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makeitmingi · 3 months

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The Cat and Dog Game [Chapter 14]

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Comedy

Pairing: Yunho x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Chef!Reader, RestaurantOwner!Yunho, MaitreD!Hongjoong, Waiter!Yeosang, Waiter!San, Waiter!Mingi, SousChef!Seonghwa, SousChef!Wooyoung, PrepChef!Jongho

Summary: Yunho's dream was to open and run his own restaurant. But he doesn't know anything when it comes to cooking. Until you came along and accepted the job, bringing with you a small crew. How will the black cat tame the energetic golden retriever?

Word count: 3.2K

Yunho chewed on the nail of his thumb nervously as he sat in his car. How was he supposed to act when he saw you today? He left you, asleep on your couch last night. Well, he wrote a note but should he have woken you up?

"Argh!" He fell forward onto his steering wheel. Yunho inwardly cringed, imaging how if his mother knew, she would nag him for being 'un-gentlemanly'.

*KNOCK KNOCK*

Yunho looked up to see San there, tilting his head in confusion, having seen the taller's quiet outcry.

"You okay?" San asked. Yunho nodded glumly. He gathered his things and got out of the car. Seeing the two other cars parked there, he knew that the kitchen crew was in already.

"We had a break yesterday, why do you look more tired?" San chuckled, slinging his arm around Yunho's shoulders.

"I'm fine, San. I just stayed up too late playing." Yunho said.

"Yeah, after abandoning Yeosang and I mid-game. What gives man?" San raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry, I just had to suddenly go somewhere for... a thing..." Yunho tried his best not to give anything away, making San scoff. They walked in together and the kitchen was already bustling, as expected. While San greeted everyone excitedly, Yunho ducked into the locker room to put his stuff down.

"Morning." Yunho gulped, greeting everyone. You were standing at the other side, your back to him. With your music playing in your ears, you didn't hear his soft greeting.

"Are you okay?" Seonghwa asked. Yunho nodded his head, going to the front of the house to get the barista counter ready.

"I'll start the bacon garnish for the bacon quiches coming out." You said, turning around.

"Before that, taste test this, please." Jongho placed one of the pastries on the board and cut into it with his knife. The crisp sound of pastry sounded through kitchen.

"So layer of puff at the bottom, layered the thin potatoes over and doted camembert cheese with thyme and black pepper." He said.

"Mmm, it's good. How did you prep the potatoes?" You asked while chewing the bite.

"Thinly sliced, then cooked in cream for a bit until just before tender then I laid it over the pastry. Oh, I also shredded some gruyere over. And 5 minutes before it was done, I cracked the black pepper over, was worried it might burn in the oven." He explained.

"Good decision. Hwa, Woo, come taste." You called them over. Jongho cut them wedge to try. Seonghwa nodded in approval while Wooyoung happily leaned on Jongho.

"This is amazing. You, just promote him to sous already." Wooyoung said to you.

"He's been doing the duties of a sous for so long, he just doesn't want to take the title." You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

"I would rather not work the pass. I'm fine doing prep when I can." Jongho said, bringing the other potato camembert pastries to the side for service later.

"Working the peanut butter frosting now for the chocolate cake." Wooyoung announced, running to the mixer.

"Orange pound cake ready to hit the ovens." Seonghwa said.

"I'll start on the candied orange peel topping while you make the drizzle?" You asked him. He nodded and you both started on those tasks. Yunho peeked through the small window, you seemed fine. You weren't unhappy and Seonghwa didn't look like he wanted to kill Yunho so maybe he was fine.

"Aww." He whimpered with dread, his shoulders slumping slightly. Mingi, who was standing there, watched his best friend with much confusion. He chuckled before moving over.

"Yunho."

"AH!" Yunho jumped, falling back slightly while panting with his hand over his chest in fear.

"Buddy, what is wrong with you?" Mingi asked. Having heard Yunho scream, you poked your head out. Yunho and Mingi both looked over at you.

"Everything okay here?" You asked with a raised eyebrow. Mingi shrugged, nodding over to Yunho.

"I'm fine. Thanks, (y/n)." Yunho cleared his throat, straightening up. You nodded slowly, not really knowing what was happening between them but you didn't really care to get involved.

"Oh, yeah. Yunho, you left your scarf at mine last night. It's in my cubby." You said and Yunho nodded before you went back into the kitchen. Mingi's eyes were wide, his jaw slightly slacked as he turned to his best friend.

"You left your what where?" Mingi asked.

"She invited me to her place for dinner last night." Yunho explained with a sigh.

"Is that why you've been distracted and jumpy?" Mingi questioned again. Yunho nodded then shook his head, then ultimately just let his head drop in frustration.

"Ah... no, it's not that." Yunho grumbled, rubbing his temples. Mingi just playfully smirked.

"It's okay, Yun." Mingi teased, wrapped his arm around his best friend.

"What's going on?" Hongjoong came over.

"So our dear boss here, apparently left San and Yeosang mid game yesterday. Yes, they complained to me about it. But what I've heard is that our boy here, actually left to go to (y/n)'s place for dinner. Even left his scarf there." Mingi informed. Hongjoong's eyes widened as Yunho facepalmed.

"You suck, Mingi. I'll explain what actually happened when I clear my head." Yunho rolled his eyes and entered the kitchen.

"Hey." Yunho came to you. You held a hand out to him as you were stirring something in the sauce pan, taking a spoon to taste it.

"Yeah. What's up? I already told you that your scarf is in my cubby, get it yourself if you need it." You said, still moving along the bench but at least were listening to Yunho now.

"No, not that. Thanks by the way. I just... you're not mad?" Yunho winced as he asked.

"Mad? Why would I be mad?" You scoffed.

"Because I just left you there on the couch...?" Yunho rubbed the back of his neck. You stopped, staring at the wall before turning to look at Yunho.

"And what do you think you should have done instead? Yunho, I'm not mad. I would have been if you had actually woken me up. And anyway, the person who should be mad is you. I invited you over and fell asleep." You shrugged.

"No! I'm not mad at all! I know... it's tiring cooking a lot. I'm still really grateful and enjoyed myself." Yunho gulped. By now, the entire kitchen had gone quiet, with the 3 listening in.

"Nice to hear that you did. I brought leftovers if you're interested." You told him.

"You did?!" His eyes sparkled.

"Yes, I just said I did." You side eyed him. Yunho let out a sigh of relief, throwing his head back as he began to laugh. He was worried over nothing, you weren't mad.

"There's not much time. You need to open the restaurant." You checked the wall clock.

"The restaurant?... Oh yeah! Opening time!" He jumped and ran out the door to the front, leaving you there, blinking.

"So..."

"Shut up. It's nothing." You rolled your eyes, cutting Wooyoung off. Seonghwa just chuckled at how Wooyoung whined at your lack of sharing. He was curious too, he hadn't heard you mention anything about Yunho being over when he called you yesterday. Maybe he'll ask you later.

"I'm more interested in what you cooked him. He was so excited about leftovers." Jongho raised his hand. You sighed while Seonghwa and Wooyoung burst out laughing.

"Short rib bourguignon..." You mumbled softly, looking at your fingernails instead of directly at them.

"What?"

"Short rib bourguignon..." You said again, albeit a little louder but still tried to keep your voice low. There was suddenly a wave of silence that washed over the kitchen.

"You made him our favourite dish?! Don't tell me you made it with bone marrow."

"How could you?"

"We've been asking you to make that for so long!"

All the protests came at you. You scrunched your nose, rubbing your temples before turning back to your counter and finishing your work. You've never given into their short rib bourguignon request just to mess with them and hold it over them.

"Fine, yes, I made it for him with bone marrow, everything. I wanted him to try it okay? Because his favourite thing is galbi jjim so I wanted to let him try it." You said.

"Mash or pasta?" Seonghwa asked.

"Both. Roasted garlic mash and pappardelle." You told them, taking the trays out of the oven when the timers were up.

"Wow... Even gave him options..." Wooyoung shook his head with a click of his tongue, conveying the betrayal that he felt. You shot him a flat look.

"You guys have had it before! And you guys are capable of making it on your own." You hissed.

"And don't tell me that Yunho can make it on his own too because we know he can't." You glared at them before they could reply.

"Alright, alright. We accept your apology. Now, let's discuss the dinner menu." Jongho patted your shoulders. You cast him a look, you didn't even apologise to them.

"Let me bring this out for service." Seonghwa brought out the other bacon quiches to display. You grabbed a piece of paper and your sharpie, beginning to brainstorm with Wooyoung and Jongho on dishes for tonight's dinner menu. Hongjoong said that there were already quite some reservations coming in.

"We should do a chopped romesco sauce. Don't blend it, do a fine chop on the board for texture." Wooyoung suggested. You nodded, writing it down.

"Sorry, what are we serving with that?" Seonghwa came back in, having heard Wooyoung's idea.

"Chicken roulade. Stuffed with perilla leaf and garlic chives. Sous vide and finish off in a pan to get some colour on it." You said.

"If we have the sous vide going, let's do barramundi on the grill. Sous vide cherry tomatoes and fennel in that Korean aged white soy sauce to serve alongside." Seonghwa raised his hand.

"I think we need starches. With the chicken, potato parsnip puree? And I think with the barramundi, like a rice pilaf."

"What do you suggest we flavour the rice with?" You asked Jongho.

"Mixed herbs, paprika, lemon zest and we make it slightly creamy with emulsification of cold butter to finish it off. Just slightly to accompany the meatier fish and tartness of the cherry tomatoes." Jongho replied.

"Main starch?" Wooyoung asked. You put the sharpie down, scratching your head as you walked into the walk in to check the ingredients that you had.

"Seafood pasta. Blend the roe of the scallops, make a light sauce. Serve it with seared scallop meat, grilled prawns, clams, squid. I want the prawn shells for a prawn oil to go over." You said.

"Yes, chef." The 3 replied.

"Are we doing bucatini?" Seonghwa clarified. You nodded your head slowly, too focused on the sauce instead.

"Let's mix some chogochujang (spicy sauce usually served with seafood and Korean raw fish) into the sauce to add brightness. I want the tartness from the vinegar."

"Sure." They all took their own notes for what they would be doing for the night.

"Okay, let's discuss appetisers before we get too hung up on the mains. Then desserts." You pulled up another piece of paper. Yunho came in to listen to your brainstorming session. But with what happened earlier, Seonghwa, Wooyoung and Jongho stopped talking, looking at him.

"What?" You looked up from the paper when they went silent. Turning around, you saw that Yunho was standing there. You hadn't even heard him come in.

"Guys, focus." You frowned.

"Right... So I was saying yukhoe (Korean raw beef) but with a chimichurri. We got a fattier cut of beef, it should cut nicely."

"Okay. Hwa, you're on that for tonight then." You hummed and wrote it down.

"I kind of want to do a soup. What soup can we do with what we have?" You asked. Jongho and Wooyoung walked into the walk in to check the inventory.

"White bean?" Jongho suggested.

"I would like to save the white bean for cassoulet stew tomorrow. What are our other options?" You said.

"We can do wild mushroom soup with doenjang." Wooyoung proposed. You all thought about it as a concept, mushrooms do go well with heavier, more fermented flavours. You nodded and added it to the list.

"You okay to handle that on your own?" You asked. Wooyoung gave you a thumbs up. Then you moved onto desserts. Yunho watched you quietly, he was always so mesmerised by you.

The way you commanded the attention in the room, the way the others looked at you with such respect and reverence.

"Alright. That settles it. Let's get the sous vides going and we'll break for the day." You said.

"Anything I can help with?" Yunho asked.

"Yes, actually. Help us fill those bins and stick the sous vide in while we begin the prep." You said. Yunho nodded, he knew how to do that, you've taught him before.

"(y/n) and I on the tomatoes and fennel. Hwa hyung and Jongho on the chicken? We'll help when we're done here." Wooyoung asked.

