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saltysskin · 8 months

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Naughty Thing

König x f!reader// oral sex // cum

(NSFW // MDNI)

It had been a couple weeks since seeing each other; seeing him only in passing, staring at each other as we brush shoulders too busy to stop to talk. Before turning away he made a phone gesture with his hand, to ‘call him’. I rolled my eyes with a smile on my face, pulling out my phone to call him just to hear his voice. He beat me to it: Daisy: “Hello?” I cooed through the phone, my face still stuck in a smile. König: “I like your hairstyle today,” He was gushing making my smile slowly turn into a grin. Daisy: “Really?” I replied while running my fingers over the small clips I used to keep my fringe out of my face. Daisy: “Thank you, colonel.” I flirted, hearing him let out a breathy laugh on the other end. The sound of him flustered turned me on a bit. “Are you free tonight?” I asked him, hoping to get close with him again, desperate to learn more about him. “Ja, can I come by?” He hummed, “Ok, I’m free after six,” I added, “See you at seven,” König loved the attention, sweating a little under his mask as he put his phone away, continuing his day eagerly. After drills I opted for a swim meet, putting in all of my effort to calm my nerves, and to rest my urges. I wore a one piece swimsuit, tying my hair back before enduring an hour with no breaks. Afterwards I was officially done for the day, rushing back with a towel around me, towards the locker rooms. Before I unpacked my locker throwing on clothes overtop my damp suit. I snapped a photo of myself in the mirror, sending it to König, Daisy: Imagine 231 “Leaving the swim meet now, x”. I was standing on my tip toes smiling in my one piece bathing suit with my hair down, hoping not to be too forward. I planned to shower when I reach my door, “What’s the rush?” a voice called out as I left the locker rooms, making me turn around. Not recognizing the guy as a superior I didn’t slow down, “Gotta date,” I called back over to him. He replied saying something I couldn’t make out, before I disappeared towards my dorm. I moved through my dorm picking up stray pieces of clothing, pushing dishes into the dish washer, then finally making it to the shower. I pulled on a tshirt dress, that was light grey and hugged my figure perfectly. I dried my hair, clipping it back again, then applying light makeup. I sprayed a small splash of perfume on my skin and hair. While checking the time I noticed König replied to my photo, cheeks turning red, already. König: “Stunning little thing, I didn’t know you had a tattoo?” He replied making me giggle into my hand. Beyond me, König stared at the photo for about 15 minutes without any interruption, zooming in spotting my hardly visible tattoo. Making him tarty for our dinner date, which I didn’t mind, dinner took longer than I thought it would. As soon as I finished the steaks and asparagus; knocking came from my door. Peaking through the peephole there he stood, seeming almost rushed. “Hi,” I cooed as I opened my door. His breathing was heavy, noticing his outfit as he entered my dwelling. A short sleeved black shirt, with green cargo pants with black boots, couldn’t be more casual. He didn’t even have his helmet on, just his sniper hood, allowing his brunette hair to peak through the top of his hood. “Hallo Blume,” he leaned down allowing me kiss his cheek. “I apologize for the delay, I—,” König began before I interrupted, “That’s ok, I just finished dinner, actually.” Smiling over at him before pouring two glasses of wine. We caught up over dinner, sitting beside each other while we talked. Stealing glances of my legs, all the way up to my thigh until my dress begins covering the rest of me. König cleaned his plate, asking for seconds; I obliged. I finished my wine, before cleaning up. He assisted me with the dishes, sticking close beside me, “Danke, for dinner sweet girl,” He hummed, as he kissed the top of my head. “You work so hard colonel, it’s the least I can do,” Flirting through my teeth, looking up at him meeting his eyes.

