincers and lower it into the growling, pitch black utensil. Blubbering helplessly, it lodges its claws at the rim of the pot in desperation, seeking escape. The sound of your maniacal laughter reverberates through the cave as you thrust it back into the violent undulation with a heavy-handed flick of the bladed-spatula.

All of a sudden, you’re swept over with a wave of unconsciousness, your skin tingles, and boiling water begins to fill up your lungs.

You are alone at the bottom of the very same utensil.

“Help!” frantic, you stagger up, gasping for air. But the bladed-spatula wielding crab, now untied and hovering over you, roars jubilantly at your defenseless form.

Maybe the spell didn’t land, you think.

“Please, Chef!” you whimper as a last ditch attempt.

In one swift motion, it swooshes down to your eye level.

Bushy black brows sprout on its forehead, just a little over a pair of big brown circles for eyes. Then comes the nose, followed by a bloody red mouth that snarls at you.

zzzz…

“Late again?”

zzzz…

4:00 a.m., your phone blinks.

In a sleep befuddled state, you reach out for the wailing device. ‘Late again?’ Chef’s cold, deep voice sounds in your consciousness as you wipe the droplets of sweat off of your forehead.

Chef.

Doh Kyungsoo had insisted on the title and you’d boldly refused to call him that. What business does a man working at a Kalguksu stand in Gwangjang Market have, being called Chef. You’d seeked redressal with the higher ups. The owner.

Your aunt.

“Aegiya, he has something that you don’t.”

“A dick?”

“YAH! A degree in culinary arts.”

“Imo, haven’t you watched Parasite? Anyone can forge documents these days and if so then why is he here? He could very well land a job at Four Seasons like Hyunjin. Think, Imo. Think!”

“Exactly! With forged documents, he could be anywhere. But he’s here, no?”

“Maybe you’re just easier to manipulate.”

Finally, she said in her no-nonsense, stern voice. "Chef. You’re calling him Chef.”

Every time the egotistical madman opens that darned mouth of his, it makes you want to knock him down with a roundhouse and beat the living daylights out of him.

But, counting to five, you always resist the temptation.

Because one day, one glorious day, you’d take over your aunt’s business and the very first item on your agenda would be….well, the obvious. With a glimmer of hope, you flounder out of your comforter, muttering every cuss word you’d learnt…and crafted in the course of working with the devil himself.

“Ah 3000 is a bit too much for cucumbers", he says to the middle aged vendor, flashing a boyish grin.

The face of sourcing has drastically changed in the last six months since Kyungsoo’s arrival. Prior to his dictatorship, Imo had tie-ups with vendors who’d hand deliver the produce every single day, without fail. Guess Kyungsoo didn’t fully comprehend the benefits of customer loyalty. ‘There could be better quality ingredients out there, Sajangnim…economically priced, I might add’, he’d convinced your aunt using his military corporal voice. No matter if it meant awkward break-ups with the vegetables ahjumma or the prawns ahjussi: you were left to do the dirty work.

And required to tag along for the routine 5 a.m sourcing runs. Every morning, he’d greet you with an accusatory ‘you killed my cat’ expression.

Groaning, you shift your weight from side to side. If only he’d quit flirting with every woman in the market and hurry up! The purchases have long exceeded the capacity of your humble cart. Flailing your numb arms awake, you urge him to speed up with a nudge of the knee but he glares at you like you’d asked him for a kidney.

Kyungsoo has a tendency to overbuy but never does he help with a single bag. ‘I don’t like to sweat’ is his excuse. Which is pretty ridiculous considering he spends over ten hours a day overseeing a scorching frying pan at the stall.

But you know better than to argue.

Because as much as you loathe every fibre of his existence, he terrifies you a little. The man possesses the duality of a psychopath. As fierce as he is in the Market, ruthlessly competitive even, he’s quite the sweet talker. Incredibly charming. And you can bet your life on the fact that every ahjumma - whether or not a rival - would take a bullet for him.

“Ahdeul-ah”, the woman coos at him, making your insides violently contort, “you know how tight the market is these days. But I’ll throw in some more only for you.”

The additional weight of three kilos on your right arm ends your sourcing run for the day.

***

“Chef”, huffing, you say to him on your way out, “I had a late night last night.”

“And I need to be privy to this little nugget of unwarranted information because?” He paces ahead of you at his usual lightning speed.

“No, I meant, could we stop”, panting you continue, “could we stop for a quick cup of coffee.”

Halting abruptly, he turns around to look you square in the eyes, “No.”

“Asshole!” You murmur under your breath.

“I heard that.”

Monday at Choi Yoonsun’s Kalguksu stall was busier than usual.

It went by in a daze amidst the cacophony of a sizzling girdle, clanging of pots and pans and Imo’s relentless vocalization inviting guests to the stall. Having served thousands of bowls of Kalguksu and Kimchi Mandu, you rely heavily on muscle memory to get you through a workday’s demands.

Despite its massive chaos and commotion, you quite enjoyed working in the Market.

Not being particularly skilled at much and having nearly flunked out of high school, cooking was the one thing that defined you. It was your safe harbour. You’d lost your father in an accident at the tender age of ten and your mother was forced to work long hours to put food on the table. So you honed your culinary skills, little by little, because you thought it vital for your own well-being as well as your mother’s.

One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.

At the end of yet another rewarding day, you leave a wet towel soaking in vinegar for Kyungsoo to clean the iron girdle and proceed to tend to the dirty dishes yourself.

“Yahh!” Imo calls out for Kyungsoo and you, thumping her hand on the table, gesturing for you to join her.

“Ahh! Imo, there’s a huge pile of dirty dishes!” You cry out in response, only to turn around to find that ass-kisser already at the table, schmoozing with your aunt. Hastily taking off your grubby apron, you wash your hands and wipe them clean with a rag cloth. Straightening your black shirt, flattening unruly flyaways, you rush toward the table but she’s already up and ready to leave, “We’ll have dinner together tonight. I want to have a word with both of you.”

“But -”

“Sajangnim”, Kyungsoo interrupts, wagging a finger in your direction, face scrunched up in mock concern, “this one’s had a late night last night -”

“Chef! So I guess I’ll be seeing you tonight. As if seeing you every day of every week wasn’t enough already!”

An overtly saccharine smile spreads across your face and his jaw hardens in response.

“Aish….you two…I’m leaving now”, shaking her head, she sighs, “see you both in two hours.”

Kimchi jjigae, Pajeon, Tteokbokki, Jajangmyeon, some leftover Bibimbap with sides galore from Hong Lim Banchan Stall. Imo clearly has something important on her mind.

But the vibe at the dinner table just doesn’t sit right with you.

The reason for that could be the bespectacled black hole of negativity that’s seated besides you in all black clothing but there’s something off about Imo.

She’s being a little too nice.

Fear gradually starts to settle in your bones. Is she finally closing down? Is this delectable fare an attempt at softening the blow? After all, she’d settled her husband’s debts over five years ago and her sons were doing well for themselves. Quite well, in fact. The elder one, Hyunwoo, is an investment banker and the younger one Hyunjin went to culinary school and is working as a chef at Four Seasons’ Chinese restaurant. It only makes sense for her to trade the Market’s gruelling ways for some much deserved peace and quiet.

“We’re closing down the stall”, she says coolly.

It’s like a punch in the gut.

“Imo -”

“Aegiya”, she rests her chin on her hand, face clouded over with serenity, “the Market’s given me everything. It’s given me a sense of independence…a sense of pride. It put my family back together. I used to think that I’m nothing without my husband and my sons…but the Market gave me an identity. I continued to work even after my husband’s passing not because I needed the money but because this is something that I’ve created and I’m mighty proud of what’s become of it today. My name is a brand in itself. And a decade ago I couldn’t have imagined this even in the wildest of my dreams.”

A million scenarios cascading through your head drown out Imo’s voice.

Would you now have to go back to Bucheon? Or invest in a stall of your own at the traditional Gwangjang that would never accept your big and bold ways with cooking? And to start from scratch? With a new recipe? Kalguksu with a twist, perhaps? But you had no insight into your aunt’s special broth. She’d never let you or even Kyungsoo for that matter whip up the hand-cut noodles. The two of you only ever helped with the ancillary tasks.

You soon come to the realization of not being the only one caught in the eye of the storm. Kyungsoo’s unwavering gaze is scarily fixated on the bowl of jajangmyeon before him. His miserable state gives you a fleeting sense of relief and it’s in that exact moment that he chooses to say something unpalatable.