"Sure." Seonghwa and Jongho started on the chicken. When Yunho was done setting the sous vides up, he went to help them. Jongho gave him the mallet to pound the chicken until it was flat and even. Seonghwa prepared the filling of mainly perilla leave and garlic chives that would go in the middle.

"It reminds me of a roll cake.... but like, meat." Yunho chuckled as Jongho explained the dish to him.

"Well, that's essentially the idea." Seonghwa said. While you made the 'marinade' for the vegetables, Wooyoung quickly prepared and sliced the fennel.

"What's that?" Yunho asked.

"White soy sauce." Leaning over to grab a tasting spoon, you pour a little on and handed it to Yunho for him to taste it.

"It doesn't look and taste like soy sauce. It's sweeter? And not as salty as I expected. How do they make the colour so light?" He asked, tasting the bit of sauce.

"White soy has more wheat than soy beans and is fermented for a much shorter period of time. That means less sugars are broken down, that's why it has a sweeter taste." You explained.

"Can you use it as a dip? Like for fish." He thought out loud.

"Not really. It is used more in cooking to enhance flavours. So the cherry tomatoes we got are a little sour, that's why we're using the sweetness and lightness of the white soy to balance it without adding straight sugar." Wooyoung added.

"Doing the same for the fennel." You said. You held open the sous vide bags for Wooyoung to dump the ingredients in.

"How's the chicken coming along?" When you and Wooyoung prepared the vegetables, you went over to where Jongho and Seonghwa were.

"You can start trussing the meat while we finish up." Seonghwa said. You hummed and grabbed the butchers' twine.

"Ooh, what's going on here?" Yeosang came in.

"Watching them prep for dinner. And helping." Yunho said. Yeosang leaned down to watch you secure the rolled up chicken with twine after Wooyoung rolls it with filling.

"Looks like a lollipop." Yeosang laughed. That made you let out a small laugh, nodding in agreement.

"What is the green filling?" He asked.

"Perilla leaf, garlic chives, salt and white pepper." You replied. Yeosang nodded his head, impressed and interested in the dish. He took his phone out to take a picture of the rolled up chicken. When Hongjoong came in for his break, Yunho went back out to support the other boys.

"Okay, let's start a timer and head out." You instructed. The 4 of you went to get your things. You grabbed Yunho's scarf and container of leftovers, tucking them beside his bag.

"Bye. See you tonight." Hongjoong waved with a smile, Yeosang too. The 4 of you headed out for the rest of the day.

"Kitchen crew just went home." Yeosang said, stretching his arms over his head.

"This is bomb." Mingi said, stuffing his face with a slice of bacon quiche. San leaned over with his mouth open for Mingi to feed him but Mingi merely pulled his plate away.

"Get you own." Mingi growled.

"I just want a bite! And that's the last slice!" San whined. Mingi rolled his eyes, giving in and letting San have a bite.

"Mmm, it is good. The meaty bacon in the quiche with the crispy bacon on top." He said as he chewed. Yunho waved for San to help make the drinks for the orders that were coming in. Mingi continued to have his break behind Yunho.

"So, can you explain what's up with you and (y/n) now?" Mingi asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

"A little busy here." Yunho replied, keying in the order so San would get the ticket to prepare the drink. He stepped away from the cash register to help San.

"Thank you. Please come again." He smiled, handing the drinks to the customers.

"There's something going on between you and (y/n)?" San asked while scooping ice into the cups.

"Nothing. Mingi is just spouting nonsense. As usual. (y/n) and I are just... friends." Yunho rolled his eyes, ignoring the way his chest felt warm when he called you a 'friend'. Mingi scoffed at Yunho's words.

"You were at her house yesterday." Mingi pointed out.

"You're at my house all the time. Does that mean there's anything going on between us?" Yunho raised an eyebrow.

"Well, there can be. But you playing. I told you we could get married if the law allowed it." Mingi teased, making San laugh. Yunho sighed, facepalming at Mingi's words. People would seriously misunderstand if they had heard him. Yunho's mother thought Mingi was serious when he mentioned marriage prospects jokingly.

"Wait, is that why you left me and Yeosang to die?" San asked in disbelief and betrayal. Yunho ignored him so he turned to Mingi, who nodded in confirmation.

"Wah, Yunho ah. How could you?" San shook his head with much disapproval.

"She invited me for dinner. That's it. Nothing happened. We talked about food and cooking." Yunho said briefly.

"You just left after eating?" Mingi tilted his head.

"She fell asleep on the couch. It felt awkward for me to continue to stay so I left." Yunho revealed. Mingi and San burst out laughing, making Yunho shush them since customers were around.

"Were you so boring that she fell asleep?" San could barely get his question out between his laughs.

"She was tired from cooking. The dish she cooked me was a difficult dish and it took her a long time to cook it." Yunho frowned.

"Wow, she put in that much effort to make dinner for you? That's really nice, Yunho ah. You should do something to thank her." Mingi adviced. Yunho nodded, he knew he should repay you but he didn't know how.

"How? I didn't even know what kind of gift to bring to her house. I brought her my favorite cold brew coffee... She said she liked it but I don't know." Yunho rubbed the back of his neck.

"You'll think of something." San patted his shoulder with encouragement.

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 1 year

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joel, i’m fine, it’s just a fever

plum, chapter seventeen

warnings: Joel Miller x reader, MILD SPOILERS for the last of us (both games and the hbo series), timeline wise this is set in between the first and second game (so when they live in Jackson), age gap (20 years), fluff, being sick

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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“Hey plum?” you heard the front door creak open, “you in here?”

Groggily, you answered, “Joel?” laying on the couch, you turned your head to spot the figure soon appearing in the doorway.

Slowing down to a stop as he crossed the threshold into the living room, he smiled at the seemingly just lazy nap he had interrupted, “heya sleepyhead.”

“How did you know I was still here?” you weakly raised yourself up onto your elbows, the room still spinning just as much as it had this morning.

“I didn’t,” he came to sit by your blanket-covered feet, “but I thought it was a safe bet since you weren’t at home. I actually found something out there-, hey,” he finally noticed how pale your face was, “are you okay?”

“Yeah, just a little sick,” you shrugged.

Your calm demeanour not rubbing off on him, he asked, “you wanna go down to the clinic?” lifting his palm up to gently touch your warm forehead.

“Joel,” you grabbed his hand softly, “I’m fine, it’s just a fever. Now, what did you find?”

Eyes still brimming with worry, he kept his one hand in yours while the other unzipped the backpack leaning up against his feet, “we came across this bookstore when we were moving through an area yesterday, and I just so happen to find this,” he produced a thick copy of a book with a very familiar faded blue font.

“No way,” you snatched it up and inspected it to make sure it actually was the sequel you thought it was, “no fucking way!”

“I remembered how pissed you were at the first one’s cliff-hanger, so I just thought-”

“Joel,” blinked up at him in amazement.

“You like it?”

“Are you kidding me?” you giggled, throwing your arms around him, “I love it, I love-, I love it, thank you so much!”

“You’re welcome, it would've been a travesty if you never found out if they managed to get the, uh, sword?”

“Axe, it’s a magical axe.”

“Right,” he chuckled as you leaned back against the armrest and cracked the novel open, “hey,” your eyes flicked up to meet his again, “you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, “but you know what would make me feel even better?”

“What?” he chuckled at the sly grin that bloomed upon your lips.

“If you read me the first few chapters.”

Plucking your feet up for them to rest upon his thighs as he scooted closer, “alright. One chapter and then you try and get some more rest, okay?” he reached out for you to hand him the book.

#lea’s writing #plum #joel miller x reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller hbo x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x ofc #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller series #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x female reader #joel miller angst #joel miller hurt/comfort #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff #pedro pascal x reader

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catominor · 23 days

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Hi! I am looking forward to the cato yaoi (I personally think the triumvirs should be involved) but did you have any more furius/martinus excerpts you could share? I know it's still very much a work in progress. I just love your work ❤️

hehe thank you... i need to do evil things to cato as soon as i . get around to it and actually decide on like . an actual idea of what to write lol.

also yeah sure! i honestly don't have that much actual writing about them that i can share, but yknow what . why not ill share this prospective first meeting scene i wrote over the summer.

---

Lucius Furius Camillus’ house was the most beautiful on the Palatine. Or, at least, this was what Gaius Martinus had heard; he had little eye for such things. And yet all the same, he had been curious when the invitation came; he had noticed him before, spoken to him, very briefly, a couple of times, yet did not know much about the man.

He followed Furius’ dignified form into the atrium. He was tall (though not as tall as Martinus) and straight, and thin as a rail. He moved with a pronounced limp; the result, Martinus had heard, of some long-past war wounds which had left him in more or less a permanent state of illness. Martinus glanced up, noticing the wax masks of ancestors hung near the entryway; a practice of patrician and illustrious plebeian families Martinus had always found somewhat foreboding. Furius coughed (this was another affectation of his old injuries) and continued on at a leisurely pace, falling back to walk beside Martinus.

Martinus could hardly picture Lucius Furius in the army, much less in battle; to him the image seemed comical. Tall and stately though he was, he looked fragile, like a slight gust of wind could have easily borne him off. He was around the same age as Martinus (in fact, a little younger, although anyone looking at the two men would never guess); around forty-five, his short black hair peppered with silvery grey.

The walls of each room of the house were decorated with frescoes; he noticed these were mainly composed of scenes of gardens, which were filled with all manner of exotic birds. Finely painted, indeed, although they were old and rather faded. In a corner of the atrium there was a shrine to the lares of the house; its candles flickered in lanterns and cast a soft glow onto the little silver figures. There were flower petals scattered at their feet. The house was quiet save for a faint clattering from the kitchen, the lamps already lit as the bluish evening light diminished.

There was a faint chill in the air; Martinus shivered, and noticed Furius did too, but he did not move to put an arm around the man as he might have for others. Something in his gut told him the gesture would run the chance of offending his patrician sensibility. And he did not want to seem over familiar, anyway. They passed into the peristylium and its beautiful garden. Furius wore relatively simple clothing for the likes of a wealthy aristocrat of his time, but it was clean and clearly the best he owned. On his right little finger he wore a seal ring of gold and blue chalcedony, which bore the image of Juno; on his left index finger an iron senator’s ring.

He turned toward the garden. “I designed it myself.” he explained. Clearly he was particularly proud of this area of the house. “I selected plants so something is always in bloom; right now it’s the narcissus. I specified that the earth be laid out in these hills, so that it might look more natural than a usual peristyle-garden; I cannot afford and have no interest to leave Rome to go to the country; and I need to have something to myself.”

Martinus did notice it was quite unusual. A few trees ringed the outside; oranges, olives, figs, something else he didn’t know. Large bushes of rosemary and lavender clustered around a small fountain, and blobs of thyme crept over rocks. Thick vines just leafing out climbed some of the columns and up onto the tiled roof. The rest was a sort of collection of grassy hills divided by paths, various shoots coming up at this time in the spring to add to the hyacinths already in bloom. The scent of the place was otherworldly.

The narcissus huddled at the roots of the trees in heavy clusters, winking at them like stars in a dark field. A couple of statues stood in the garden; they looked old, the paint on them long since worn away, and never refreshed. Furius motioned toward a bench near the little fountain. He sat down nearest the orange-tree, sheltered under its new-green leaves and doubly illuminated in the bluish evening tinge and by the little stone lantern on the ground next to the pool. He leaned over, lifted one of the flowers’ heads and studied it, still not looking at Martinus. He could detect some nervousness in his posture.

“I… Invited you here because I have a problem. I want to become consul.” Martinus was not particularly surprised. “Oh?”

Lucius Furius finally turned to him, looked at him intensely with his large dark eyes. “I know you want this too. I want us to run together.”

Martinus was a little surprised. “Really? Are you sure our interests are so aligned?”