“Brunette hair, huh?” I cooed up at him running my hand over the top of his head, that was exposed due to his hooded mask. We sat on the couch together finishing our glasses of wine, his hair was short but long enough that I could tell it was straight. “Did you think I was blonde?” He laughed, “Maybe red headed, or bald,” subtly confessing how often I’ve thought about it. Laughing to himself, “Dying to know what I look like?” He asked me, leaning back now, “Maybe a little,” I cooed, leaning closer to him now. “Big nose? Maybe, freckles? Maybe not,” I studied his mask while rambling. Starting to realize that I may have had too much to drink. I hadn’t noticed but König was glowing underneath his mask, listening to me obsess over him had sent him into outer space. “I’ll tell you this, I’m not as pretty as you,” he hummed down at him, running his hand over my thigh. “I’m a rough old man,” he continued while looking at me then back down at my lap. “You’re not that old,” I smiled while putting my hand ontop of his. He was about a decade and a half older than me, which left a lot of room for differences to develop between us as people. “Do you have any grey hair yet?” I joked with him, “Would you still kiss me if I did?” He couldn’t hide anything when he was like this. I nodded my head in response with a smile on my face, “Of course I would,” leaning in towards him. I kissed him through his mask as usual, before he wrapped his arms around me, kissing me back. He held me in his arms continuing his clothed kissing. Opening his mouth to meet mine, only to be kept at bay by the cloth of his mask. He stroked my hair as he pulled away, lifting up his mask only to reveal his mouth. Smiling when seeing him again, noticing his jawline along with his lips. “Did you shave before coming over?” I cooed at him, running my hand along the skin of his cheek. “Vielleicht,” He smirked, making me kiss at his jaw and neck, I didn’t mind the stubble in truth. Finding him disheveled was the only thing that reminded me that he wasn’t perfect, regardless; it was the one thing that made me obsess over him. His muscles and height were something I wasn’t use too. His frayed German voice had a choke hold on me, noticing him in a room from hearing it, before he gets a chance to spot me first. Memorizing the sounds of his heavy footsteps, dreaming of him beside me in bed. Obsessed was an understatement; taking these secrets to my grave. When we settled on a movie to watch, I crawled off of his lap down onto the carpeted floor. I sat on my feet in front of the tv, sitting on my bare feet waiting to press play. I caught his reflection in shiny outline of the television, noticing him grabbing at himself to shift his package. I looked back at him with a smirk on my face, catching him staring at my behind that sat propped up on my feet. My ass looked like dough, so fat and perky; he licked his lips thinking about it being in between his teeth. “What?” I almost whispered before pressing play on the tv, then crawling back over to him on all fours.

I sat at his feet for a moment, wrapping my arms around his calf muscle and shin of his leg. He put a hand ontop of my head then began to play with my hair with his fingers, allowing me to rest my head near his knee. How close I was to his crotch made him start to sweat and immediately ignited a slight boner. He’d never seen my head so close before, reminding himself of the time she sat on his lap watching her thighs and ass swallow his legs. Holding fat in all the right places, with a bottle shaped body, staring as if he’s trying to never forget. He couldn’t focus on the movie, constantly looking down at her, embarrassed of his growing boner hiding in his pants. When she finally looked up at him his eyes immediately met hers, making her smiling, noticing that he’d been staring at her for awhile. “What are you thinkin’ about colonel?” I propped my head up on his knee, looking up at him then stealing glances of his lap when I could. He shook his head a bit before shifting where he sat, “I thought you liked these types of films, should I play another one?” I worried before attempting to crawl back over to the tv. He leaned forward grabbing my arm keeping me from moving, “König,” I whimpered up at him. “It’s not the film,” He reassured me, pulling me closer to him now, pulling me onto his lap. When I felt the stiffness of his penis I froze up, feeling it concealed underneath me. He started kissing me again, holding me on top of him, “Blume,” he breathed into my neck. “Sweet little girl,” He continued his coos, groping me as he continues planting kisses on my body and face. “Cooking me dinner, as if I were your husband,” his words made my face burn. Was I trying too hard? He let out a laugh, I could tell he was grinning, he was elated. He ran his thumb over my red cheeks humming down at me, “This is not a bad thing meine Süße,” reassuring me after noticing me blushing from his comment. Once he let his arms fall back to his sides I worked up the courage to make my move, running my hand down his belly feeling his build. I stopped at his waistband, looking up at him with glossy eyes only to be met with his gaze. “Can I?” I asked him sheepishly, trying to relieve him of his rock solid situation. He exhaled, moving his body under me into a more relaxed position. I unbuttoned his pants, working the zipper before retreating to the floor on my knees, pulling at his pants. He assisted me lifting his ass to push his pants to his ankles, revealing his tighty whities. His bulge was massive since he was erect, pushing against the cloth of his white underwear, revealing a wet spot where the head of his dick sat, pouring pre cum. Running my hands up his thick legs, admiring how hairy he was along with his muscle tone. “You’re already leaking,” I hummed while pulling on his underwear, “Blume,” He breathed out shifting where he sat. “Hmm?” I called up to him still hooking my fingers around his waist band. “I-it’s been awhile,” König confessed, trying to shrink himself in shame. “That’s ok,” I reassured him, “I’ll go slow,” I promised. I assumed that was his way of warning me on how long he’d expected to last. When his member sprang out from underneath the cloth of his underwear I watched in amazement. Hungry for him, now finally having him where I want him right in front of me. He was uncircumcised, with a thick girth, his length angled upward almost 8 inches with a sore purple head. “Colonel..” I was ready, calling up to him only to assure the he was too. He nodded down at me, not saying anything at all, I took a moment to keep eye contact with him. Taking in how pathetic he must look under there, his eyes look needy exposing his furrowed brow.