“Sajangnim, you’ve worked too hard. It’s time for you to reap the fruits of your labour. We’ll be fine, you don’t have to worry about us.”

Of course he’ll be fine.

Nearly all food stall owners in Gwangjang have been vying for him ever since the day he set foot into Choi Yoonsun’s with his phlegmatic personality. Whereas you had nowhere to go. The world conveniently assumes Imo hired you only because you were her poor sister’s daughter who she sought to help financially. Not because you had what it took to be there and survive.

“Did I say I was ready to retire?” She laughs, eyeing Kyungsoo quizzically.

“Here’s the thing..I met up with a friend last month. She was looking for a buyer for her little family run restaurant in Gangnam. So I took out a loan, made her an offer”, balling her hands into fists she sighs, “put in the deposit…and the place is pretty much mine now!”

“IMO”, you yell, “you didn’t have to scare me with that long winded speech! God, you’re so dramatic!”

“Well, it is a big move. I’m not sure either of you are ready to take the leap. It requires a tonne of work and I may not be able to pay half of what you earned at the Market for at least two months until we open. It’ll take the restaurant two years or so to break even and only then will I be able to afford scaling your salaries. On the other hand, what I can do is, help you secure a job at the banchan stall since you love seasoned spinach so much and Kyungsoo even stands a chance at managing one of the Pakgane stalls!”

Pakgane is the mung bean pancake stall that had gotten so popular that the owner managed to branch out of Gwangjang. So even your beloved Imo believes that you’d make for a better “help” and Kyungsoo, a Manager.

Ugh!

“I’m coming with you”, you say firmly, “I’ve saved up a little and Eomma will gladly pitch in, if need be…”

At this point, you’d expected Kyungsoo to be ready with his luggage considering the little sycophant he is but his expression is stoic, eyes still glued to the jajangmyeon bowl, filling you with insane hope.

He was going to jump ship…finally!

“Chef…”, you couldn’t resist, “you don’t have to worry about us…I’m more than enough for Imo. You may…”

He shoots you an angry glare making you chew on your unsaid words. But wanting to rile him just a little more, you excuse yourself and bring out a bottle of ketchup. Squeezing it generously atop the stack of pajeon, you snicker maliciously.

Ketchup.

The tangy, unassuming condiment is the sole reason Kyungsoo abhors your very existence. But as this dinner marks the end of his torturous regime, you celebrate with ketchup - lots of it - right in front of his nasty eyes.

Steam swirls in different directions and at every twenty metres a contrastive redolence tickles your olfactory senses. Experiencing Gwangjang as a guest is clearly a far richer experience compared to the donkeywork involved in life as a vendor.

A proper send-off is essential lest Kyungsoo decides to stay, even if it means creating a huge dent in your pocket. You plan on giving him a final tour of the Market where you could both say your goodbyes while receiving a premium fuel of vitamins, minerals and carbs.

Lots of carbs.

“Let’s start with Pakgane”, says Kyungsoo, with a skewered sausage in one hand.

Wanting to start with nothing less than the best in order to create a lasting impression, you shake your head in response. This was supposed to be a farewell he’d never forget.

With every step, the aroma of scallops drizzled with butter and cheese grows stronger. You start your tour by ordering two portions of the delectable street food which sets you back considerably but you’re far too elated to care, even refusing Kyungsoo’s offer to pay as the woman sets the scallops ablaze with a blow torch.

“Do you know what this technique is called?” Kyungsoo gives a little nod in the direction of the flaming food.

A teachable moment. How does his own personality not wear him off?

You’d made a firm resolve to not let any of his condescension bog you down so with a sweet smile, you reply, “No, Chef. I do not.”

“Flambé, minus the alcohol. Do you know how they manage that?”

The ahjumma calls out for you and you nearly jump to collect the order, the slight upward curl of his lips coming into your peripheral vision.

***

The Market supposedly looks the same as it did fifty years ago and you quite enjoy eating your way through it. The tour makes your heart grapple with nostalgia even though your partner’s vibe is akin to a mug of insipid coffee.

Although you’d spent only a little over a year at Choi Yoonsun’s, the goodbyes were long and hard. Some of the vendors squeeze you and Kyungsoo in heart wrenching hugs, the others give you a little cash to help you through the transition and for some of the food, you pay only with smiles and thank yous.

After a gastronomic fiesta entailing tteokbokki, pajeon (minus the ketchup - you did it Kyungsoo’s way), sashimi, kimbap, different types of banchan, a thousand more teachable moments, the both of you end the day on a sweet note with hotteok.

The ahjussi wishes you both luck, making you choke back tears.

Your moist eyes don’t escape Kyungsoo’s attention.

“Are you…. Is the hotteok spicy? No, I mean it’s obviously not…erm”

The dam of your tears explodes.

You were going to miss this place. Even the less appealing aspects of it. You were going to miss the kimbap unnie who greeted you with a hug everyday, also the snooty mandu ahjumma who could hardly stand the sight of Choi Yoonsun’s crew. You were going to miss washing dishes in the winters with water that was supposed to be ice and the sweltering summers that had you sweating through every layer of clothing.

Hell, you were even going to miss Kyungsoo.

“No”, you sniffle, “No, no Chef, it’s nothing. Take care of yourself. As much as I’m glad that our fateful working relationship has met its rightful end, I truly, genuinely, wish you luck. And learn to smile a little more, yeah?”

“Are you dying?” Eyes glinting, mouth agape, he chuckles.

“What? NO! What? You’re leaving. What is wrong with you?”

“Who says I’m leaving?”

“You! You’re not coming with us to Gangnam!”

“Says who?”

“Your stupid face that looked like it was hit by a freight train when Imo broke the news last week!”

“I’m not leaving?” He draws his words out in a question.

“This is no time to joke, Chef. You are leaving!”

“Says who!”

“Your stu-”

“Stupid face? I wasn’t planning on leaving at all. I’ve even found myself a place close to the restaurant. Oh yeah, sorry for having misled you. It was really just - my stupid face.”

A month from Grand Opening

It’s not just about food.

Food only makes for a fifth of a restaurant’s success equation. Management and promotional skills are essential because a restaurant is, first and foremost, a business.

Mark Lee, the young consultant from PCY Associates had imparted this crucial business knowledge to your compact team of three aspiring restaurateurs in exchange for an egg sandwich and watermelon juice. The enthu-cutlet has been overseeing the legal set-up of your humble restaurant for a month now.

However, according to Mark, the crème de la crème of the success equation is customer service.

Customer service.

Here’s where the crusty Chef was supposed to take a backseat and you - a real people person, a socially adept charmer - were to sashay in and shine.

These ideas were a bit too much for that thick, globular skull of his so you tried to educate him with a practical example.

He’d added a rule to the first draft of the menu - a shared document for brainstorming purposes. It read ‘No ketchup for you.’ This rule (or insolence as you called it) went against your belief system as the restaurant’s to-be-anointed Manager (a girl can always hope). ‘Never say no to a customer’ being the foundation of customer service, you slashed the rule with a strikethrough.

But the next time you tried to log in, you found yourself locked out of the document.

“Chef, why can’t I find the draft menu anymore?”

He’s aggressively julienning leeks, pretending to not have heard you.

“CHEF!”

“What?” Finally, he looks up. The skin between his eyebrows pinched and his arm raised to level his brand new 1-piece chef’s knife (initials etched into the blade) with his profile.

“Why-why did you lock me out of the draft menu?”, you stammer, gaze trained on the cutting edge glistening with tears of The Leeks.

Kyungsoo’s been visibly getting jittery by the day as opening day approaches.

He deliberately places the knife to the side of the board and you take a gutsy step forward. He uses a cold, serial-killer voice to ask, “What makes you think that I locked you out?”

You lean over from the other side of the granite counter, face barely an inch from his, “Who else could’ve? Imo is technologically challenged.”

“Fine”, he sighs, “I locked you out.” His lips curl up in a menacing smirk, “What are you gonna do about it?”

Grinning, you stare right into his dark eyes and let out a shrill, high-pitched scream, “IMO!”

This throws him back a few steps and he’s rubbing and pulling at his right ear when Imo walks into the kitchen.

“Yah! Am I your babysitter? Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear about it. I am asking you”, she looks at you before spinning her head in Kyungsoo’s direction, “and you, to sort this amongst yourselves. For once!”

“But-but Imo!”, you protest.

“Aegiya, I really don’t want to ship you back to Bucheon.”