Furius’ expression was hard to read; maybe a little apprehension. “They are aligned enough.” He paused, perhaps considering his sell. “You’ll never get anywhere without patrician support. And I” he sighed. “I can’t afford it on my own. I’m sure you know my family has not achieved much in the realm of politics for quite some time.”

Martinus looked at him for a moment, thinking. It was true, he had trouble winning over the patrician segment of the political elite. Being an Italian nobody with only a few generations of wealth and one senate seat behind you would do that. But the simple fact was: “Why me?” he asked Furius.

Furius thought for a moment. “Because I think you’re the most well-off man in Rome whom I can stomach allying myself with, as well as being in a position to stand for consul with me. I don’t know you, yet, but I’m not throwing away my idea because of that. …Are you a good man, Gaius Martinus?” Again the eyes fixed him. Stern, inscrutable. Lucius didn’t really believe he was.

“I believe I have brought much glory to Rome.”

Lucius Furius hummed assent. “Mmm…” A flicker of …sadness? In his eyes.

“...Your own military career?” Said Martinus.

Furius looked a little pained. “I suppose not all are constituted for such a life. I was one of those… not constituted.” A faint dusting of pink passed over his face; as befitted a man so pale, even his faintest emotions were written brightly on his cheeks. Martinus decided to change the subject.

“Your reputation as a voice for good sense in the Senate is unimpeachable, at least. Everybody respects you.”

“Everybody also makes a pastime of coming up with vaguely insulting nicknames for me, and giggling about me behind my back. Gods forbid I spend my free time reading the greatest works of philosophy and literature in the world instead of hanging around in stinking, sordid taverns, generating adultery scandals, and frequenting brothels.” He said, bitterly. He had Martinus, an incurable tavern-and-brothel-frequenter, there. Martinus laughed.

Lucius Furius looked up, fixing Martinus with his dark eyes again. “That won’t stop them voting me in as consul, though. I know it. And censor after that. Especially with you, the military man, behind me. You would win glory for Rome on the battlefield, and I would restore glory to Rome here.” Martinus smiled. “You know, I’m starting to like this idea. But… I’d still like to know you better. Come to my house tomorrow afternoon.”

“I shall, Gaius Martinus.” Lucius Furius said firmly, proferring his slender hand and looking down his nose at Martinus. Martinus shook it.

#ficposting #asks #i hope it's not too bad ourgh... but . its fun to show their dynamic before they actually get to know each other #under a cut cause it's not too short lol

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bproccoli · 10 months

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it was a cloudless night. the moon hung high, cold light filtering through the window and casting angled shadows across the room. it made todd's limbs look unnaturally long as he walked the short distance to the opposite bed.

the mattress dipped down as he sat causing neil to open his eyes.

"what's wrong?" he asked, worried.

"i should be asking you," todd replied with a yawn, gesturing behind him. "i could hear you toss and turn all the way over there."

"did i wake you? sorry. i couldn't sleep"

"nervous for tomorrow?"

"a little," neil smiled. "rather than nerves it's more… excitement."

goosebumps formed along todd's arms from the cold.

neil noticed, adjusting his position before lifting the edge of the blanket. "here."

todd slipped inside, naturally gravitating towards the warm spot left by neil's body heat. his entire demeanor relaxed, sinking into the soft sheets, surrounded by a comforting scent, faint but familiar—neil's.

"want me to run lines with you?"

"you look like you're about to fall asleep any second."

"with how much i read the script, i can even recite it with my eyes closed."

a quiet laugh. todd felt—more than heard—it from where his and neil's shoulders were touching, separated only by the fabric of their clothes.

"is that so?"

"is that a challenge?"

"no, but go ahead." neil softly nudged todd with his shoulder.

todd started reciting the first verse that came to mind. it was oberon's.

i pray thee, give it me.

his hands wandered as he recalled each line, unable to stay still.

i know a bank where the wild thyme blows,

at first, fiddling with the edge of his shirt, just for something to do.

where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,

then it moved, to the left. like root to water, like moth to flame, towards neil.

quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,

until their pinkies touched, followed by the rest of their fingers, palm resting against the other's.

with sweet musk-roses and with eglantine:

neil's hand felt slightly cold. todd held it tighter to keep him warm.

there sleeps titania sometime of the night,

there was a rustle, as neil turned to look at todd.

Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight;

and another, as todd looked back.

And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin,

he saw neil smiling, so gently, so fondly, that he almost forgot what he was going to say next.

weed wide… enough to wrap a fairy in:

neil laughed, dimples showing and todd's mind went completely blank except for one thought.

if he kissed it, would it sink even deeper?

and so he did, lightly, a swift brush of lips against skin.

neil froze mid-laugh, caught by surprise. todd watched as neil's wide-eyed expression faded from his face, as he slowly processed what happened, as his adam's apple unconsciously bobbed up and down his throat.

silence.

"what's next?" neil's voice was quiet, barely above a whisper.

todd's eyes flitted towards neil's lips.

neil caught it. fighting back a smile he asked, "the next line. what is it?"

"...i forgot. "

"you said you could recite it with your eyes closed."

todd stared at neil—eyes bright under the moonlight, back was the playful glint that had been absent the past few days. and so todd played along, he recalled the entire verse in his head until he reached the line where he previously stopped. then, he continued. and as he spoke, each line soft and breathy, he inched closer and closer to neil. until all that's left between them were warm exhales caressing each other's cheeks.

at the end of it all, he smiled, and asked quietly.

"can you kiss me now?"

neil's lips parted as he sucked in a breath. a beat, before puck's lines flowed from his tongue effortlessly, like second nature. only, it now carried a different meaning.

every word purposeful, he replied.

"fear not, my lord, your servant shall do so."

#650 words no plot just vibes #halfway through i forgot where i was going with this #so i just kinda followed the universal rule that says seize the gay or smth and it sorted itself out somehow #my tags are so stupid what does that even mean #i am very obviously sleep deprived gn ♡#dead poets society #dps #dps fic #dps au #anderperry #neil perry #todd anderson #my fics

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iamthecomet · 1 year

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BITCh you know why im here. rain/sunshine/mountain. stoned. in the bath. soft kissies. mmmmmaybe they get a little handsy tee hee

Hi BITCH. Thanks for the brain rot about these three. This has taken me 600 years to write because writer's block is an asshole. But it's here now. I hope it's just as indulgent as you hoped for.

Rain's oversized bathroom is hazy. A dense mix of steam and smoke. The joint is long gone, and Rain is pleasantly stoned. The bathtub is wide enough for the three of them to lay together, pressed close. Mountain lounges against one end of the tub, narrow shoulders pressed against the porcelain. Sunshine and Rain are glued to either side. Rain cracks his eyes open and finds Sunshine watching him. She drags one of her hands through the sudsy water like she's making a current, and Rain feels it get warmer. More steam rises. Mountain makes a low, content noise that rumbles through all three of them. Their legs are tangled together. Sunshine's thigh is thrown over Mountain's hips so she can hook her foot over Rain's calf. There are so many points of contact that Rain isn't sure where his body stops and Sunshine and Mountain start. Mountain's hand drags up and down Rain's back, fingers dipping against his vertebrae. He melts further, head resting half in the water and half on Mountain's shoulder. He nuzzles closer, nose pressed tight to Mountain's skin. The room smells strongly of weed, but when Rain presses up against Mountain like this he can still smell him. Mountain smells like he always does when he gets warm and comfortable. Eucalyptus, sage, thyme, hints of spearmint, and lavender. "You smell like soup," Sunshine says, giggling as she presses closer too. Mountain huffs out a lazy laugh, slow and easy. He shakes his head a little at her. Rain presses his lips to the space under Mountain's jaw in lieu of engaging in the conversation. Sunshine isn't wrong necessarily. But really Mountain smells like home, warm and green and alive. It's mixing with Sunshine's sweet summer spice, and the heady smell of weed. Rain feels like he's drowning in it. He never wants to come up for air. Mountain gasps softly as Rain grazes his teeth along his pulse, tasting soap, sweat, and lavender on his skin. Sunshine laces her fingers with Rain's, resting on Mountain's chest. The solid thump of his heart picking up speed under Rain's palm. "Mount," Sunshine says, nosing against his jaw. Mountain turns his heavy-lidded eyes to her and Sunshine kisses him. It's slow, lazy, a little messy. Rain can see the slide of their tongues together. It's enough to make his stomach clench. He rolls his hips against the side of Mountain's thigh without much thought, cock fattening up slowly as Mountain's hand dips a little lower with each pass over his back. Mountain pulls away from Sunshine just to turn his head and catch Rain's lips on his. Mountain kisses him with the same slow thoroughness that he just saw with Sunshine. Rain can taste them both, juniper and peaches. He squeezes Sunshine's hand and whines. Hips rutting forward. The head of his cock grinding against Mountain's hip. Sunshine gasps. Rain pulls away from Mountain just in time to see her eyes flutter closed. Rain watches the way Mountain's shoulder moves in a telltale rhythm. Rain's about to claim it's unfair when Mountain shifts his hold on Rain. Using the virtue of his long limbs to curl his arm over Rain's hip and squeeze the base of his cock. Rain's forehead thumps down onto Mountain's shoulder as Mountain strokes him slowly. The sensation washes over him. The increasing warmth of the water, the glide of Mountain's hand over him. The high makes everything so much more intense. He ruts into Mountain's hand. "You're both really going to make me do all the work?" Mountain rumbles. Rain's eyes snap open, he finds Sunshine looking at him from her spot on Mountain's other shoulder. They move at the same time, knuckles knocking into each other under the water as they both reach for Mountain's cock.

Mountain groans long and low as they both get a hand on him. Sunshine reaching down to cup his balls, Rain curling a fist around the tip, rolling his thumb over the spot under the head that always makes Mountain shake. Sunshine shifts, Rain meets her halfway kissing her as they brace themselves on Mountain's chest. Tongues meeting lazily as Mountain begins to unravels beneath them. Hips jerking up into their hands, noises spilling noisily from his lips. Mountain's hand on Rain's cock stills, Rain thrusts up into it instead, mewling with every drag of the head over the pads of Mountain's fingers. He tucks his face into Mountain's neck and breathes in deep. He cums just like that, face pressed against Mountain's skin, awash in the smell of home.

#comet writes #ficlet #crow ♥#Rain/Mountain/Sunshine #sunshine ghoulette #rain ghoul #mountain ghoul #bathtime #ghost fan fic #ghost fic #ghost fanfiction #the band ghost fan fic #unedited

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inkrabbit · 2 years

Note

Anything cute and fluffy with Swiss and Aether please

Aether was always one of the first ones awake, moving throughout the dens as quietly as he could until he got to the kitchen. The music he played would be loud enough to hear and enjoy, but not loud enough to travel back past the halls and wake everyone up. He always took these calm, quiet mornings to start preparing breakfast for everyone. It was so sweet of him.

But not today! You and Swiss had come up with the very elaborate plan that you two would wake up early for a change and start breakfast to surprise him. And by elaborate, you two stayed up the whole night the other day so you sleep really early and wake up at the break of dawn. Would it have been a better plan to just set an alarm and tell the groggy Aether to just go back to sleep while you two slipped out of his room? Of course. But at the time, that sounded stupid. You two weren’t known for making smart decisions and your plan worked anyway.

So here you two were, playing energetic music to keep you awake as you stared in the freezer and Swiss rummaged through the cabinets.

“Uh…” He looks back at you, tail flicking back and forth. “Is it a bad time to tell you that I don’t really know how to cook?”

“Is it a bad time to tell you I don’t either?” You both bark out a laugh. You reach into the freezer, pulling out the bag of meat they had stored in there from the past sacrifice. “Okay, how do you think Aether would cook this?”