When I popped him in my mouth he let out a whimper, forcing his hands to stay by his side, not allowing himself to touch me. “Oh blume,” He moaned, letting his head fall back rolling his eyes around in his head. I swirled my tongue along his head, trying to warm it up with my mouth. His body jerked and twitched the more I lapped him up, tasting his precum already. “Mmm,” I moaned before pulling him out of my mouth. using my hands to take my place. “Is this okay, colonel?” I worked my hands, keeping a slow steady pace along his shaft. “Mhm,” He nodded his head trying not to look down at me, failing miserably. “Should I go faster?” I continued, keeping my voice soft, holding myself back. “Faster?” He breathed out, shooting me a worried look, “Or slower,” I slowed my strokes, running my fingers over the head of his penis; making him cry out. “Ah! Daisy, please no,” He was pitiful, slowly bucking his hips into my hand. “You’re so sensitive,” I spit on his head working it with my hands, “Such a big man, I thought you’d have more control than that,” I whined at him practically moaning my words. “Underwear soaked in precum,” I reprimanded him furrowing my brows. “You shouldn’t neglect yourself colonel,” kissing at his member before slipping it back into my mouth. Pushing him further in this time, allowing him to hit the back of my throat. I coughed and gagged allowing spit to trail down my chin onto my chest. “Nimm alles,” König growled, forcing himself to watch me now. My hard nipples poked through my thin dress, my chest soaked now from all the spit. Sitting on my knees working up and down on my superiors lap, letting out moist noises along with gagged moaning. I could tell he was getting close when he grabbed a hand full of my hair, “I wish I could record this,” He mumbled to himself. He began fucking my face, holding my head still while bucking his hips into my mouth. Without warning König pulled my hair tight snatching my head back, with his cock against my lips he came. He let out a loud grunt, followed by a pitiful moan, shooting hot ropes across my face before the rest collected in my mouth. Releasing about 11 times, filling my cheeks with his cum I swallowed while looking at him from the floor. Sticking my tongue out at him to show that I was a good girl, finishing my dessert completely. He moaned in response running his thumb over my lips. Then allowing his head to fall back against the couch. I cleaned up around his cock, licking up stray strings of cum, making his body jerk. Once he looked back down at me his eyes lit up, noticing that I still had his spunk on my face. “What a mess I’ve made,” he mumbled leaning towards me to get a better look. I pressed my finger along the long line of sperm collecting it only to suck it off between my lips. Making him watch me, with his mouth hanging opening, “You just taste so good,” I laughed, tasting the salty mess on my tongue. When I stood up in front of him his eyes followed me, watching me move across the room to fetch us both a glass of water. He was out of commission, barely awake at this point, poor thing. He lifted his mask chugging the water, as I continued watching his chest rose and fall trying to catch his breath. We stayed silent for a moment both of us trying to regain our composure. Sitting down beside him now I ran my fingers through his hair while he continued to sit still, with him member still exposed. He was still big when flaccid, embarrassed to even see it in such a relaxed state.