***

“Here’s your tax ID, liquor license… okay so this was a touch-and-go because the officer is transferring to another Department and the one that’s supposed to be coming in is a real piece of work….”

Mark Lee is here with the final set of documents.

Imo’s eyes are gleaming with excitement and sheer joy but she’s held a businesswoman-like composure. On the other hand, Kyungsoo looks very much like himself - like someone’s sucked the life out of him.

You bring Mark his usual egg sandwich and watermelon juice because there’s only so much your restaurant can offer at this point in time, feeling brutally overwhelmed with the volume of pending tasks until opening.

After practically inhaling his mini-meal, Mark dabs his mouth clean and says, “My work here is done. If you need anything you know where to find me. And good luck. Trust me, you’ll need it.”

Imo looks worriedly at Kyungsoo and then at Mark and at Kyungsoo again which prompts him to ask rather uncomfortably, “What do you mean ‘you’ll need it’?”

Mark’s dramatically long sigh is an indication of a sermon to follow. As he leans back into his chair, Imo and Kyungsoo instinctively cower like an invisible weight has been plopped onto their shoulders. The sight is beyond pathetic: they are like peasants before a feudal lord. It makes you want to smash the know-it-all smirk off of Mark’s face.

What comes after, though, isn’t a sermon but a sentence and a half that leaves the three of you shaken.

“The dining business here in Gangnam is hyper-competitive and most restaurants fold in six months. And if that sandwich is any indication…”

Kyungsoo valiantly advances to rescue your team out of the dark bubble of Mark Lee’s words with, “What’s wrong with the sandwich? She makes a perfectly good sandwich!”

What was supposed to be a compliment somehow sounds very wrong in your head, but before you could give him the death stare he leaps to damage control, “What I mean is, we all ate the very same sandwich for breakfast. I don’t usually dissect food for novices but the egg was perfectly cooked, mayonnaise was just the right amount and the seasoning was balanced, too. So I’m not sure what you’re trying to say. We’re serving perfectly good food here.”

“The thing is, this is something even my mother could make and dude, believe me, she’s terri…her culinary abilities are highly questionable. Also, do you think your friend would’ve sold you this place if it were thriving, Mrs. Choi? She’d inherited it from her grandfather and she sold it to you at a dirt cheap price because she was neck deep in debt. I’m sure you know, real estate here is three and a half times the country’s average. So not only do you have significant funds locked into a possibly deadweight property but also your plan clearly lacks vision. Gwangjang’s Choi Yoonsun can keep you afloat for four…maybe six months but Gangnam’s Choi Yoonsun has to create an identity for herself. Look around you, everyone’s serving good food”, Mark tilts his head in Kyungsoo’s direction, “Here, people eat with their eyes first. Now, I’m not saying family-run restaurants serving traditional cuisines don’t do well. A lot of them have been passed down for generations. What I’m saying is…..find your USP.”

Mark squints, looks into the distance, and pinches the air a lot during this damp squib speech of his.

So the menu isn’t very different from what Choi Yoonsun served in Gwangjang. Her USP has always been homestyle cooking with a twist. But that was the demand of a Market that upheld traditionalism and Gangnam, being precipitously everchanging, would be quite something to keep up with.

The weight of Mark’s words manifests on Kyungsoo’s shoulders. He lets out a sharp exhale and starts to clear the table, giving him plenty non-verbal cues to leave. You rush to help him out and meet his defeated form (crouched over the sink) in the kitchen.

The shuffling sound of your footsteps reaches his ears and he pivots to face you.

“We’ll be okay”, your voice is but a calm whisper prompting his creased forehead to slowly smoothen.

“We’ll be okay”, he forcefully echoes.

Grand Opening Day

A frisson of fear laced with excitement descends your spine.

Choi Yoonsun’s is enveloped in a pin drop silence save for the sound of Kyungsoo’s pacing. It’s grating on your nerves but Kyungsoo pacing is far better than Kyungsoo “going over the plan” for the umpteenth time.

The kitchen’s prepped for battle so you’re seated at the cash counter, cuddled close with Imo, placated by her soothing, motherly presence. The three of you are like ticking time bombs, ready to go off at any minute.

This, right here, is the perfect example of a pinch-me-it-doesn’t-feel-real moment. You allow yourself to feel the forces at play as your eyes take in every nook and cranny of the restaurant. The place is agreeably well lit and the ventilation hoods aren’t an eyesore either. The decor’s minimalistic with a sand and stone colour scheme and the floor’s been scrubbed spotless. Eight sturdy wooden tables, tactically placed, allow for movement and privacy yet the area has been optimally utilized.

Fifteen minutes for the ‘Open’ sign to light up.

Kyungsoo and you proceed to help each other out with crisp bright yellow aprons affixed with red name tags (handpicked by Imo, the aprons made you both look like dumpy chicks) and clear plastic masks and wish each other luck with curt nods.

***

Imo’s sons are the first to arrive with some friends in tow. They are served with Kyungsoo’s Yachae Twigim and Budae Jjigae, your Gyeran-mari and Kimchi Bokkeum-bap and of course, Imo’s famous Kalguksu and Kimchi Mandu. Makes you wonder if they’ve had enough of it but they seem to be greatly enjoying themselves. Some of Hyunjin’s friends from Four Seasons are here too, their mighty presence driving Kyungsoo to the edge.

But a few compliments from them are enough to soothe his nerves.

Among the flurry of patrons through the day were vendors and stall owners from Gwangjang along with their family and friends, Kyungsoo’s acquaintances who you knew nothing about and neither did you care enough to ask, Mark Lee with his very handsome boss Park Chanyeol also dropped by sometime around noon.

Your mother couldn’t make it to the opening. It stung a little but as usual, you sucked it up and went on with the highly stimulating day that anyway left you with very little time to mull over any unpleasantness.

***

By the end of it, you were pretty sure you’d wake up with blistered feet the next morning.

It’d been a splendid opening with sales tallying up to KRW 2500,000: nearly two and a half times the estimate. Imo breaks into a dance at the figure, even Kyungsoo lips stretch into a reluctant grin.

You intensely wish Mark Lee were here to witness this euphoric win.

Six months later

Mark Lee had been right.

Choi Yoonsun was miles from creating an identity in Gangnam. Regulars from Gwangjang could make it to the restaurant only twice or thrice a week, support from acquaintances had been gradually trickling, and some negative reviews floating around the internet about poor table turnover had also been driving potential guests away.

You tried to mitigate this by hiring part timers at minimum wage but for several reasons, none of them managed to stay: anti-social hours and Kyungsoo’s hostility being two of the key causes.

On your best days, the sales would total up to KRW 1500,000 and the weekday numbers had been dismal.

***

“Dooly-dooly!”

Your eyes light up at the familiarity of that voice. Mirroring its excitement, you run into the arms of its owner.

“Baekhyunnie!”

Kyungsoo peers over his glasses while scrubbing the iron girdle, studying the floppy haired, cheerful man with a wide grin plastered across his face that’s pranced into the kitchen at closing time.

Byun Baekhyun has been your best friend since time immemorial. Growing up in Bucheon, he’d been the only family you’d known besides your parents and Imo’s family. You weren’t even as close with Hyunwon and Hyunjin as you were with Baekhyun. Since work always kept your mother busy, his parents had practically been the ones to raise you and not once did they make you feel like an outsider.

“Yah! Quit calling me Dooly we’re not kids anymore! Have you eaten? Let me whip you up something real quick. Look at youuuu, when did you get this skinny! How long are -”

“Not to interrupt, but you’ve left the water running”, Kyungsoo drones, lazily pointing in the direction of the sink.

You clearly remember turning it off before darting to greet Baekhyun.

‘Sonofa-’ exasperated, you mouth to Baekhyun, whose eyebrows have shot up to his hairline out of vicarious embarrassment, before turning around to face Kyungsoo who seems to be scrubbing the iron girdle to gold. “Chef, you’re closer to the sink.”

“Reiterating. You’ve left the water running. If you wanna go on tittle-tattling, by all means….this wastage is on you.”

“Make yourself comfortable”, too exhausted to pick a fight, you whisper to Baekhyun, gesturing towards the closest table, “I’ll be with you soon.”

***

“It’s bad”, Imo sighs, burying her face in her hands.

11 P.M., two hours past closing time.

The sparse lighting in the restaurant is causing you an eyestrain to look at the scribblings on the register. Your neck and shoulder muscles are tense from all the chopping, stirring, and scrubbing: a slow day does not translate to an easy day. You notice that Kyungsoo is growing weary, too.