“This was such a bad idea.” He stands beside you, staring at the bag like it will magically give him instructions. “I mean… I’ve seen him use like… herbs before? Like rosemary and thyme.”

“Do we have any of those?”

“I dunno. We could ask Papa. I’m sure he’d let us use some.”

“Is he even awake right now?”

“He should be? He always gets up with one of his ghouls to go take care of the garden.”

“Alright, let’s go.”

You set the bag on the counter and Swiss grabs your hand, leading you out of the dens. It’s not exactly cold outside, but it’s enough to send a shiver up your spine. Swiss lets go of your hand, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as you two hurry toward the garden.

You have to admit, it’s nice at this time. Everything is still and quiet. No siblings walking around, no ghouls to bump into. Right now, it’s just you, Swiss, and the silent nature.

“It’s nice out here,” you comment as you fall into step with him. “I can see why Aether gets up so early.”

Swiss hums in agreement, stopping you just for a second to press a kiss to your lips. “Makes doing that a lot more romantic, huh? Just the two of us out here?”

“Maybe we could do this again with Aether,” you suggest and you see how much he grins.

“I like the way you think, lovely.”

You two continue on your journey, following the path through the garden after Swiss practically threw his body against the old gate to get it open. To your luck, Primo and his ghoul had been nearby, and you saw how his face scrunched up at the sight of you two.

“So loud!” he scolds, tapping his foot as you two approach him. You notice how his ghoul gets that little bit closer to him, tail flicking wildly behind them.

“Easy there,” Swiss says, hands raised in defense as he eyes the older ghoul, taking his own protective stance in front of you. “Don’t want any trouble. Just wanna know if we could have some herbs?”

“Che cosa? You want herbs?” Primo questions. “I would expect this from Aether or Mountain, but not you two!”

“We’re trying to surprise Aether,” you tell him. “Got up early and everything to make breakfast but ah… we’re missing some things.”

Primo exhales softly, but he nods his head, motioning his hand for you two to follow. Swiss only finally relaxes when Primo’s ghoul turns their heels to follow the old man.

“C’mon, love.” He shoots you a smile, holding out his hand. You take it in your own, following Primo to the greenhouse.

“Take as much as you need,” he tells you, leading you over to the plants. “I know Aether and Mountain love to cook, so I won’t be cross if you take a bit extra.”

“Thank you, Papa.” You give him a smile as you help Swiss gather a few sprigs. You try to ignore the older ghoul staring at you, the gaze so intense that it feels like it’s burning holes into your skull. Swiss must take notice because he wraps his tail around your waist.

“I do hope you two know what you’re doing,” Primo says softly, though there’s a small smile on his face. “I know neither of you make the best chef.”

“We’ll let you know if we burn the dens down.” Swiss shoots him a cheeky smile.

“Please, refrain from doing such a thing.” When you two have enough, you give Primo a bow and thank him. The original agitated sneer has long been replaced with what seems like pride as he wishes you two luck. As you make your way out of the greenhouse, you hear him softly praise his ghoul for behaving, being answered with a happy chitter.

Your heart sinks when you hear the original music you left on has been changed, matching the music Aether preferred whenever he cooked. Swiss clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth.

“What’re the chances the song just like… automatically played his favorite song?” he asks you.

“Slim to none.” And you had been right. Opening the door, you both see Aether standing in the kitchen, swaying his hips to the beat of the music. He turns when he hears you two enter, a smile on his face.

“And just where have you two been?” he asks, cocking his head. The meat you left out on the counter is already sizzling in the hot skillet, being held between tongs as Aether lets the sides cook.

“Aww. We wanted to surprise you,” Swiss whines as he walks towards the large ghoul. “Wait, we had rosemary?”

“Love, it was in the cupboard!” he laughs, pecking the multi ghoul on the lips. “You didn’t look very hard, did you?”

“I didn’t know what I was looking for,” he confesses with a chuckle. Still, Aether happily takes the sprigs from both of you, adding them to the little container he still had sitting out on the counter. He also takes the time to press a lingering kiss to you when you get close enough.

“How about you two sit down and get comfy?” he suggests, turning back to the skillet. “I should be done soon. And Y/N, I’ll make something different for you.”

“You’re such a sweetheart, Aeth.” And yet, you two linger around him, hovering over his shoulder.

“But would you mind if we just… watched?” Swiss asks, tilting his head to look up at him as he leans against the counter. “That way we can learn so we can successfully cook for you next time?”

“Ah, well…” He stares down at the meat that’s almost done cooking. “We don’t have any more like this, but I can walk you two through what I did?”

Swiss laughs softly. “Whatever works, big guy.”

#requests #aether #aether ghoul #swiss #swiss ghoul #gn!reader #aether x reader x swiss #ghost #ghost band

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goodoldcharley · 1 year

Text

They knew if they looked in that same ledger they’d find their signatures, once a year, stretching back to a June day more than thirty years ago when young Armand had saved his money and brought Reine-Marie here. For one night. In the tiniest of rooms at the very back of the splendid old Manoir. Without a view of the mountains or the lake or the perennial gardens lush with fresh peonies and first-bloom roses. He’d saved for months, wanting that visit to be special. Wanting Reine-Marie to know how much he loved her, how precious she was to him.

And so they’d lain together for the first time, the sweet scent of the forest and kitchen thyme and lilac drifting almost visible through the screened window. But the loveliest scent of all was her, fresh and warm in his strong arms. He’d written a love note to her that night. He’d covered her softly with their simple white sheet, then, sitting in the cramped rocking chair, not daring to actually rock in case he whacked the wall behind or barked his shins on the bed in front, disturbing Reine-Marie, he’d watched her breathe. Then on Manoir Bellechasse notepaper he’d written, My love knows no — How can a man contain such — My heart and soul have come alive — My love for you — All night he wrote and next morning, taped to the bathroom mirror, Reine-Marie found the note: I love you… A Rule Against Murder - Louise Penny

Three Pines Quote 08 / ??

#armand gamache #three pines #alfred molina #this is one of my favorite #Armand is so precious #❤️❤️❤️#i love them

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handsome-john · 7 months

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🎂 I LOVE CLEARS SO MUCH!!!!! This time they do not go bonkers in Gears’ house, they go there to cook together. In another universe, Gears smashes a bottle over Clef’s head. In this one, Gears carefully passes Clef a bottle of sherry so he can deglaze a pot filled with caramelized onions, and offers up a fond sigh when Clef does a shot of it. Gears politely asks Clef to not cook drunk, and Clef states he should be glad he drank it because they accidentally bought a really, really sweet Sherry, like a dessert wine, and they wouldn’t have been able to tell otherwise. Gears takes a sip, and finds it to be shockingly sweet. Probably too sweet for the soup, Clef declares. They agree it’s too cold to go outside and Clef gets the Sherry delivered while Gears stirs the beef broth cooking in another pan. The broth is completely made from scratch. A week ago, Gears marveled as Clef showed him how a similar, smaller batch he made turned completely solid and almost gelatinous when chilled, a proper bone broth.

Clef steps out to show the delivery guy his ID, and comes back in snow-dusted, holding a new bottle, some dark chocolate and strawberries, since the internet told him that the super sweet Sherry would go well with it, as a sort of dessert. Clef deglazes the pan while Gears talks about a new cook book he got. It was all about the intersection of science and food, and then began to talk about how several fine dining chefs used things like centrifuges in their kitchen, along with other scientific equipment. Clef listens attentively as he mixes the broth in with the onions. Gears slices up bread, and puts it in the oven just to toast, while Clef roots around the fridge for gruyère cheese. It had been surprisingly hard to find. When Lament suggested that they just use a different type of cheese, Clef laughed in his face while Gears explained the importance of the cheese in the flavor profile of the soup. It made Clef feel all warm and fuzzy inside to hear Gears actually sound passionate about something. He sounded so alive. He sounded much more alive, nowadays.

Gears tastes the soup. He then roots through the cabinets for a bit of dried thyme, and his sweater rides up a bit. Clef can’t help but stare at his soft, pale tummy. Clef snaps back to reality as Gears adds a dash of the herbs to the soup, then a little bit of salt. Clef ladles the soup into ramekins, and tops it with one of the toasted crostini and a heap of freshly shredded gruyère. They set it in the oven to broil, and watch intently as the cheese bubbles, blisters, and browns. Clef removes it with an oven glove, and they eat french onion soup in a comfortable, warm near-silence, only broken up with their comments on how good it is, Clef slurping the soup, and Gears softly moaning at the taste.

Once they’re done, they retire to the living room, and Clef chooses the show while they sip the too-sweet Sherry. The internet was right, the chocolate and strawberries go amazing with it. Gears drinks a little more than he usually would, and finds himself smiling at the warmth in his stomach, the sweetness on his tongue, the company he keeps. Clef looks at him with wonder in his eyes, and says something Gears can’t really understand. Gears looks back at him, wondering if he’ll ever fully understand Clef. It used to scare him, Clefs inscrutable nature, like the glassy surface of a frozen river. One wrong step, and he could plunge down, down, until he was tangled in the scum at the bottom and didn’t know which way was up. He didn’t see Clef that way, anymore. He felt comforting. A mystery Gears realized he was happy to never solve.

Gears rests his head on Clef’s shoulder, and Clef wraps his arm around his waist.

I hope you know you're doing the lord's fucking work with this 🥺🥺

#i don't have much to add this is beautiful #they're so much to me #🎂#jackasks #clears

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myers-meadow · 2 years

Text

Thomas Hewitt snippet

Contents: short snippet of a longer multichap fic I'm working on for a Thomas Hewitt x female OC. OC is a victim, so there is lot of bad stuff just under the surface.

Rating: Teen and up?

I thought this was an interesting bit to share as I have many dreamy thoughts of life at the Hewitt House as I bake a cake for my birthday <3. I will work on this and finish it sometime, but it's long and tough to get the energy for larger projects, but I won't forget about this story.

Divider by @/thyming

When I came down the stairs, accompanied by the hulking butcher, Hoyt was at the breakfast table, leering at me. Luda Mae was making tea by the counter. She looked over her shoulder, stopping her movements as she saw me.

“Nice to see you finally took what belonged to you, boy,” Hoyt said with that nasty smirk of his. His gaze trailed over me, and even though this hid more than the broken dress I wore before, it felt as if I were nude. The butcher wrung his hands.

“Well, this isn’t proper,” Luda Mae started. “Thomas, get her something to wear. You know where the pile is.”

The pile- that must be the stuff they stole off of previous ones.

“The boy may prefer ‘er like this,” Hoyt said and I took that as a good moment to hide behind the butcher. Luda Mae tsk’ed.

“I don’t, so off you go. Go with him, too,” she said to me. “We’ve been doin’ some thinking, you can be of use to us yet.”

“Got it, ma’am,” I said, and following the butcher closely as he exited, resisting the urge to clutch his arm. The ‘pile’ was located in one of the spare rooms. There was tons of stuff, not just clothes, but toothbrushes, hygiene products, menstrual pads, soaps, books, hair brushes, sets of keys, passports. My stomach churned at the sight of it, but with the butcher right there, already digging through the clothing pile on the bed with those large hands. Shirts in all colours and sizes, jeans, some fancy blouses, and many, many different dresses. He pinched a cute baby blue one between his fingers and held it up. With shaky knees, I came closer and took it from him.

“I’m afraid that’s a bit small for me,” I mumbled, “but I can try it on.”

He took it back without hesitation, putting it by the footboard. This close his breathing was audible; steady, deep, unsettling. He found another, floral, puffy sleeves, a bit frilly for work on a farm, but it looked the be a good fit. His brow furrowed as he saw me take it from him, free hand reaching for the hem of my shirt. This was what he wanted, right? His gaze bore into me, and I pressed the dress back in his hands to take the shirt I was wearing off. His eyes widened in the split second he realised what was happening, and he briskly turned around. He held the dress out for me. I pushed it over my head, pulled my hair from the opening. The back had a little button, but it was tiny and difficult to reach.