When König woke up, 30 minutes had passed and I was nowhere to be found. He quickly dressed himself, noticing from a blanket on his lap, covering him. He stood up in a panic looking around frantically for any sign of me, before rounding the corner to the hallway almost running into me. “Blume,” His voice was tired, “How was your nap colonel?” I laughed before pulling back into the well lit living room. I’d changed out of my dress into a less flattering outfit, my hair was tied back now since it was getting so late I thought König would be there all night. “How long was I asleep?” He was embarrassed or annoyed I couldn’t tell which, “Not long, like half an hour,” I explained sitting back on the couch glancing over at the tv. “You weren’t lying when you said it’d been awhile, huh,” I hummed, scooting over towards him. “Was it a lot?” I blushed, making eye contact with him now, only to smile and laugh. He groaned in response shifting uncomfortably. “and you—,” He began again looking back over at me, grabbing at my face to pull me closer to his. “You were bad,” he growled, making me bat my eyelashes at his words, attempting to look as innocent as I could. “It’s all I’ve been thinkin’ about,” I brushed my hair behind my ear, “You wouldn’t let me touch you until now,” my voice was soft and low keeping my eyes from locking with his. “I was worried that I did something wrong,” I confessed twisting my fingers together. König’s eyes widened slightly before he shook his head in response, “Nein, of course not,” He replied, making me exhale in relief. He turned to me cocking one of his eyebrows, “it’s all you’ve been thinking about?” He sucked his teeth, tsking me, “Naughty thing.” He snickered at me while playing with a piece of my hair. König was glowing; humming every word he spoke to me, keeping a firm grip on my thigh to keep me close. We eventually fell asleep on the couch, with the tv buzzing in the background. With our limbs tangled together we both managed to fit on my mediocre piece of furniture, laying my head on his chest being lulled to sleep by the rising and falling of his breathing. I couldn’t be in a better place, I felt safe; something that I haven’t felt often or at all.

#fanfic #könig call of duty #könig cod #konig headcanons #konig modern warfare #könig smut #könig x you #konig mw2 #könig fanfiction

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str8upsimz · 3 months

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Family Dinner: Conversation Before the Move.

Ebony: "Janelle, I think it would be great for you to come and stay with me in San Myshuno". "Trust me". "You're not going to regret it". "It will be a great career move for you". "Seeing how San Myshuno is Art District city and everything ". Ebony says excitedly.

Janelle: Janell Rolls Eyes. "I don't think I will regret it mom". "It's not that at all"...."It's just weird to me you barely know the Landgrabs". "I mean, they just put you up in a high-end apartment basically for "free" ". Janelle said with caution in her voice.

Ebony: "They own the property Janelle". Said Ebony with a dismissive tone.

Grandma K: Grandma interrupts. "Janelle stop questioning your mothers' decisions". "Be happy for her success and her progression". "She has come such a long way". "So independent since your father ". Grandma fixes the napkin on her lap. Grandma looks at Ebony. "Me and your father are very proud". Grandma looks at Janelle. "Can you pass me the pepper baby".

Janelle: Janelle hands pepper shaker to grandma. "I'm just saying".... "Sorry mom". " Don't get me wrong I'm proud of you to". "It's Just, ...... I Don't know". "Never mind, I'm excited too. Really.

Grandpa K: ..."Sighs" .... tosses food..."I really am going to miss you baby". "It's been great having you around the house". "All of us down at the vet clinic have enjoyed you as well". "The animals sure will miss you to sweetheart."

Janelle: "I'll still be at the vet clinic grandpa". Janelle laughs. "Grandpa"... Janelle says with empathy. "We talked about this". I'll be at the clinic in Brindlton every weekend". "If not every other weekend". "There is a bus I can take ". "I'll be able to still help out and visit". Dont worry". Janelle says reassuringly. "I'll put it on your calander in your phone before we leave". "Don't go replacing me now". Janelle Says jokingly. "You're not getting rid of me that fast". Janelle laughs.

Grandpa K: Grandpa Smiles at Jannelle.

Ebony: "Well.... It's good to know how you truly feel Janelle". Ebony says, still irritated by Janelle and her issues with the Landgrabs. "I'm sure Maria and Nanu would really enjoy seeing you". "It's been such a long time since you all have connected".

Grandma K: Grandma interrupts. "Oh, Ebony, who is that one young boy". Grandma snaps her fingers. "You know Chef Nix's middle child.... oh". "Shoot, it's on the tip of my tounge".

Ebony: "Zamir mother."

Grandma K: "Oh yes". Grandma giggles. "That's it". " I'm sure he will be very excited to see you as well baby". Grandma winks a little at Jannelle.

Janelle: "Grandma". Janelle giggles and blushes. "Yes, mom". I am very excited to see the girls". Janelle said to Ebony.

Grandma K: Grandma stares intently at Jannelle for a response.

Janelle: Janelle tries to ignore. "I'm literally only focusing on my art". "Nothing else in my vision". Janelle says confidently. "I have plans to check out the Art Gallery in hopes to get my work Noticed". "Make some business connections." "Catch up with my girls and start my future".

Grandma K: ......Still looking intently at Janelle for response.