Or maybe discouraged.

You communicate with each other in evasive glances as if the restaurant not doing well is, somehow, on the two of you.

“Imo”, Baekhyun speaks first so as to allay the looming dread, “I’ve been reading the online reviews and those who’ve visited here have been raving about the food - especially the Kalguksu. They say you’ve brought the flavours of Gwangjang to Gangnam. There’s this one thing, though - ”

“Sajangnim”, Kyungsoo interrupts a zealous Baekhyun’s pitch, “I don’t think this is any of his business. We’ve been keeping track of reviews and such - ”

“Let the boy speak. He’s family.” She says softly, pressing her fingers to her temples, clearly clutching at straws now.

Kyungsoo clenches his jaw and nods in Baekhyun’s direction, indicating him to continue.

“There-there”, Baekhyun stutters, eyes fixed on Kyungsoo who’s vaguely fascinated with his cuticles, “are some complaints about slow service. Particularly between starters and mains.”

After an uncomfortably rich pause, Imo gently rests her hand atop Baekhyun’s “Baekhyunah, how long are you here for?”

“For as long as you need”, the apples of his cheeks rise as his eyes crinkle into a gleeful smile.

***

“Somebody is early. Also, the cart looks different…it’s..?”

Dressed in his usual black athleisure, round eyes framed with chunky glasses, Kyungsoo jogs lightly to match your out-of-character sprightly pace into the market.

“Bigger. I bought a new one.” You chirp, shooting him an out-of-character smile.

Even the dreary weather isn’t a buzzkill because today is supposed to be Baekhyun’s first day at work.

“How did you get Sajangnim to agree? She can be -”

“Miserly? Stingy? Close-fisted? Also, when will you stop calling her Sajangnim?”

“Just so that you can stop addressing me appropriately? Dream on. And I meant economical. Sajangnim is economical.”

“Chef, do you even listen? I bought it. With my own money. I figured since we’d need more ingredients now, we could use a bigger one.”

“And how did you come to that conclusion?” Impervious to his smug tone, you step away to pick up a one kg bulk pack of dried shiitake mushrooms while he’s examining a small batch of zucchini.

“Because Baekhyun’s gonna be working with us now.”

“Temporarily. And we’re suddenly going to start doing better because of an inexperienced, unemployed -”

The wheels of the cart hit his ankle when you swivel it, making him wince in pain.

“Oops! Sorry.”

“You did that on purpose!” He chides.

Half-shrugging, you say nonchalantly, “Serves you right. Baekhyun may be inexperienced but he isn’t unemployed. If anything, he’s doing us a favour. He’s whimsical like that.”

“I know”, he states, forcefully taking control of the cart, “I know he isn’t unemployed. He owns a Hapkido training academy for elementary school children and is on a break these days. I looked him up. I, personally, wouldn’t have hired him if it were my restaurant but I’m sure Sajangnim -”

“Chef?” You stop dead in your tracks.

“What?”

“You’re on…” you wanted to say ‘social media’ but the words sounded almost blasphemous to be used in front of a very uptight Doh Kyungsoo: a man with absolutely no online presence.

“What is it?” His eyebrows knit together in annoyance.

“Nothing, let’s go.”

“You know what else is different today?” He says on your way out, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips.

“Hmm?”

“You. You’ve showered.” He chortles, thinking he’s being funny.

But with a hardened expression, you let him know that he’s crossed a line.

“Too far?”

“A tad.”

“Let’s get you some coffee.”

“No.” You smile inwardly, relishing his apologetic tone.

“No?”

“We have to pick up Baekhyun’s apron and nametag.”

At first you thought you were imagining this.

A group of high school girls frequenting Choi Yoonsun’s must obviously be because they want to get healthy, homely meals instead of the trash served at fast food chains or the uneconomical subsistence of instagrammable cafes. They’re obviously not here for the charming server with an athlete’s body and a boyish grin.

“He should wear respectable clothing”, says Kyungsoo, indicating at Baekhyun’s skinny jeans and fitted black tee, hiss sharper than the sizzle of minced garlic in butter.

“Why, I don’t think his cleavage is showing”, you retort, scooping out a serving of rice from the cooker.

“You have absolutely no shame”, he states matter-of-factly, stirring the soup pot.

“What? Is my cleavage showing, too?” You ask in mock-surprise, fixing your apron theatrically.

“Forget I said anything.”

The aroma of Kimchi Jjigae had you salivating and you couldn’t wait to taste it for seasoning. Kyungsoo’s cooking amply made up for his drab, lacklustre personality.

“Chef, lighten up. Any publicity is good publicity.”

“You sound like a tabloid journalist”, leaving the soup to simmer, he turns around to face you, “What’s wrong with your hair?”

“I got a haircut”, scrunching your face you respond suspiciously, the fact that he noticed it despite the hair cover makes your heart palpitate.

Taking the unwarranted attention away from your hair, you ask hastily, “You think they’re here for Baekhyun and not your food, right?”

“Ye-yes”, he stutters, looking away.

“These people wouldn’t be here time and again if it weren’t for the food, Chef. You should know that.”

Moving closer to him, you lightly dust flour off of his shoulders.

“How did you get flour on your shoulders?”

His ears go scarlet.

Imo comes into the kitchen while Kyungsoo and you are preparing for the day ahead. Baekhyun has gone down to Bucheon to oversee the affairs of his training academy.

“There’s this new officer who’s reviewing all liquor permits issued this year. Be careful and make sure to check all IDs twice. I’m taking the day off. Will you two be okay by yourselves?” She swooshes out of the kitchen, not bothering with your incoherent replies.

“Can’t believe they’ve ditched us on a Friday.” You grumble, soaking clams in fresh water.

“We’ll be fine.” Kyungsoo reassures you.

***

It had been quite the day and nearing closing time, your feet were going sore. Baekhyun taking on the toughest role in the restaurant made you greatly appreciate his efforts. While most guests are civil, he’s experienced his fair share of rowdy ones firsthand and his ability to deal with them is unparalleled. He’s never, ever let any matter escalate to a point of embarrassment and has demonstrated the maturity to overcome every crisis situation with a smile on his face.

The fact that he’s only temporarily here suddenly starts to wear you out.

Kyungsoo sticks a handwritten note on the steel holder which reads - Yangnyeom - 2. It’s only been a little over eight months since the restaurant’s been fully functional yet the holder’s worn out more because of use and less because of time.

“About time we advanced to kitchen order tickets, right? Saves Baekhyun…or either of us unnecessary excursions to the kitchen. Also, billing will be simpler that way.” You offer while straightening your apron and getting ingredients ready for Kyungsoo to prepare the sauce.

“Yeah, it does”, he seems really out of it as he’s getting chunks of juicy chicken ready for the fryer. He’s moving around the kitchen rather clumsily, nearly tipping over the bottle of corn syrup.

“Wah, Chef, are you alright? Would you like me to do this?”

Resting his back against the wall, he slowly sinks to the floor, face buried in hands. “Yes, please.”

While you’re preparing a sauce the recipe for which you know like the back of your hand, his instructions don’t cease. The only thing you’ve ever liked about working with this man is that contrary to Imo, he does not believe in micromanaging. But right now it feels like you’re in the kitchen with her and not with Kyungsoo.

The tension causes you to lower the chicken into the fryer hastily resulting in specks of flaming oil to splatter onto your arm.

He’s quick to rush to your aid with a cold towel.

“Yah, Chef, you’re making me nervous, what’s with all this nitpicking?” You almost yell at him as he’s gingerly dabbing the towel on the affected area.

“I’m sorry, I am so sorry. It’s just”, he pauses briefly, worrying at his lower lip, questioning eyes peering into yours, before helping you with the chicken - slightly more confident in his movements now, “whatever you do, don’t get out of the kitchen. Table number four, those guys there, are weird.”

“Weird, how?”

“Rowdy, mannerless and drunk. Really, really drunk. Steamrolled by the ‘Friday happy’.”

“Ah, Baekhyun’s well-versed with their kind. Don’t worry, just be polite. Are you sure you don’t want me to intervene?”

“Positive and whatever happens?”

“Stay put. Chef?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s only thirty minutes to closing. We can get through this, okay? And don’t accept further orders!”

***

Twenty minutes after, you’re aimlessly scrolling through your phone to take your mind off the stabbing pain in your lower abdomen. Simultaneously playing a little game of inventing the kind of content Kyungsoo would upload if he were a user on these sites only to be jolted with the realization as to how little you know about the man.