“Sir, there’s a little button, could you help?” I asked, keeping my voice polite, but feeling tears gather behind my eyes. The dress smelt of the laundry detergent I used when I first came to the United States, nostalgia and longing overtaking my thoughts. The fabric was soft against the skin, worn. Someone loved it very much, and that thought made first tear fall. I turned around and let the butcher fiddle with his large hands in my neck, keeping my hair over my shoulder so he could see, and finally he popped the button through the loop. I tied the waist tie in a small bow. Would my favourite clothes be here one day too? They were still in a bag in my car, but who knows where that is. Who knows when they’ll discover where the car even is. It should stay there, safe for me to return to.

I twirled back around to the butcher, still fiddling with the bow. “Do you like it? Is it pretty on me?”

His eyes roved over me as if that itself was an act of devouring. Finally he gave a slow nod, but that didn’t mean as much as the look in his eyes. Even with a lot of his face hidden, his eyes were terribly expressive. I wiped my hands on the skirt, not noticed they were sweaty. The moment broke when he stepped past me and we returned to the kitchen.

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sweetwolfcupcake · 2 years

Text

Allurement: Home

“Where have you been?” Min Yoongi had made himself comfortable on the couch, posture relaxed but as always, much more alert than he would let on.

Ara had not expected that. Min Yoongi would never stop by without informing her first, even if it was a simple text. It was true that she had been evading such rendezvous for a while. She had been wrapped up in so many things of late, this could wait.

“What are you doing here?” her eyes narrowed at the man who had his head leaned back and eyes closed.

Min Yoongi finally opened his feline eyes. They were sharp but also held a hint of amusement to them, just plain amusement, no cruel gleam accompanying the amusement, she was not used to.

“What, won’t you greet your guest?” he uncrossed his legs while she crossed her arms over her chest.

“It’s a bit late to be at my place, that too without my permission.”

“I thought you would have anticipated this by now. Anyway, I’m hungry, make me something.”

Ara could not help the snicker that spilled out of her lips. Finally freeing her feet from the heels, she placed them inside the shoe cabinet, fighting the urge to aim them for his face instead.

“Sometimes I think I might have overestimated you, Mr Min, you lack in the judgment of character often, and of place. You see me as someone to order around?.”

A ghost of a smile appeared on his face, pulling at his indecipherable expression “I thought of you as a perfect hostess?”

“Really?”

Her mood swung from annoyance to amusement. It was slightly concerning how he sometimes succeeded in dictating her moods.

“I am tired too.” she shrugged “How did you even get here?”

“I thought you have begun to know me by now. It is a child’s play to me.”

“Creepy.” she stated, opening the fridge and taking out a bottle of wine.

She was about to pour it out in a glass but he placed his hand over hers, the grip was gentle and warm, something she was experiencing only with Yoongi.

“I am genuinely hungry, you look tired too.”

“Okay, so you are ordering, you owe me for creeping into my penthouse like that.” she put the bottle and glasses down, ready to plop on the couch, but a gentle tug held her in place.

“I am kind of inspired right now.”

“Inspired? For what? Wine play?” at that, he finally let out a chuckle that had been visibly bubbling within him.

Min Yoongi shook his head “No, wine play can wait, my stomach cannot.”

—-----

The sizzling from the pan was mouthwatering, especially since it was accompanied by the aroma of butter, garlic and thyme. The steam rose, only to be sucked by the exhaust system in the kitchen, hanging right above the induction cooktop. The Bearnaise sauce was yet to be prepared, Yoongi was handling the reduction for the sauce, while she was overlooking the preparations for the steak. Other than the clanking of utensils, there was not much exchange of words, yet the silence felt home-like.

“Pass me the steak, please.”

“Wait, I’ll handle it.” He gently put the steak on the pan and resumed mixing the ingredients, he needed to look out for that one.

“Yoongi, the sauce needs to be done right.”

“I’ve done it a million times, trust me, why don’t you set the table?”

She sighed and wiped her hand with the kitchen towel before walking towards the dining table to set the plates and cutlery. It felt odd, yet nostalgic, times when her mother would prepare dinner for her and she would help whenever she could. Her mother…Her deceased biological mother.

When she returned to the kitchen, Yoongi was still engrossed with the sauce, which seemed to be coming out fine. Meanwhile, she could prepare a quick salad. Taking out the cherry tomatoes, feta and cucumber

“Medium Rare?” Yoongi slightly turned to her for confirmation.

“Whatever you like.” she did not take her eyes off the cutting board as she sliced the cucumber.

He did not ask any further and continued to cook the steak after pouring the thick sauce into a serving bowl.

The table was all set to dine. The aroma of the food wafted throughout the room as Yoongi set the table with expertise.

“You seem so used to it. You really handled the sauce and the steak all by yourself.”

“You did give me a hand though, thanks for the salad.” amusement rolled off his tongue with each word, making Ara roll her eyes and focus back on her plate.

“I and my father would often cook together when mother was not home.” he added after a moment.

“This…This tastes amazing.” Ara blinked absent-mindedly, the burst of a perfect symphony of flavours in her mouth caught her off guard.

Yoongi only smirked and took a swig of his wine, he did not seem as hungry as she was. For a man with such high alcohol tolerance, a glass of wine was equivalent to a glass of water.

“Are you not too busy these days?” the sudden question made her moments falter

“We are never ‘too busy’, overworking is expected from us, you out of all, should know this.”

“What is in there for you?”

“What do you mean?” her movements stilled “It is my company as well.”

Min Yoongi hummed and continued cutting his steak “Mr Choi favours your step-brother though.”

Ara took in an inaudible deep breath before cutting through the steak smoothly “It is a family business, Yoongi, I am sure you understand, Namjoon is running a family business as well.”

At that, Min Yoongi put down his cutlery and leaned back “There is a difference, Mr Kim left bastards, it is Mr Choi’s step-son we are speaking about, Choi Hanwool, he even adopted your father’s surname.”

Ara gulped, of course, he adopted her father’s surname, he wanted Ulysses, after all. But Min Yoongi did not need to know of this.

“Do you plan to do something about it? You want Ulysses to yourself, Ara, just as Namjoon wanted the company to himself.”

Ara sighed and took a sip of her wine “If you are suspicious that I conspire with my father to keep control of Ulysses, then you have nothing to fear, however unbelievable I might sound.”

Min Yoongi gave her a sardonic smirk and shook his head “You need to act fast Ara, you and Namjoon made a deal, why drag (Y/N) into it.”

“The poor girl looked so sad and lonely to me.”

The smirk faded away and he looked dead into her eyes “What do you plan, Ara?”

“What fun would this be if I give you spoilers?”

“Leave the girl out of this, she is already having to deal with a lot.”

“Right, Namjoon’s madness getting out of hand?”

Min Yoongi narrowed his eyes in displeasure at her choice of words, but that did not deter her from keeping her opinion.

“What? It is painfully apparent that he is obsessed with the girl, and that she is not here of her own will. And my father has a hunch as well. So if anything, you need to focus on keeping her off the radar, as much as possible.”

He looked away at her words, and she could not help but admire his crafted jaw and porcelain skin that glowed under the light, there were faded dark moons under his eyes, but that somehow made him appear all the more ethereal. Min Yoongi was a sight to behold, but also a force to be reckoned with.

—----

The sky was yet to be touched by the dawn, and Yoongi was fast asleep beside. But Ara could not sleep a wink, not when her mind was clogged with what had transpired a few hours ago, Min Yoongi was like a mysterious box of surprises, initially, she was intrigued, but now…Ara ould not be too sure anymore. She had been thoroughly surprised throughout the evening, she just did not let it show.

She resented the domestic feeling like she had come back home. There was no home for her. She turned towards a fast asleep Yoongi, his back turned to her, hair fluffed and ruffled after their night together. This time, she felt something shift between them when she fell apart in his arms, the way his sweat rubbed with hers, skin slapped against hers and groans mingled with her softest sighs.

No, she could not fall asleep, not in his arms. It was not easy for her, it was not possible for her to let a crushed flower bloom.

“I have been so used to standing all alone and putting up a brave face that I had begun to resent the thought of falling asleep in your arms.”

She whispered into soft darkness and tore her gaze away from Min Yoongi’s naked back. She felt a sudden wave of coldness wash over her, making her sink further into the duvet but made sure to not touch the sleeping man anymore. Her eyes bore into the ceiling for a short moment, before they closed for another night of restless sleep.

****

Finally a glimpse into Choi Ara's mind, what do you all think?

I have been not updating often, and I apologise for keeping my dear readers waiting, I needed some time for myself, a lot had been going on, leaving me gasping and overwhelmed. Hopefully, I can sit to write more often soon

#yandere bts #bts yandere #yandere namjoon #yandere rm #yandere namjoon x reader #yandere ceo namjoon #yandere rm x reader #yandere ceo namjoon x reader #allurement #yandere bts x reader #yandere dom namjoon

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 1 year

Text

why do you call her that?

plum, chapter three

warnings: Joel Miller x reader, MILD SPOILERS for the last of us (both games and the hbo series), slow burn, age gap (20 years), timeline wise this is set in between the first and second game (so when they live in jackson)

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Since your old home here in Jackson had long been occupied by somebody else, Tommy had insisted that you stay at his and Maria’s house, just till you got back on your feet, and they could find you somewhere more permanent to live.

It took a bit, but eventually, Tommy managed to twist his big brother’s arm and get him to reluctantly give a hand at setting a room up for you.

Ever since you’d gotten back, Joel had assumed that he had now understandably become a foe in your eyes with the less then pleasant way your first meeting had transpired, so he just tried his best to stay far away from where he knew you were, figured from the little he had heard through the grapevine that you’d been through enough and didn’t need to also deal with his old mug in the foreseeable future.

But still, after finally setting down the hefty mattress the two brothers had hauled halfway through town, Joel couldn’t help but let some of his curiosity slip out, “why do you call her that anyway?”

“Huh?” Tommy cocked an eyebrow as he passed Joel the bottle of water he had just taken a healthy swig from.

“Plum,” he accepted the much-needed drink, “why do you call her plum?”

“Oh, it’s kinda a funny story actually,” Tommy smiled, leaning back against the windowsill, “back in the beginning, not too long after I had joined the fireflies, she just showed up one day. Couldn’t have been more than-, hell, she couldn’t have been more than Ellie's age back then. She just waltzed right up and demanded to speak to Marlene. And as a way to get her foot in the door, sweeten the deal a bit, her pockets were filled to the brim with plums. Fucking plums. Like, where the fuck did she even get them?” he laughed, finding the memory too entertaining for his own good, “so that’s how we introduced her, told Marlene that a little plum was here to speak to her. I guess the nickname just kinda stuck after that…”

“She was a firefly with you?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “we even quit at the same time and travelled out here to Wyoming together.”

“So, you two really go way back then?” the older man commented, still oozing with mistrust.

“Joel,” Tommy caught his brother’s eye, “she was the best man at me and Maria’s wedding. Yeah, we go way back,” a protectiveness glistened over him, “she’s like my little sister. She is my little sister.”

#lea’s writing #plum #joel miller x reader #joel miller hbo x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x ofc #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller imagine #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller fluff #tommy miller imagine

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robinsarm · 1 year

Text

After the Bridge has Burned (part 15)

Warnings: Language, mentions of substance abuse

Words: ~2.9k

POV: Dual (Élodie | Felix)

What a fucking shit show…

Élodie watched Felix through the back window of Claudette’s living room for a moment, a nervous pang stabbing her heart as she returned to her task in the kitchen. Felix sat on Claudette’s back porch, a beer in hand, multiple empty cans at his feet, staring unmoving into the backyard. Basil sat next to him, her chin resting on his lap. The big Aussie refused to come when called, insisting on being by Felix’s side ever since Felix took the seat by himself outside. Regardless, they left the sliding door open just enough for her to come back inside if she wanted. Thyme sat close to the sliding door, laying on the floor for his sister to come back inside.