Janelle: ......Janelle looks at grandma K.... "Really". Janelle mutters surprised her grandma is still awaiting a response about Zamir. "Yes...., Zamir is......and I do"...... " Look". Janelle says while blushing with embarrassment. "I'm focusing on my success as an artist grandma". "Nothing more, nothing less".

Grandma K: "Ok baby ok".... Grandma laughs. "I'm only teasing you". "We believe you sweetie, now finish your dinner". The parmesan asparagus is great. "Don't let it get cold hun".

Family continues to eat and enjoy the rest of the evening........

#blacksimmer #sims lets play #ts4 #blacksims #sims 4 #ts4 story #sims 4 urban cc #sims 4 urban sims #the sims 4 custom content #sims 4 gameplay #sims 4 screenshots #sims4 stories #sims 4 art

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mrs-hollandstan · 3 years

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Ok so fluffy request for Sam. What if you're trying to cook him a special dinner (bc he always cooks for you) but you end up burning it and get upset. When he comes home he comforts you and you guys cook the dinner together and he teaches you his special chef skills and it's just suuuper fluffy

Current predicament: sobbing on the kitchen floor. Points for image. You look beautiful, but points deducted for the mess of your kitchen. Your chicken is burnt, your potatoes are too milky, your asparagus is bland, and now… your makeup is ruined. The front door clicks open and Sam calls out for you as he enters. You sniffle, trying to collect yourself as he seeks you out, crumbling to his knees beside you when he sees you,

"Peach… what is it?" He asks, worry etched into his features. You shake your head, rising to your knees,

"Nothing… I'm fine." He purses his lips and tilts his head softly before the smell of burnt food draws his eyes to the mess in the oven and on the countertop. He clicks his tongue, reaching up to stroke your hair down,

"Oh babe… were you trying to make me dinner?" He asks. You nod, tears springing to your eyes again,

"Yes." He shakes his head, features softening,

"Oh no, no! Baby don't cry! It looks good… well… I'm sure it would've been amazing. Oh love." He drags you into his arms, soothing you softly. After a few minutes, he sits you up, caressing your cheek,

"I'm sure it would've been fantastic babe. But what do you say I teach you some tips yeah?" He asks. You nod, sniffling before he's standing, taking your hands,

"How bout a surf and turf yeah? Shrimp scampi and steak? Sound good?" He asks. You nod, watching him pull out all of the ingredients you both need. After a few minutes, he's adding butter to a pan and you watch closely as he cooks, explaining all of his steps thoroughly. He even wraps you in his arms, his hands guiding yours in their movements as you help him.

The house quickly fills with a delicious scent and you're serving up two plates of medium rare steak, seasoned to perfection and a beautiful, steaming side of pasta and shrimp. Sam sits at the dining room table, inviting you into his lap. You sigh, nuzzling in his neck,

"I'm sorry I couldn't surprise you." You murmur. He shakes his head,

"That's alright baby. You can only be perfect at so many things and… everything else you do is perfect." He tells you. You smile, leaning in to kiss him,

"I'll never be able to cook like you babe."

"Well no, that's the point. I went to culinary school." He teases. You giggle and he holds your chin in his fingers, kissing you softly for a moment,

"You break my heart when you cry like that. Don't do it again yeah?" He poses. You nod, looping your finger round his when he offers it, kissing his nimble fingers,

"Promise."

"Atta girl." He murmurs, dragging you down and snuggling you into him.

#sam holland x you #sam holland x y/n #sam holland imagine #sam holland smut #sam holland #sam holland and yn #sam holland and you #sam holland blurbs #sam holland blurb #sam holland x reader #blurbs #my writing

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adhdanalogbrain · 3 years

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Do you have any tips for healthy eating with adhd? I've seen suggestions in the past for microwave meals, but I'm weird with the textures of those and often times the thought of cooking, especially if its just for me, sounds like too much effort

OP, i have been sitting on this ask for weeks because i wanted to give you a really really good all-encompassing answer (with photos etc) that would solve all your food problems....

...but that obviously isn't happening any time soon. so instead I've reblogged several other fooding-while-ADHD posts (and will continue to do so when I find good ones!). And I'm going to give you the short, short version of the beautiful answer that lives only in my head:

FROZEN VEGETABLES

QUICK-COOK GRAINS

EASY HEALTHY FOODS

Ok so let me explain. Microwave meals are vile because: 1) lots of different textured food cooked for the same amount of time creates bad textures, 2) ridiculous amounts of sodium and preservatives taste gross and hurt your stomach, 3) heckin' expensive, and 4) full of germs, don't look this fact up, you really dont want to know, just trust me on this.