As the restaurant’s occupied with boisterous conversations and raucous laughter, you’re counting seconds to closing. Multiplying three hundred with every bracket of five on the clock.

The din comes to an abrupt halt when you hear a middle aged man bellow, “Yah, punk, do you have a death wish?!”

Gradually moving closer to the door, you try to get a view of the scene outside.

You see a polite but firm Kyungsoo bow before the man, “We can’t serve you any more alcohol, sorry, we’ll be closing now.”

The other two men along with the nasty vermin have long passed out. You quickly call for a cab, subconsciously grabbing a hold of Kyungsoo’s knife in the process.

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO YOU’RE TALKING TO RIGHT NOW?” He thunders.

Kyungsoo recoils as the man grows louder by the second. “We cannot serve you anymore alcohol, sir.”

It happens in a flash.

So fast you almost feel like you’re astral projecting.

One moment, the man raises a hand to strike Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo swerves. You dash out of the kitchen with the knife in your hand. Face to face with the man, you scream until your lungs hurt, “GET OUT! I SAID GET OUT OF MY RESTAURANT!”

The vermin’s companions stir at the sound.

With frightened eyes they take in the scene as their drowsy brain is still trying to assess the situation for action. They soon pull the man by his shoulders while Kyungsoo’s tugging at your knife bearing arm that’s still raised in combat mode, simultaneously apologising to the rowdy guest.

Wagging his sausage like finger at the both of you he warns menacingly, “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

Slapping the tab on their table, you proceed to threaten him, “Settle this and get - the fuck - out of my restaurant before I call the cops.”

Throwing a couple of bills on the table, he staggers out, grumbling, “You just wait”, still wagging his finger and reeking of stale alcohol.

It was only then that your grip on the knife eases as Kyungsoo carefully draws it out of your hand and you see, just like you, he’s shaking too.

“What just happened?” He’s the first to speak as you sit across the table from him, dark orbs glinting in the dim light, forehead beaded with sweat. His hands are tightly wound together as he places them on the table. One day without Baekhyun and Imo and Kyungsoo and you had messed up real bad. By the looks of it, neither of you were ready to accept this fact.

“We did exactly what we were supposed to do. Stop worrying!” You say more to yourself.

He’s not convinced.

“Chef, that man’s reaction wasn’t something that you could’ve preempted or….controlled in any way.” Finding yourself getting mildly annoyed, you try your best to lay the edge off of your voice. All you wanted was for him to be alright because, technically, none of this was his fault.

“Would you have allowed him to take a swing at you?”

“He was far too drunk for that”, he exhales heavily and you notice his stance relax before clamping up again, “but you-you came out with a knife!”

His tone isn’t accusatory. He’s simply baffled.

“Fight or flight…”

“It’s my knife.”

“I’ll be sure to hide the murder weapon.”

He nods slowly.

“Do you need some water? Tea? A hug?”

You half expect him to scowl or groan or whatever it is that he usually does but he seems to be actually evaluating his options.

“A beer?”

“Down for Chimaek?”

Stood up to go into the kitchen, you awkwardly, and very, very slowly put an arm around his shoulders and give him a tight squeeze.

***

This was your first time having fried chicken and beer in complete silence - a few minutes felt like hours with the incident still hovering over both of you.

“Chef, you know we haven’t murdered anyone right?”

“The restaurant feels like a scene of crime to me. Also, what did he mean by ‘you just wait’?”

“Eh. Empty threats. Testosterone poisoning. Do you think they’ll throw me into prison for threatening him with a knife?”

“You should be sent in for pilfering stock”, he says gesturing at the tray between you, taking a chunky bite of the chicken, “you were going to take this home, weren’t you? It’s good, by the way.”

“Ah, this makes me happy”, you lean back into your chair, smiling discreetly at Kyungsoo’s messy fingers and mouth.

“A compliment from me makes you happy?” His eyebrows shoot up as he takes a swig of beer.

“Testosterone poisoning”, you say pointing an accusatory finger at him, “I couldn’t care less what you think. I’m pretty confident in my skills.”

“As you should be. Then what ‘makes you happy’? The thought of going to prison?”

“Yes”, you lie, “you think I’ll have a prison bitch?”

“I think you’ll be the prison bitch.”

You open your mouth to protest but what escapes is a mortifying burp.

Uncomfortable silence.

Meeting his eyes, you purse your lips, feeling your face flame. He smiles at you and says, ‘wait for it’, before belching. Loudly. Sending you both into fits of laughter.

“What happened here last week?”

Kyungsoo and you are seated opposite Imo like criminals before a cop in an interrogation room. Baekhyun is holed up in the kitchen, cleaning. For the most part, he avoids conflicts like these where Imo’s red hot beam of anger could be misdirected at him.

She’s glaring at the responsible child, Kyungsoo, to break first but since it was your idea to keep the incident from her you start to explain. By the time you’re done she seems angrier, but not at the two of you. Only after a tiny lecture on how you should learn to be more tactful in such situations does she spell out her real concern.

Turns out the man the both of you had a scuffle with last week is the new officer’s brother-in-law. Now, the restaurant’s received a notice from the liquor permit’s office for an “inspection” in the coming week. Although aware that this situation isn’t either of your fault, Imo is far from pleased with this development.

“Fix this”, she orders and disappears into the kitchen.

There’s only one person who can help you out of this mess, but neither Kyungsoo nor you possess the emotional capacity to deal with him.

“He’s our only option”, you deadpan.

With a heavy sigh, Kyungsoo dials Mark Lee.

***

Mouth stuffed with egg sandwich, Mark Lee garbles, “What do you want from me? It’s an inspection so let them come and - inspect.”

Imo’s taken off for the day and it’s just you and Kyungsoo trying to sort out the mess you weren’t entirely responsible for.

“You said we could call you if we needed help with anything”, Kyungsoo reasons with Mark who’s now ogling at him as if he just got spoken to in an alien language.

“Yes, but I don’t see how I can be of help here?”

“Tell us anything you know about this new officer. Don’t leave anything out.” You’re nearly begging at this point and Mark Lee, as always, is reveling in your misery.

He relaxes in his seat, swirling the glass of watermelon juice, “You know you can’t buy your way out of this right? He’s an uptight bugger and you screwed up! Big time! All you had to do was give his brother-in-law a bottle of beer.”

“Oh, we’re sorry we didn’t have his family tree handy”, Kyungsoo rolls his eyes, “Besides, were just trying to abide by the rules - ”

The helplessness in Kyungsoo’s voice causes you to lose your cool at Mark. “Yah! Quit being cocky and just tell us everything you know!”

“Oh-oh feisty”, his mouth spreads into an annoying grin, “okay so he loves his wife, obviously, it’s why he’s doing this. Has an eleven year old daughter who is the apple of his eye. Erm, let’s see, he’s spent his teenage years in Japan and the country is all he’ll ever talk about. Piss him off and this inspection turns into a review and if things continue to spiral you’ll have your permit revoked. So be careful.” His eyes lock with yours making you shift uncomfortably in your seat.

“What are you planning to do with this information, anyway?”

“We don’t know just yet”, Kyungsoo starts clearing up the table, as usual, and Mark knows that his time is up.

“Dude”, he leans towards you, whisper-chortling, as Kyungsoo retires into the kitchen, “did you drive him out with a knife?”

Nodding, you grin gleefully.

“Fiery! You’re totally my boss’ type.”

***

“So what are we going to do?” Rubbing your eyes and stifling a yawn, you ask Kyungsoo.

While the world sleeps, the market is awake. Buzzing with a contagious energy. Although you hate having to wake up this early, the moment you step into this space, you’re completely taken by its vigour and gusto for life.

It’s nothing short of a celebration.

Chefs, big and small, passionately scour every nook and corner for the perfect herbs, veggies, and meats. You may not know each other closely or even by name but you feel part of a community - part of a family. True to character, you won’t ever stop whining about this routine with friends and family and occasionally with Kyungsoo, Baekhyun, and Imo but you know it in your heart of hearts, you wouldn’t skip sourcing for the world.

“So he’s spent his teenage years in Japan right?” Kyungsoo muses, lowering a crate of mudfish in the cart for today’s special, Chueotang.

“Let’s recreate his teenage years for him. Japanese dorm meals?”

Kyungsoo stops abruptly, “That’s a thought!”

“We can set the menu today after closing.”

“How about a coffee now?” He asks, averting your gaze as a slight smile forms on his lips.