Élodie owed that dog anything she wanted for what she was doing. Élodie could only console Felix so much earlier. He hadn’t said a word, just shook his head and cried when Élodie had come out to check on him. She’d briefly seen Ace beeline through the house and disappear without a word. What she hadn’t anticipated was things turning out as bad as they did.

She felt horrible. This whole trip was her idea, her efforts turned into a mess that didn’t look fixable anymore. She managed to hurt Felix more with the intention of making things better between him and Ace. Now, because of her, the night was quiet, tense, and there was no life behind Felix’s eyes anymore.

A sudden, flowery ringtone broke the relative silence between the group. Most of them, minus Élodie and Claudette who were in the kitchen cleaning up dinner, were in the living room watching something on the TV. Jeff was the one to move for his phone, disturbing Haddie who’d almost fallen asleep leaning up against him. Jeff answered the call from what Élodie could hear. She briefly wondered who was calling him so late. Her curiosity quickly shifted as Jeff’s voice became worried.

“Hey, calm down. What’s wrong?” Jeff asked.

Claudette and Élodie both eyed each other with worry before sharing the same thought, dropping the dishes and sneaking over to the living room. Élodie saw Jeff leaning forward on the couch, Haddie alert beside him and Meg giving her full attention from across the couch. Élodie snuck a glance at Felix; he remained unfazed, briefly sipping on his beer before returning to his stone-like façade.

“Kate, I can’t—” Jeff tried to get a few words in but couldn't get over the frantic sounds of the singer’s voice everyone could hear. “What? Kate…Kate, stop!” Jeff finally had to yell, which managed to send a wave of adherence down Élodie’s spine.

“Can I put you on speaker?” Jeff asked. A moment later, the metal head pulled the phone from his head, hit the speaker button and laid his phone on the coffee table in front of them.

“Okay, now, repeat what you said, but slower,” Jeff urged.

“Can I ask one y’all to do me a huge huge favor?” Kate asked, her voice neither slow or calm. She sounded like she was being stalked or held at gunpoint.

What happened with her, Élodie wondered as she crossed her arms.

“What’s the favor?” Jeff asked, leaning forward with his arms on his knees. If anyone were to be the first to stand and help someone at the drop of a hat, it was Jeff and everyone here knew it.

“I…” Kate paused to sigh. “I really think Ace isn’t okay.”

“No shit,” Meg said without hesitation.

“Was that Meg?” Kate asked.

“You’ve got me, Haddie, Meg, Claudette, and Élodie listening right now,” Jeff explained, Élodie taking quick notice that he left Felix out of that list. Maybe that was the right thing to do. If Kate was in Ace’s corner, there’s no telling what she felt about Felix. Élodie didn’t want to know. She’d prefer to keep what respect she still had for the folk singer in tact.

Kate sighed again. “Okay, well…I wanted to ask if one of y’all can take Ace something to eat—”

“Hold on Kate,” Meg sat forward, suddenly looking heated.

“Meg,” Jeff warned.

“No seriously, Kate, do you know what you’re asking?” Meg continued on anyway, holding out a hand towards Jeff, telling him to stay back with this one. “I’m pretty sure you know he doesn’t eat, regardless of what we offer.”

“I know—” Kate started, but Meg quickly cut her off again.

“If you know, then you also know why he’s got ‘no appetite’,” Meg accused, signing air quotes around the last two words.

Kate was quiet for a second, before meekly answering, “Yeah, I do.”

“Of course you do,” Meg led, her voice accusingly high pitched.

“Meg, quit it,” Jeff declared, his voice firm as if to say he wasn’t going to repeat himself. Meg glared at Jeff for a moment before dropping back against the couch with an irritated huff.

After a moment to cool himself, Jeff continued. “It’s been a long night, for all of us, Kate. We get it, you’re worried, but so are we. Ace is our friend too.” Jeff eyed Élodie. She wanted to believe her face was neutral at that point, but Élodie knew better; she knew her expressions were sharp, like a knife ready to cut if Kate so much as appeared in the room at any point.

“We want to know what’s going with him. You’re the only one that can tell us that.”

Kate was silent for a long time after that. Members of the group caught each other’s stares briefly as the time passed. Claudette looked worried, Jeff was calm, Meg and Élodie both shared the same indignant glare, meanwhile Haddie looked to everyone like she was trying to pick a side. Again, Élodie glanced out at Felix through the window, and again, he remained perfectly still staring out into the backyard.

“It’s…not something I can just tell you,” Kate said, timidly.

“Why not?” Jeff asked immediately.

“I told Ace I wouldn’t.”

Jeff closed his eyes as he took in a long breath. He looked like he was fighting what he was going to say next. “Kate, I’m not going to continue to babysit a grown man if you won’t tell us why.”

“Jeff—”

“Don’t Jeff me,” Jeff fought. “All of us in this room have been through a literal hell with that man. Why can’t we know?”

Again, Kate went quiet. If the atmosphere was tense before, this new wave could be cut with scissors. Hearing Jeff angry was a thing to behold. This man never lost his cool, especially not with Kate. So, for him to be this upset, the others kind of kept their distance, eyeing him to make sure he didn’t explode; all of them except for Haddie, she was currently rubbing his back.

“If I tell you, will you go check on him?” Kate asked, sounding broken.

“I will personally take him to the best restaurant in Toronto if he wants, Kate,” Jeff said, almost sounding desperate at this point.

Everyone was eyeing the phone now, waiting on Kate. Her phone caught some of her little exhales on the other side. Élodie knew she was weighing the options. To her, the answer seemed simple enough. They were here, Kate was not. If Kate wanted to make sure Ace was well off and fed, all she had to do was say what was affecting him so bad.

“If I tell you…it can’t leave this call,” Kate said.

“That’s fine.” Jeff looked puzzled. Élodie matched his confusion. Why is there such a choke hold on this secret? Élodie wondered.

Another long moment of pause, both Meg and Haddie growing visibly annoyed.

“Is it depression?” Jeff guessed. “A money thing? Is he dying?”

“He’s on heroin.”

A collective, horrified shock crashed over everyone. Eyes grew wide as members looked to one another for answers no one had. Kate’s admission came out of left field, blindsiding everyone.

“What?” Meg was the first to speak, still looking aghast, her voice hollow.

“If he’s telling the truth, he hasn’t been on it for six months.”

“Kate…” Jeff’s voice sounded worried as well as disappointed.

“I know,” Kate whimpered. Even though this was only a call, there was no hiding the fact that she was nearly crying, if not already was. “I thought I could make sure he was okay by checking up on him each day, but I know he’s only getting worse. I was on the phone with him earlier and I’m almost positive he fainted for a second.”

“Wait, what?” Jeff questioned.

Claudette bolted away from Élodie and into the kitchen again. Élodie realized she was preparing for Jeff to leave, quickly making Ace a plate of the leftovers from dinner. Élodie turned her attention back to the living room only for her gaze to be stolen again by a moving figure outside. For the second time in a matter of a minute, Élodie’s eyes widened as she watched Felix get up from his seat and move to step inside.

What was he doing?

“I heard a thud and he just stopped talking for a second. I was concerned but he said he was okay,” Kate explained, her pace picking up with each breath.

Élodie would have been listening more intently if she wasn’t watching Felix like a hawk. The German was slow but decisive with his movements as he angled himself and stepped over to the sliding door. Élodie believed he was going to close it, not wanting to hear about Ace because of their fight earlier. Instead, Felix opened the door, letting Basil in first before he himself stepped in.

“After we hung up, I texted him twice and he didn’t respond. So, I’m just asking y’all to just go and check on him. I know I’m asking a lot, but—”

“Kate,” Felix’s authoritative voice silenced her and everyone else within the second. With everyone still and eyeing him, Felix leaned down, palms on the coffee table and hissed into the phone, “Wenn er wegen Ihrer Geheimhaltung stirbt, werde ich Sie töten.”

“Oh…hi Felix,” Kate squeaked like a mouse cornered by hawks.

Felix pushed off the table with enough force to send it a few inches across the floor before turning and making his way towards the front. He locked eyes with Élodie for a moment, nothing but exhaustion and hatred in his icy-blue stare.

“Felix,” Élodie chastised quietly.

“What did he say?” Kate asked. The group turned to Élodie expectantly, but all she could manage was a guilty smile before turning away from their blazing stares to follow Felix. He hadn’t made it very far. Felix grabbed the only Honda key fob before marching back to the entrance of the living room and throwing it at Jeff.

“Okay, Kate.” Jeff caught the keys and picked up his phone, taking it off speaker before placing it to his ear. He continued to talk to Kate, meanwhile Élodie followed Felix at the hip.

“You can’t just say that to a friend, Felix,” she whispered, watching him search through his bag until he found a proper blazer, still zipped up in its suit bag. Felix ignored her as he threw the garment on and waited by the front door.

“I’m coming too,” Meg announced, bounding over to where the pair was. She tried her best to avoid their awkward but heated stare-down, sliding beside them and grabbing her shoes beside Felix.

“Auf wen bist du sauer?” Élodie demanded. She didn’t feel comfortable letting him go after Ace while he was upset like this. Felix may have been harmless, but this was also Felix. The same man who literally threw his ex’s multi-drawer dresser out a window by himself when he was expunging her from his life.

As Meg grabbed the plate of food from Claudette and Jeff hung up the phone with Kate, the two shuffled past Élodie and Felix, Jeff telling Felix to come now if he was tagging along.

Still leering down at Élodie, Felix grabbed the front door knob behind him and turned to leave.

“Mich selbst,” he whispered, then turned and closed the door behind him.

* * *

Felix was angry at himself for not trying sooner. For not coming back sooner. For not giving a shit sooner. Kate hadn’t said explicitly when Ace started abusing heroin, but Felix felt he could accurately guess within a certain date range. This was his fault.

Fuck. Fuck!

Felix couldn’t believe he’d been so soft, so broken enough to let Ace slip through his fingers again. He’d done so knowing that Ace was in an awful state, and now he knew the reason. Felix would blame himself for pushing Ace to abuse substances for the rest of his life simply because he knew he was the problem. He’d caused it. He’d ruined the chance he had with Ace the moment he hit send on that text two years ago. He’d never forgive himself for doing that. But, for now, he could at least check up on him, maybe try and apologize again. There was something Ace needed to hear. Felix planned to figure it out and repeat it to Ace until he could begin to forgive him.

Focus on Ace, Felix’s mind insisted. Kate’s worried, so you should be worried.

The seven minutes it took to drive to Ace’s motel felt like several years. Felix was tapping his foot in the passenger seat the entire time. He was surprised no one commented on it. Then again, he did just unintentionally go full psychotic German in the living room not a handful of minutes ago.

Pulling into one of the plethora of empty parking spaces, Jeff unclicked his seatbelt but didn’t move to get out of the car.

“What?” Meg questioned, noticing Jeff’s hesitation first. Felix looked to him as well, his hand already on the door handle.

Jeff pointed to the motel room in front of them, the curtains open to showcase the room on full display. “That’s Ace’s room.”

“Cool,” Meg said passively, moving to get out of the car.

“Where is he?” Jeff asked.

Both Felix and Meg looked out the windshield and into the room again. A dim light came from the back left corner, neither of them able to discern where it was coming from.

“Bathroom?” Meg guessed.

Unhappy with not knowing, Felix got out of the car and approached the window, the remainder of the trio following close behind. Meg came up close beside Felix, peering in with hands pressed to the glass. Jeff joined the furthest from the door. Felix tried to open the door, unsurprised to find it locked.

“Jeff.” Meg elbowed the man beside him. “Text Ace’s phone. Is that it on the bed?”

The trio focused in on the small black, rectangular object in the middle of the furthest bed. Jeff quickly pulled out his phone and sent a text. A moment later, the black rectangle lit up, confirming that it was indeed Ace’s phone.

“Okay,” Meg began, pointing into the room now. “Ace’s phone. Ace’s suitcase. You’re right, where’s Ace?”

Felix turned around to inspect the courtyard around them. His line of thinking was that maybe Ace had left to finally grab something to eat. But as Felix searched, there weren't any sort of cafés or vending machines to buy from, just an empty parking lot and the road across from them.

“Well,” Jeff said, pulling Felix’s attention back to the room. “Maybe you’re right on the bathroom part. Maybe he’s taking a shower.”

The group looked to the corner of the room, finding one dim yellow light flooding out into the room.

If Ace was in his room showering like they believed, where was the steam? The mirror was perfectly clear. Ace hasn’t picked up his phone because he’s been taking a cold shower for close to thirty minutes?

He’s not in the shower, Felix decided on his own. But where would he go without his phone? Without his stuff?

Felix may have been a few drinks in for the night, but that didn’t stop his brain from firing every sort of reason it could conceive on why the light would be on but him not be there.

Forgot to turn it off, faulty wiring, maintenance was cleaning.

The longer Felix stared, the more concerned he became. Nothing was making sense. His door is locked with him not in his room; but he left his stuff behind?

The possibility of Ace relapsing only crossed Felix’s mind for a moment before his eyes caught an odd discoloration on the bathroom counter. He could barely see it from where he was standing, but the edge of the white counter looked to have a reddish-brown stain that’d leaked from the top over the side.

Felix’s heart froze in his chest. He couldn’t take a breath in as his hands began to shake in his pockets.

It didn’t take a genius to realize what the stain was. But, having been stuck for many years in a hellish dimension of sharp blades, blood and gore, Felix knew the sight of blood when he saw it, especially dried blood.

Stepping back, Felix wasn’t too sure what he was planning until he was about five steps back from the motel door. Without an ounce of hesitation, uncaring of the consequences, Felix steadied himself the best he could, counted down from three, and charged the door—kicking it in on itself on the first try.

“Felix! Are you fucking insane!?” Meg screamed—but that was the last thing Felix heard before the world went quiet, replaced by the pounding of his heart in his ears.

Unfortunately, Felix was right, Ace was here—with his back to the room, lying on the bathroom tile in a pool of his own blood.

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#dead by daylight fanfiction #Felix Richter #Ace Visconti #Élodie rakoto #Meg Thomas #jeff johansen #haddie kaur #kate denson #claudette morel #dbd #dbd fanfic

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the-faultofdaedalus · 3 years

Text

I had a dream that the king and the queen of a small country had a daughter. They needed a son, a first-born son, so in secret, without telling anyone of their child’s gender, they travelled to the nearby woods that were rumoured to house a witch.

They made a deal with that witch. They wanted a son, and they got one. A son, one made out of clay and wood, flexible enough to grow but sturdy enough to withstand its destined path, enchanted to look like a human child. The witch asked for only one thing, and that was for their daughter.

They left the girl readily.

The witch raised her as her own, and called her Thyme. The princess grew up unknowing of her heritage, grew up calling the witch Mama, and the witch did her very best to earn that title.

She was taught magic, and how to forage in the woods, how to build sturdy wooden structures and how to make the most delicious stews. The girl had a good life, and the witch was pleased.

The girl grew into a woman, and learned more and more powerful magics, grew stronger from hauling wood and stones and animals to cook, grew smarter as the witch taught her more.

She learned to deal with the people in the villages nearby, learned how to brew remedies and medicines and how to treat illness and injury, and learned how to tell when someone was lying.

Every time the pair went into town, the people would remark at just how similar Thyme was to her mother.

(Thyme does not know who and what she is. She does not know that she was born a princess, that she was sold. She only knows that one night after her mother read her a story about princesses and dragons, her mother had asked her if she ever wanted to be a princess.)

((Thyme only knows that she very quickly answered no. She likes being a witch, thank you very much, she likes the power that comes with it and the way that she can look at things and know their true nature.))

The witch starts preparing the ritual early, starts collecting the necessities in the winter so they can be ready by the fall equinox. Her daughter helps, and does not ask what this is for, just knows that it is important.

The witch looks at Thyme, both their hands raised into the air over a complicated array of plants, tended carefully to grow into a circle, and says, sorry.

Thyme wakes up in a clearing she recognizes well. Her mother is not there.

The house she had grown up in is a pile of logs on the ground, destroyed and broken and in disarray, and Thyme is afraid. She calls for her mother, once, twice, and then rolls up her sleeves and begins the trek towards town.

Her home is not here, she has neither her bow nor her knife, and if she means to figure out what happened she needs supplies. People are always in need of a witch, she knows, and her mother taught her long ago the value of a silver tongue.

Except.

She walks out of the woods, and the town is... different. Smaller. The mill she knew so fondly, that she used to climb in with the other children of the village, isn’t there.

There’s no indication it was ever there, and all at once, Thyme realizes what the ritual was for.

It was a time-spell, and now she is in the past. The house is in ruins because her mother has not repaired it yet, the mill is gone because it has not been built yet.

She is here, because...

She does not know.

And now, it is up to her to take care of herself.

She learns the date from the villagers, gets herself a room at the inn and a good hot meal in exchange for looking at the innkeeper’s son, who has been wracked with cough for weeks now, apparently.

His face is one Thyme knows, one that in her days were covered in wrinkles and laugh-lines, and as she goes back out into the woods to collect the herbs she needs to cure the boy, she thinks.

The boy will take the inn over from his father, and he will always welcome Thyme’s mother in with open arms for saving him when he was a child. Either the story had been wrong, or Thyme has already broken things.

Thyme does not know which one she fears more.

She waits in the village for a full turn of the moon for her mother to come. She knows that this is when she should have come in to town. She knows that she should show up here, any day.

The boy’s cough gets better and when it’s gone completely Thyme buys herself a knife at the blacksmith’s and returns to the woods, to the clearing she calls home. Hands on her hips, she surveys the once-cottage, and makes a plan.

The house takes a long time to build. She buys an axe, makes a bow, and sleeps under the stars while the house is very slowly built back up. Walls, roof, floors, and then a fireplace, big and wide enough to fit a cauldron, built from special bluestone she hauls from a nearby hill one lump at a time, all the better to brew inside.

Mama, she thinks wryly, you better be grateful for this.

She hunts for herself, mostly, snares rabbits and shoots down deer, strips them of their skin, treats it and leaves the fur out to dry. They’ll be good blankets, a good winter cloak, someday. She knows what plants she can eat, what plants will be good, and she survives. She builds.

She does not tell the villagers her name, and they know her only as “the witch.”

Thyme eventually stops waiting for her mother. She watches herself in the mirror, and aches at how much they look the same. How much she’s turning out like her mother.

She helps the villagers, occasionally travels further to heal illnesses in other villages, but mostly stays to herself, in the woods, collecting books and herbs and the house grows more and more as she remembers it. Her hair, that used to be so dark, raven’s hair, her mother would say, braiding it back for her before she learned to do it herself, gets shot through with white and goes grey.

There’s wrinkles on her face that didn’t used to be there.

Thyme stops waiting, and becomes the witch of the these woods.

And then.

The King and Queen of these lands show up at her door, and they are holding a baby girl.

Please, they say, We need a son. Give us a son.

And Thyme, who now has a scar on her cheek from a branch whipping at her too fast to avoid, who knows that her mother had had the same scar, looks at the baby, meets her eyes, and knows that they are her eyes.

I’ll give you a son, Thyme tells them, as if through a trance, but the cost will be your daughter.

They agree, as she knew they would, and she makes a boy out of clay and wood and she remembers learning how to make constructs like these with her mother, she breaths life into it and sends it off with the King and Queen and she holds their baby in her arms.

Black hair. Dark eyes. A quiet baby, who looks up at her with a solemness that Thyme’s not entirely sure babies are supposed to have.

Hello, little one, Thyme says, holds out her finger for the baby to grasp, feels her voice crack down the centre like a burnt-out log when the infant holds her finger in her chubby little hand.

She’s a princess. This baby is a princess, and this baby is her, and her mother has never existed. She knows all these things now, but the thing that she knows most strongly is that she will protect this child, and not only because this child is her.

(It is alright to be selfish, Thyme, she remembers her mother telling her, it is alright to take things for yourself. You do not need to give yourself away, remember that.)

She has to build a crib and cradle for the baby, and until it’s finished, until she knows that the birchwood and blanket is as comfortable as it can be, she sleeps with the baby -- with Thyme, her name will be Thyme, and she smiles as she thinks it -- on her chest.

She goes into the village, walking through the woods as baby Thyme looks at the trees and the plants with wide eyes, brings her to a farmer who has raised three girls, knocks at her door, and says, help me.

The witch doesn’t know how to care for a child, and she is going to learn. She must learn.

The farmer helps her gladly, something in her eyes that tells the witch that she misses having children, that however much she loves her girls, grown and adventurous, sun-browned and strong from working the fields with her mother, she misses caring for an infant.

She learns how to make formula out of goat’s milk, how to burp the baby, how to change and wash her. She learns how to tell why the baby might be crying -- even though baby Thyme rarely cries, prefers to watch the world with her big, dark eyes -- and how to fix what might be wrong.

She sits with the farmer as Thyme plays with a doll carved from a cow’s bone, and learns how to thresh wheat.

The farmer never asks where the baby came from, but does remark how alike they look, that Thyme looks just like her mother, and the witch smiles at that.

Thyme seems to grow quickly, learning to crawl, and then to toddle around while hanging off the furniture, and the witch cries at Thyme’s first, unsteady and unsupported steps, even as she builds high shelves into the rafters of her home so that Thyme won’t end up eating things she shouldn’t.

The witch takes Thyme into the village more and more, first in a bag tucked up close against her chest, and when Thyme grows more, holding her hand as she runs through the woods as fast as her little legs will carry her. Every time Thyme runs off to bring back a flower, the witch feels a surge of fondness she refuses to suppress.

The mill is built, and the witch watches as Thyme runs off to play with the other village kids, brave and fearless and so, so curious.

She teaches Thyme her first charm when the girl is eight, and Thyme takes to the craft like she takes to memorizing the names and uses of plants, like she takes to a bow and knife, like she takes to books, exactly as the witch knew she would.

Sometimes, the witch hates the lie she’s made Thyme into. She agonizes over it, over she should tell the girl her true parentage, should spill this secret like a cut bag of wheat, but--

She does not want Thyme to know that she was traded away so easily. She does not want Thyme to know that to her birth parents, she was worthless.

She asks, though. Asks, do you want to be like the girls in the books? a princess? and is warmed to the core when Thyme answers no.

Yes, the witch had known what she had answered. Yes, the witch knows that Thyme loves her life, her studies, the woods, her home.

(Yes, the witch knows that Thyme loves her mother, because the witch loved her mother. She knows this, and still, she asks.)

The witch teaches Thyme how to make constructs, how to animate them, is proud beyond words when on her fifth try, casting over a wood skeleton covered in clay, the shape of a rabbit, the thing shivers to life, and hops over to push it’s nose into Thyme’s outstreached hands, the girl beaming so brightly that the witch thinks the woods might be glowing with it. The rabbit-construct is lumpy, and uneven, it’s movements slow and unnatural, and she has not yet taught Thyme how to cast the illusion spell onto it that will make it look real, and alive, but Thyme looks so happy that the witch nearly, nearly, forgets her guilt at the purpose of this spell.

Thyme grows, first into a teen, skinny and narrow from how she had shot taller like a willow tree, bony and sharp and lean, and into a woman, growing broad from good food and hard work, takes to hiking into the woods for days at a time with only her knife and her bow and a pouch of herbs, returns home with wild hair the witch combs out for her as Thyme tells her of her adventures.