On the morning of the inspection, Kyungsoo sneezed. Once. Twice. And on the third strike he was sent home by Imo because “this is not a good look”. Or forced out of the restaurant - depends on who you ask. He whined a little, even shed a few tears but Imo steeled herself and drew him out, anyway.

Although the menu is simple, the concept is layered and robust. The exercise is, after all, being undertaken merely to impress the officer in question. Well equipped for the inspection, the restaurant’s closed for the day.

This is nothing Baekhyun and you can’t manage but, obviously, Kyungsoo feels otherwise. He’s been calling to check in in intervals of five but seems like the medication’s finally kicked in and put him in a state of deep slumber. Good for him. And for you.

Two hours until showtime.

Under your close supervision, Baekhyun is labouring over the fairly straightforward stuff: tako sausages, potato and macaroni salad and egg sandwiches while you’ve kicked off the recipe for rolled omelettes.

Egg mixture aside, you start the rice cooker, leave green tea to boil for salmon ochazuke while the frying pan’s heating up for yaki udon.

***

Once you’d gotten all the dishes down, done exactly the way instructed by Kyungsoo: rolled omelettes, yaki udon, tako sausage, potato and macaroni salad, egg sandwiches and salmon ochazuke, it was time for you to take on the simplest but the most provoking dish on the menu.

Neko Manma. Or, cat rice.

“Ah, Dooly, shall I bring out the jar of bonito flakes?” Baekhyun prompts.

“The one Chef brought us this morning?”

He hums in response.

“I think we should use the store bought one instead.”

“But he’s worked on this recipe all week. You sure you wanna do that?”

“Positive.”

“He’ll flip out.”

“I’ll deal with it. We’re altering the recipe for Neko Manma, this ones too pretentious. Doesn’t sit right with me.”

“So, what do you want to do with it?” Baekhyun’s tone is wary and questioning.

“Rice, soy sauce, store bought bonito flakes and just a faint drizzle of butter. Nice and clean.” You respond confidently.

“Are you really sure?”

***

“Why are you here?” You hiss at Kyungsoo while Imo is outside, busy greeting the motley of high-headed officials, giving them a brief of the restaurant, herself, her team, and going over the licenses and documentation.

Face flushed, Kyungsoo’s lips are swollen and his eyes are runny, puffy, and bloodshot. He’s clearly in the need for some rest.

“To see if everything’s in order.” His voice is hoarse.

He starts to closely examine the entrees laid out, a smile of approval gracing his lips until he stops short of cat rice.

“These bonito flakes -”

“I didn’t use the fresh ones. I thought -”

“There’s no miso soup?”

“No, Chef, I reckoned -”

“No grilled fish? Are you being lazy?”

“Chef, no, I am not being lazy. The original recipe just didn’t feel right. So i changed it up a little -”

“Changed it up? That decision was not yours to make!”

“It’s just a side, it’s not going to matter so much!”

Absolutely livid, he runs a hand through his hair and laments. “If we weren’t this close to serving i would’ve dumped this into the bin because that’s where it belongs.”

“Chef, please”, your voice quivers, “let me explain! This was supposed to be the lightest dish on the menu. We ended up styling it with… overwhelming ingredients, so I -”

“I’m utterly confused! What on earth led you to believe you’re qualified enough to teach me? I’ve trained at a diner in Tokyo for two whole years. I know exactly what I’m doing here!”

Eyes brimming with tears, you glance over and Baekhyun who has ‘I told you so’ written all over his face.

"Kyungsooyah? When did you come in? What’s going on here?”

Imo’s bewilderment cuts through the tension.

“Sajangnim, I was feeling slightly better so I thought of dropping by to wish you luck."

Courtesying, he quickly dashes out through the back door.

***

The inspection has been revoked. Unofficially, atleast. The restaurant is to receive a written order in a week’s time.

The officer was impressed to the extent of apologising for his brother-in-law’s behaviour. He even lauded Imo on teaching her staff to stick to the establishment’s principles which made you wonder if he was fully aware of the facts of the case: knife and all.

He also mentioned how, as a student, he’d eat a bowl of Neko Manma before every exam because at the time, to him, anything else was unpalatable.

And that, this was what he considered to be the perfect recipe.

You go through the rest of the day as if sleepwalking. How stupid could you have been believe you were “on good terms” with Kyungsoo or that this was an equal and productive partnership. The fact remained that he still thought of you as someone frivolous: some air-headed moron who has no idea what she’s doing.

Someone beneath him.

You made an effort to appreciate this victory but the day had only left you with a bitter taste. Your mother had been right. You’ve always been too soft. Too trusting. Letting people in too easily and allowing them to walk all over you.

Now, Kyungsoo’s always been like this: controlling, stubborn, absolutely thorough. He never deviates from his well laid out plans. But today was different. Today, you expected something out of him. You expected him to trust you. You expected him to understand your reasoning, to give you a chance. To comprehend the fact that you could have a mind of your own and that not everything has to be exactly by the book.

You loathe yourself for expecting this out of him.

Sailing rough seas together doesn’t bloom friendships. You were stupid to think of him as a friend while, in all these months, his opinion of you had remained the same.

Contrary to the Gwangjang days, you’d long stopped wishing him gone. In some farthest corner of your heart you were even grateful that he chose to say.

You’ve been so stupid.

Two months later

The kitchen has been fervent but hushed.

After all this time, Baekhyun, Kyungsoo and you seem to have found a rhythm. You don’t need to verbally communicate to get through a workday.

But, you used to.

Sometimes unnecessarily even. Kyungsoo and you hardly saw eye to eye on most things but there would be some semblance of friendly workplace banter. He’d say a little something about a perfectly done piece of meat or a well seasoned soup. Baekhyun would take wickedly funny pot shots at some of the customers (to the utmost horror of Imo). Imo would sporadically push morsels of whatever was being prepared into your mouths.

Baekhyun receiving feedback in the form of grunts has shut him up altogether. And the busyness of the restaurant has seemed to have blinkered Imo into not being able to perceive the tension between Kyungsoo and you.

It’s a dance to no music.

Furtive glances. Measured smiles. Curt nods. Exceptional dishes. Decent earnings.

That’s it.

Maybe that’s how it should’ve always been.

“Ready to go?” Baekhyun asks, dressed in a well fitted black shirt and slacks.

You’re mopping the floor. Clearly not ready to go.

When you make this known with a sharp glare, Baekhyun giggles.

Nothing good can come out of that impish smile of his. But before you can sink your claws into him and drag him back, he’s already chatting up Kyungsoo who’s fixing the chairs.

“Kyungsoo, you coming?” He says a little too loudly and you groan. But you know Kyungsoo all too well. He’s one to decline offers involving socialising with you (unless of course, the offer is put forth by his dearest Sajangnim).

’You can do better than that’, you mouth to Baekhyun.

Incurious about Kyungsoo’s answer, you’re fully prepared to chomp Baekhyun’s ear off for inviting him.

“Sure”, Kyungsoo says plainly.

Sure?

Without taking the where-what-why route like normal people do? Just..sure?

“Great! We’re going out for drinks since it’s Dooly’s birthday today.”

“Oh. Happy birthday.”

“Thanks. But, Chef, you can’t come. I don’t want you there. I’m sor-”

Swallowing the apology crackling at the tip of your tongue, you dash into the kitchen, your periphery catching his lowered gaze and tight smile.

Regularising the erratic thrumming of your heart with deep breaths, you shove the mop into the storage area, take off your apron and throw it in the laundry bag (which you were to deal with the next morning), straighten your outfit, fix your hair, dab some rosy tint onto your lips, throw your tote bag over your shoulder, run back out, grab Baekhyun by purposefully lodging your nails into his arms, and take off.

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nyctolovian · 4 years ago

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Summary: Martin is an incubus and Jon is the drunken human who just accidentally summoned him.

Written for @aspecarchivesweek Day 4 prompt: AU

Warning: nudity, terrible humor and shenanigans

Martin felt a prickle at the back of his neck and hummed. A call. How unusual.

He lifted his head and looked skyward, or as skyward one was allowed to look up from the depths of the underworld. It was unusual, being called in this day and age. Humans, as a society, had long moved on from their initial obsession with witchcraft and demonic rituals so summoning for underworld beings had been and far between.

Usually, the minor demons would be clamouring over one another, in a flurry for a chance to feed upon human soul. However, as the ceiling of the underworld was burned open with a summoning circle and light from the human realm streamed in, the imps and lesser fiends around him cowered. In fact, they actively avoided eye contact with Martin. Intrigued, Martin licked the air and let the scent of blood settle on his senses. When he recognised the taste it left on his tongue, he blinked in surprise.