It matters not that the witch knows all of these stories, knows them because she lived them herself, when she was a girl. She listens to her daughter, dragging the comb through her tangled hair, asks about the falls she found, the cliffs, the animals, the herbs, makes sure that Thyme knows that she will be listened to, that she deserves to be listened to. She listens, because she knows that no matter how much Thyme loves going on these adventures, she also loves coming home, and sharing in these simple, cozy moments.

Winter comes. With the cold comes a grief, a guilt, that weighs heavy on the witch’s heart. She begins preparing for the ritual, for the time-spell that will send her daughter backwards and into loneliness and into the position to save herself from what her true parents would force her to become, backwards to learn the truth, backwards to become her.

She knows why she must do this. She has scryed on her construct, the prince, the soon-to-be-king, every moon since she sent him away and took herself in his place. She sees what he has grown into, she sees what the power has done to him, she sees and she knows that she and her daughter would have suffered greatly in that role. She sees him make hard choices.

She sees him go to war.

She sees the illusion she cast over branch and clay bleed. She sees him, bandages around his torso, arm hanging awkwardly by his side, leave the castle, and wade into the lake outside of it’s walls. She sees the clay in the lakebed melt towards him, heal the wounds, make him fit to wield a sword the very next day.

She does not want that. She does not want that for her daughter.

It is alright to be selfish, Thyme, she remembers her mother saying to her, remembers saying to her Thyme, bleeding for others is a gift. It is valued, but it is up to you to give it.

Spring comes. Reedy plants are tended into a circle. Summer comes. Fires are burned over the dirt, ash mixed with soil. Fall comes. The heart of a boar is buried under the circle, placed to rest with gentle words. The witch and her daughter, Thyme and Thyme, stand together, hands raised, looking at each other.

The witch whispers, I’m sorry.

And her daughter disappears.

#my writing #original writing #witches #fairy tale #HOLY SHIT I STARTED WRITING THIS A LONG-ASS TIME AGO #anyways. here's thyme.

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ahtsumu · 3 years

Text

IT’S ALWAYS SIX O′CLOCK SOMEWHERE

pairing: nanami kento x gn!reader

synopsis: a glimpse into a day in your life with nanami kento. he comes home to you after a long day of work. sweet words are shared. you talk of the future.

tag(s): set before shibuya arc, tooth-rotting fluff, married life aww ; wc: 1.2k

it’s a quarter to six when nanami kento’s footsteps on the front porch announce his arrival. it’s not that your house is small or the walls are thin–– it’s that he walks like he carries the world on his shoulders.

he does, though.

the front door opens, then shuts, and then–– “honey, i’m home,” his sonorous voice calls out.

“kitchen!” you sing. the bright cooking space is engulfed by the smell of lemon and thyme and the chicken in the oven–– not an unfamiliar scent to the nanami kitchen as of late. you count his steps as they grow louder and when they finally stop, you take your eyes off the oven door and turn around.

nanami leans against the archway with a half-smile on one side of his lips, dangling his tan suit jacket over his shoulder by the collar. the glasses he’d worn out the door in the morning are now tucked in his shirt. he looks a bit tired.

“hello, handsome,” you purr, slinking up to the blond. instinctively, his arm snakes around your waist, pulling you closer to his muscled chest. his head dips down for a gentle kiss.

“how was your day?” nanami asks in a murmur.

your phone buzzes on the counter, interrupting the tender moment.

“that’s the chicken,” you sigh, slipping out of his arms.

“no, that was the timer,” he replies, stealing another kiss from you before letting you go. “the chicken is dead, sweetheart.” you look over your shoulder as you slip on an oven mitt, rolling your eyes at his joke. he laughs and crosses his arms over his chest, proud nonetheless.

“do you think you’re funny?” you take the tray out and set it on the counter. the mouthwatering smell of lemon roasted chicken intensifies in the kitchen.

“sometimes.” nanami grabs the meat thermometer on the counter and sticks it into the thigh. 165 degrees. perfect.

“i think this time it might be edible,” you joke, grabbing the tray and moving to the dining table. nanami follows with two plates and two sets of cutlery in hand. as you set the table, he goes back to bring the other dishes over.

once you’re both settled in your seats and have food on your plates, he says the little “thank you for the meal, darling” that he always does. nanami lets out an approving hum when he pops a piece of the chicken in his mouth, commenting on how “it tastes amazing” this time–– unlike the last, when you essentially drowned the chicken in lemon juice, revived and buried it alive in thyme, and then killed it again by charring it.

“i’m a fast learner,” you say smugly. and then you remember what nanami had said as you were cuddling in bed last night. about being a mentor. “oh, speaking of learning… how’s that kid doing? itadori, you said his name was?”

nanami sighs and sets his utensils down. “he’s just a kid,” he begins, leaning back in his chair. “but… he’s got soul.”

you frown and grab his hand, giving it a light squeeze. only after that white-haired man called gojo came knocking on your door did you learn about your husband’s… talent. the way he’d described growing up with it, though, made it seem more like a curse. fourteen-year-olds having to fight cursed spirits, having to die for the greater good of humanity… you understood why he chose a life far away from that.

but nanami kento is also the man who rescues strays from the streets and takes them to shelters. he holds doors open for entire lines of people. he gives umbrellas away to the homeless when it rains.

he just wants to be a good person.

so you also understand why he’d go back to it.

nanami offers you a half-hearted smile. “can we not talk about… that stuff?” he chuckles, folding his hands together and resting his chin at the top. “i’d like to hear about your day. did you get the problem with hana sorted out?”

yes, you did and, in fact, because you’re the managing editor of the newspaper you work for, the problem was resolved pretty easily. how? oh, well you did have to talk to yamamoto about making deadlines more flexible and…

“work is shit,” you sigh at the end of your story. “but… it’s not all bad. i’m lucky enough that i get off at four and not five like you. i guess the moral of the story is that there’s happiness everywhere. you just have to look for it.”

the clock in the living room chimes.

chuckling, nanami takes a sip of his chardonnay. “you’re right, love,” he muses. “it’s always six o’clock somewhere.”

little things take up the rest of your conversation–– a quote from the book you’re almost done reading, the recent drop in the temperature outside, the neighbours’ new baby boy. dinner finishes up as seven rounds the corner.

you bring the dirty dishes to the kitchen together.

nanami rolls up his sleeves and starts washing the plates as you sit on the counter with your feet dangling below.

“say,” you start in an awfully suspicious tone.

“no,” he says immediately.

“but––”

“in this economy?” nanami asks, looking into your eyes.

“well, i don’t know how much mojo is paying you––”

“gojo.”

“–– but i’m making a handsome five figures each year, and we still have a lot saved up from when you were at sachs,” you say, looking at him through your lashes.

nanami thinks it over as he scrubs down the last plate and puts it into the dishwasher. there are so many things that could go wrong… especially now. “are you sure?” he asks, still not fully believing what you’re insinuating.

“i’m sure,” you say, grinning. he looks around the kitchen for a towel, only to find it already in your hands. “c’mon, kento. let’s start a family.”

an expression, feather-light and equally soft, comes over his defined features as he takes the towel and dries his hands.

“there’s a lot that we have to plan before we go into this,” he begins sternly, blue eyes twinkling beneath the ceiling light.

“well, then, let’s plan it out,” you return, hopping off the counter and wrapping your arms around him. nanami chuckles, noting how, like always, you just do things the way you want to. that freedom in your soul. he wonders if two years of marriage is enough for it to start rubbing off on him. “how about we go for a walk outside and talk about it?” nanami smiles softly and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“okay,” he agrees, rubbing your back affectionately as the two of you walk to the door.

nanami already has a shoe-clad foot out the open door when he pauses and remembers how the temperature has been dropping recently. “it’s a bit cold outside already,” he tells you, nodding at the coat closet. “you should grab a jacket.”

so you shrug on a light beige one–– one that matches the suit he was wearing earlier–– and hold his hand in his pocket.

and you walk through the door together.

#nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #jjk x reader

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kareniliana · 2 years

Text

Scott: Puppies

Transferred from Wattpad.

Revised so it may be different a little... okay it’s a lot different.

You were in the room where the dogs were locked up at you uncles veterinary. You were trying to feed a liter of puppies that were abandoned at the door step. You thought they were pure labs. There were at least 5 of them. You picked one up and pet it. They were really small and didn’t look too healthy, after your uncle checked them out and made sure there weren’t any actual heath problem with them.

The baby puppy in your hands was trembling, they all were. Huddling together for some heat.

"Awe, you are all so cute. Why would anyone ever want to abandon you guys?" You talked to the whimpering puppies, they're sounds pulling at your heart strings.

"Y/n? What are you doing down there?" You uncle Alan call out once he walked into the room of cages filled with dogs.

"Just wanted to try and comfort the abandoned puppies." You said with a sad face, you wore your heart on your sleeve. You care too much in some cases, these puppies were one of those times.

“Well like I said, they were probably taken away from their mother too early, give them water mixed with crushed rosemary and-"

"And thyme. Gotcha!" You said standing up and following him out. You set the puppy on the stainless steel table, something about this pup made you immediately connect to it. As you crushed the herbs to powder, Scott came in. He saw the whimpering shivering pup and felt almost in pain for him.

“Is this one of those puppies you told me about at school?” He asked, petting the puppy and taking his pain away in the process.

You stood there watching him in awe, you felt as if your heart grew twice it’s size.

You cleared your throat, pushing down your feelings for the werewolf that stood in front of you. “Help me bring in the rest of the litter?”

He nodded, following you into the room and grabbing the rest of the puppies. As you picked up the pups and handed to Scott, he could tell that seeing these puppies in such distressed caused you heartache. He wanted nothing more than to take the pain that you felt at the sight, but that wasn’t even possible. Because it wasn’t actual pain, you just cared so much.

When you went back into the exam room, the puppy that was left there sat in the exact same spot where you left him. He cocked his head to the side once seeing his sibling in your arms, immediately standing and wagging his tail. He looked better, just by Scott absorbing a little of his pain away.

Once you placed the puppies on the table with their brother, you went back to crushing mixing the powder.

"What's that you are mixing?" His voice low, almost a whisper, standing closer to you.

"Rosemary and thyme."

"Why?" Scott began to pet and take a small amount of pain away from the pups, you mixed some water into the powder then transferred the mixture into a bigger bowl of water.

You pulled your attention away from the werewolf to stir the water, making sure it’s mixed properly.

"Rosemary fights off cancerous cells. Thyme helps with respiratory problems. These new born puppies seem to have some problems." You voice shaky but soft, looking up at him with sad eyes. Scott placed his hand on your back, his thumb tracing random shapes in a comforting effort.

You leaned into his shoulder, content with the atmosphere in the room.

"I like that about you, you know that?"

"Mhm?" You asked, confused.

"You don’t care what people have done before they meet you, you only care about how they are after. I’ve never seen you angry at just about anyone. I don’t know how you can care so deeply." He sighed, as he leans down slowly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“It’s...” He breathed in your scent, stabilizing his thoughts before continuing. “Y/n, you inspire me to help anyone I can, you inspired me to look after this god forsaken town”

His words making you blush, but not caring that he saw. He could tell how content you were in his presence. You stepped on your tip toes, letting his forehead rest on yours, then your noses touch. He was leaning in to kiss you, and you were too.

"Scott, we’re gon-"Stiles slammed the door open, making you jump back and yelp in surprise. Your heart rate racing faster than it was just moments before.

Shyly, he mutters “Sorry y/n.”

"You... have... horrible timing, Stiles." Scott said under his breath, making you giggle slightly.

#scott mccall #Scott McCall x reader #Scott McCall x y/n #teen wolf #teen wolf show #mtv #beacon hills #werewolf #uncle alan #Alan deaton #bhhs #supernatural

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