The call… was for Martin. Specifically.

From the corner of his eye, some of the other demons shifted out of his way politely. Slowly, Martin rose from his spot, stretching his arms and grunting softly as his joints popped at the movement.

“Long time, eh?”

“Sure is. I just hope it’s not another horny teenager,” Martin muttered and glanced at Tim who grinned slyly at him. He was violating several social rules, which usually signalled an invitation to confrontation, but Martin knew Tim well enough to recognise the lack of hostility. Besides, it was absurd to compete for this particular summoning. Every demon was curiously watching with bated breath. Interrupting this would ruin the fun. After all, the art of summoning specific demons was thought to have long been lost.

Especially something as specific as summoning a demon by name.

Martin couldn’t help the shiver of anticipation as he spread his wings. What could be waiting for him beyond the circle? With a deep breath, he launched himself upwards. As he approached the summoning circle, he felt the familiar light tingle of cool air against his skin. As his hands curled around the edges of the circle, it burned into his fingers.

Martin heaved himself up into the human realm and found the summoner, staring up at him with wide dark eyes. This was not an unusual reaction. Martin could be a terrifying sight indeed to a human, with his large ram horns and razor-sharp teeth. But humans were terribly confused creatures who often mistook their rapidly racing hearts for carnal thrill so it had always worked in Martin's favour.

Smoke poured out of the summoning circle and he stepped out into the dark bedroom. “Why, good evening,” he greeted with a smile.

The human was quite the frazzled mess with his unshaved face, and black but greying locks tied up in a high fuzzy bun. He was wearing a purple cotton skirt that fell to his ankles, and the baggiest possible shirt with the words "Trust me, I Majored in Not Giving a Fuck" printed on the front. Clutched in his hands was a thick tattered volume of which he made full use by shielding his eyes with it.

He smelled of alcohol and a dark red coloured his brown cheeks deliciously. Martin's suspicions were confirmed when he stepped another stepped forward and kicked an empty can of beer, sending it rolling across the room and hitting a stack of newspapers on the floor with a dull klunk.

Questionable choices aside, he looked rather adorable and Martin might say this looked to be one of his finer catches. If only said summoner didn’t immediately scrunch his handsome face in disgust and mortification.

“Oh, fuck!” the summoner said. “Wha— I thought…?” He narrowed his eyes at the pages of the book in his hands and let out the most exasperated groan Martin had ever heard. Then, he hurled the book at the wall. "Agh god! This is what I bloody get for sleep deprivation, I suppose. A fucking incubus!"

If Tim were in Martin's situation, he might have slid in a quip like, "Oh, if it pleases you, and I know it will, I can be a fucking incubus." Or a line that sounds much smoother than anything Martin could come up with. But Martin was not Tim so he just flinched awkwardly as the summoner's glare shot upwards and practically bore holes into him.

“Alright, back into the circle,” the human said. “Back! Back!” He walked towards Martin and waved his arms dismissively, wobbling every step in his intoxicated state.

“Are y– Are you seriously shooing me?” he huffed at the audacity. “Like some cat?”

“Do I need to invite you out? Or perhaps I should rescind my invitation as if you’re a vampire. Begone, demon!” he said, flailing his arms ridiculously.

Martin looked incredulously at the small man. “But you summoned me! You can’t just shoo me away!”

“Look, I’m sorry. There’s been a mistake.”

“A mistake?!” Martin shouted. How could he be summoned by name (by name!!) in a mistake! It was unheard of and he was frankly quite offended. He gesticulated wildly, searching for the words to express how utter bullshit this was. But rage rendered him speechless and he could only sputter broken noises.

“I read the wrong page and did the wrong ritual. I never meant to get… this.” He motioned to all of Martin, as though somehow greatly offended by the demon’s emergence he brought about himself. “What do I have to do to send you back?”

“I have to finish my contract, human! I can’t be sent back any old how.”

He frowned, hilariously befuddled. “Which is?”

“Take a guess,” the incubus deadpanned.

“Ah. That’d be… hm… difficult,” he said. “Ah! I think Sasha next door has been rather pent up lately. If you went out and knocked on the first door to your right, a nice young lady—that’s Sasha—will open the door and you could render your lovely services to her.”

“What? No, you can’t–”

The summoner clearly did not hear him because he nodded to himself sagely, humming in self-approval. He made his way over to the living room, swaying from side to side. "Oh. Wait." He halted just outside the main door. “No, that doesn’t sound like a good idea after all.”

Martin pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course it isn't–”

“It’s better if I came with you to explain things. I don’t think she’d be keen on receiving a random stranger, and especially not someone who’s in this state of…” The summoner pulled a face of disgust. “Of undress.”

“Wh– I’m an incubus for hell’s sake! What other state of dress could I possibly be in? I'm not usually summoned to be taken on a stroll outside!”

"It's just a short walk. I wouldn't constitute that as a stroll," he mumbled. “I’m sure Sasha can appreciate this look better than I ever could. That’s a thing most other people appreciate, right? Must be,” he decided, opening the door.

Immediately, Martin slammed it shut. “Wait! No! That’s not the point! You can’t just cart me off to another human!”

Folding his arms like a petulant child in a supermarket, the human demanded, “Why the hell not?!”

“Because you made the contract! It’s your blood on the sacrificial circle, not this… this Sasha person.”

“Well,” he said, pout upon his lips, “that’s inconvenient.” He sat on the floor and tucked the skirt of his dress inwards.

Then, came the first breathing moment Martin had had since he first emerged from the summoning circle.

Head lolling against the wooden door, the summoner slumped into himself and exhaled loudly. “What now?”

“Well, um,” Martin said, “I usually begin things by finding out what my summoner’s name is.”

The human blinked sleepily, as though not registering for a moment (and perhaps he really didn’t), before saying, “You’re not going to… steal my name or something, right?”

“What? No!” Martin exclaimed.

“Sorry. I was just–”

“You summoned me yourself! You should know damn well I’m not a fae!”

“God, I’m sorry! It’s not every day I summon something."

Martin sighed heavily. "Yeah, it's fine. I'm sorry too. For yelling."

They settled back down into quietness. “It’s Jon. My, uh, my name. And you’re… A long name I can’t remember.” He grunted as he pushed himself up to get the book.

“Actually, just call me Martin. Don’t… Don’t use my full demonic name.”

Jon slid back down lazily. “Alright then, Martin. Is there any way we can, um, complete the contract without doing any of the–” He gestured vaguely– “stuff.”

"There's nothing else, really," Martin said with a wince of sympathy. "I am a sex demon after all so I trade in sex favours."

Deflating like a balloon, Jon let out a puff of frustration. "Oh, bollocks," he muttered. "Just my luck to summon a sex demon. Of all the wrong demons."

"Oh, so it's the sex demon part and not specifically the incubus part?"

"Yes. Don't, um, don't get me wrong I'm not a prude or anything. I'm just, well, terribly asexual," Jon said, fidgeting with the hem of his collar. "Do you… Is that something you're familiar with?"

"Oh, yeah. Humans like that have existed for ages," Martin replied and Jon visibly relaxed. "I've never been summoned by one before though."

Pulling the collar over his mouth, Jon chuckled drunkenly, his nose crinkling delightfully as he did so. "That's fair."

Martin couldn’t help the little upward curl of his own lips. Jon had a nice laugh, one that soothed and gently brushed away the tension in your chest. Martin found his chest warming at it and he sort of wished he could hear the pleasant sound again.

The laugh faded with a soft exhale. "Is there really no other way I can… end the contract?"

Martin gave Jon a pitying look. "Look, I'm… How about kissing? Kissing can be sexual and—"

"Kissing's worse."

Martin blinked. "Really?"

"I'm kiss-averse. Lips on lips is just… All that wet breathy movement. It just…" Jon pulled a face of revolt and exaggerated shudder to demonstrate his point. "You know? I mean, of course you don't. It's just stupid."

"No no no. It's not stupid at all," Martin assured him as he sat down on the floor so Jon didn't have to crane his neck to look at him. "Reasonable, in fact."

"Thank you!" Jon said. "Kissing has zero appeal. What is there to like about it other than the fact that it's supposed to be a show of affection? At least with sex it's not so bad. To me, at least."

"Not so bad how? Um, if, well, if I may ask…"

"I… It's…" Jon was sliding further and further onto the floor until his entire back was against the floor and his head was propped up by the door behind him. He exhaled through the corners of his mouth. "I'm… sort of neutral, I suppose? It's complicated. And quite a lot. I-I… I wouldn't want to go on for too long. I mean, I'd just bore you and—"

"I'd say I'm a pretty good listener. You'd be surprised how much pillow talk I do with the humans who summon me." Martin laughed sheepishly as he scratched the back of his head.

It was clear the moment Jon's restraint snapped because something in his eyes changed. Immediately, Jon was launched into an alcohol-driven spiel. "It's a fluctuating thing, you see? Most of the time, I forget sex is even a thing so when I'm suddenly reminded of its existence, I'm incredibly caught of guard. It's dumb but I feel offended even. That's why this—" he gestured to all of Martin— "is frankly rather off-putting. No offense."

Martin shifted awkwardly.

"But sometimes, you know, it feels… okay? As in I-I want it sometimes. Not often. Maybe once every three months, it sounds like a fascinating idea. But then there's no one in mind to do it with and I don't feel comfortable just… picking someone. And—" He frowned, his brow wrinkling cutely. "God, this is embarrassing to talk about. I didn't even talk about this in as much detail with Georgie. She's my, uh, my ex. It just never seemed like the right time to talk about it and then suddenly we've drifted apart and…” Jon sighed loudly. “I just never could talk to her about things. Even if they bothered me." A look of devastation crossed his features as his arms slackened. "God, this is probably why we broke up," he breathed.

"I'm sorry," Martin said consolingly.

Sliding further onto the floor till he was completely lying on it, Jon held a hand up. "No. No, it's been a long time since then. I'm no longer hung up about it. I just… well, this thing… my relationship with sex as a… thing. It just creeps up on me once in a while. It complicates things. So you can see why this is an odd situation I've accidentally gotten us into?" He turned his body so he lay on his side.

"Yeah."

His eyes were pleading as he pulled his legs up to lie in a foetal position. "I'm really sorry I got us into this mess.”

“Don’t worry,” Martin said. “We’ll figure a way out of this together.”

Hesitantly, Jon nodded.

Martin wracked his brain for any possible solution. He sat there for a good minute before his brain gave out. “No good, I can’t think of any right now.”

Silence.

"Jon?"

The slowness and depth of his breathing made Martin frown in suspicion. He approached Jon tentatively and peered at his face. Sure enough, lying there with his eyes lightly lidded and arms crossed over his chest, the human was sleeping.

“What?!” Martin exclaimed, nudging him with his foot. “Did you seriously pass out in 5 seconds?!”

Thankfully, Jon was not entirely in dreamland yet because he furrowed his brow, refusing to open his eyes, and grumbled, “Wha…?”

In utter dismay, Martin yelled, “Jon, you can’t sleep on the floor like this!”

“You’re not the boss of me,” he slurred out in drunken drowsiness, turning his face towards the floor.

A groan of exasperation left Martin. “You’ll catch a bloody cold!” he scolded. “Your head will be aching and you’ll have a crick in your neck at the very least.” He squatted down and began shaking the human violently.

This time, Jon’s eyes flew open in shock and he immediately squeezed it shut. “Ack! For fuck’s sake! Why is the first thing I see when I open my eyes your big smelly dick?!”

"Wh- It's not smelly!"

Jon rolled out of Martin’s grasp. “I’m up. I’m up.” Sitting up, he began to rub his eyes.

Martin rolled his eyes. “We wouldn’t have to come to this if you didn’t decide to fall asleep on the floor like a caveman. I thought you humans will have a better appreciation of the comforts of a bed.”

“I’m tired, alright? God, you'll be stuck here for a while, won't you?” Jon said.

Martin hummed.

“Let's get you something to wear. I can’t have you going around butt naked in my house.” He stood up and gestured for Martin to come with him. And because he was wobbling dangerously as he walked, Martin followed him to make sure he didn’t trip and die on the way to his bedroom.

After flinging his wardrobe doors open dramatically, Jon scanned its contents with folded contemplative arms. He grabbed a pair of boxers and tossed them into Martin’s arms. “Try it on. These are the biggest I’ve got so if you can’t fit into these, I’ll murder you.”

Brushing the strange threat off as a drunkard’s words, Martin stepped into the boxers. They were a tad bit of a squeeze but he supposed they could be considered a fit. When he looked up, Jon threw a dress over him with the hanger still on, checking the fit with narrowed eyes, before sighing and shoving it back into his wardrobe.

They went through several iterations of this before Jon ran out of clothes. Not that this was unexpected, if you asked Martin. Jon was quite scrawny, standing at about 160cm and completely dwarfed by Martin’s broad-shouldered figure of 192cm. It was already a miracle that Jon had any underwear at all that fit him and Martin expressed as much to Jon.

“Aren’t I dressed enough?” he added.

However, that only earned himself a scathing glare from Jon. “If you think being in a pair of boxers is called ‘dressed enough’ then you’re terribly wrong,” he replied.

Martin decided not to comment that this was the most dressed he has ever been, even more than that time he wore lacy lingerie during a summon.

“Aha!” Jon cried, slapping Martin’s shoulder. “I have just the thing!” He squeezed between Martin and his bed and fetched a plastic chair from the corner of his room.

Clumsily, he clambered onto the chair and if Martin had a heart, it would leap to his throat at the way Jon rocked. Then, he stood on the chair to reach the top shelf of the wardrobe and Martin's hands shot out to steady the incredibly drunk and wobbly human.

And good thing that Martin did because Jon suddenly lurched leftwards. Martin let out a frightful squeak as he caught Jon. "Careful!"

In his arms, Jon was stiff with shock. He pursed his lips nervously.

He really did have a nice face, round and sharp in all the right places. Short but thick lashes that flickered as he blinked. Uneven lips with the left corner curling upwards slightly, as though just to keep things interesting. Thick, strong eyebrows that accentuated his eyes—dark eyes that were so soulfully deep, one could drown in it, and Martin was struggling to breathe a bit actually.

"I… Uh, thanks?" Jon mumbled as his gaze fell. Upon seeing what he had pulled out on the way down however, his face lit up. "There!" he exclaimed, lifting the thing in his hand triumphantly. "A bathrobe!"

Martin sighed in frustration, slowly let the scrawny man down and accepted the proffered bathrobe. Jon was about to step onto the chair again but Martin pulled him off and set him onto the bed behind them, where he could not endanger his own life. “Alright, alright. No more climbing up things tonight. What do you need?” Martin said.

Huffing, Jon flopped backwards onto the bed. “I need to close it.”

“I’ll do it,” he said. He raised his hands and easily shut the upper shelf of the wardrobe. With that settled, he put the bathrobe on, tying it neatly, and turned to Jon. “Alright, what–” He stopped when he saw Jon fast asleep in the most bizarre position, upper body on the bed while his entire lower body dangled off, his skirt fanned out as the human slept with his legs stretched onto the floor.

Martin grimaced openly. This was going to be one long summoning. This Jon person was really quite the hassle. Sure, Martin has met his fair share of human disasters—adulterers, gamblers, sex deviants. But he has never met this particular brand of mess before.

Still, he couldn’t bear to leave Jon in this state. Let it be said that Martin the Incubus was an excellent bed partner. He leaned down and picked Jon up to lay him properly on his bed. While Martin tried to tuck Jon into bed, sleepy arms wound around his neck. It was quite cute actually, so Martin let him.

When he was done, Martin tried to push Jon off, but the stubborn human only clung tighter. He tried to pry Jon’s arms apart. To his horror, that made Jon let out a whine before he threw his leg over Martin’s back and tugged with more force than Martin thought he was capable of in his sleep.

“Oomph!” Martin steadied himself before he fell and crushed the poor human under his weight. “You really are a bloody handful!”

They wrestled for a while longer before Martin let out a groan of sufferance, jostled himself a space on the bed and lay down, all while making sure he didn’t accidentally hurt Jon with his ram horns. As though satisfied, Jon’s stick-thin limbs wound round Martin’s body and he pressed his face against his chest. Jon was all elbows and knees, and all that shifting in his slumber did not help. But, left with not much of a choice, Martin resigned himself to Teddy Bear Duty.

#the magnus archives #tma #magpod #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #asexuality #ace jon #incubus #fanfic #my writing #god im delirious at this point i keep staring at words and not registering what im supposed to be doing #i rly should sleep #but yeh enjoy this weird fic #also for some weird reason i rly like throwing sex demons at ace ppl #*looks at that one kacc/hako fic i wrote a couple years back*

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