HOWEVER! You can make your own easy, balanced microwave meals for super cheap by combining absolutely normal frozen vegetables, quick-cooking grains, and your own seasonings.

As a quick reminder, a well-balanced meal is comprised of:

50% non-starchy vegetables (aka, 1/2 of your plate)

25% carbs / starches (1/4 of your plate)

25% protein (1/4 of your plate)

1 serving of dairy

1 serving of good fats

Here's each of those categories broken down further (bold items are readily and cheaply available frozen):

Non-Starchy Vegetables: Artichoke, asparagus, baby corn, bamboo shoots, green beans, wax beans, bean sprouts, beets, broccoli, Brussels sprouts, cabbage, carrots, cauliflower, celery, cucumber, eggplant, leafy greens, jicama, kohlrabi, leeks, lettuce, mushrooms, okra, onions, peppers, radishes, rutabaga, tomato, turnips, water chestnuts, zucchini, summer squash.

Starchy Vegetables: Corn, hominy, parsnips, green peas, plantain, potato, pumpkin, winter squash, sweet potato.

Grains: Bagel, bread, pita, tortilla, barley, bulgur, oatmeal, kasha, millet, quinoa, rice, pasta, couscous, green peas, beans, lentils, black-eyed peas.

Proteins: Meat, eggs, fish, beans, black-eyed peas, edamame, falafel, hummus, lentils, nut butter, tofu, cheese, cottage cheese.

Dairy: Milk, soymilk, yogurt

Good Fats: Avocado, peanut butter, nuts, canola oil, olive oil, olives, margarine, mayo, corn/cottonseed/flaxseed/safflower/soybean/sunflower oil, flax seeds, pumpkin seeds, sesame seeds.

FUN FACT ABOUT FATS: Many of the vitamins in vegetables are fat-soluble, which means your body can absorb them much better if they are eaten with fats. I hereby give you permission to add oil/butter/whatever to your meal, to eat your broccoli with ranch dressing, etc etc. (Also, eating good fats is good for your LDL cholesterol, and helps you feel full longer)

You'll notice that some items are on more than one list! That's because plant-based proteins also count as carbs/starches. Don't fret too much over this-- just know that if you've got beans in your microwave-safe bowl, you don't need to go hunting down a separate protein, you can just add more beans.

What to do with all the information i just dumped on you:

1. Grab a microwave-safe bowl and add 1/4 cup water

2. Add half a meal's worth of non-starchy veggies

3. Add your carb/starch (3/4 of your bowl is now full)

4. Add your protein (bowl is 100% filled)

5. Add oil of your choice

6. Add spices and seasonings -- spice mixes are your friend. ADD A DASH OF SALT. Salt helps dissolve flavors on your tongue, making your veggies extra delicious.

7. Cover and nuke until cooked.

VOILA!! A BALANCED MEAL IN 6 OR SO MINUTES!!

You're done at this point, but I'm going to add some extra info/ideas below:

Quick-cook grains such as oatmeal, couscous, quick rice, and quinoa can be added along with the frozen veggies and cooked until soft

Some veggies cook faster than others, so you may need to add the slower veggies first, nuke for 4 minutes alone, then add the rest of your meal and continue cooking

You can freeze your own veggies! 1) Wash, peel, and chop just about any cook-able vegetable, 2) place in microwave-safe bowl with 1/4 to 1/2 cup water and cover, 3) microwave until veggies are soft, but not full cooked, 4) drain, set aside to cool, 5) Place in plastic freezer bag and add to freezer. NOTE: Unlike storebought veggies (which are flash-frozen at -40° F), home-frozen vegetables are good for about a month, so write your own "best by:" date on the bag with a sharpie.

You can also do the above with any dried beans. Cook the beans per the instructions until almost fully cooked, then FULLY DRAIN and freeze. If you hate the texture of canned beans, this may be a good solution for you. Dried beans, when cooked, are much less mushy than canned beans.

ADD FROZEN VEGGIES TO LEFTOVERS TO STRETCH THEM OUT FURTHER. Especially leftovers with a sauce.

Add frozen veggies to canned soup to both stretch it out further and to make it 10x more delicious and satisfying.

Cook grains in bone broth for both protein and deliciousness

Frozen, pre-cooked meat and meat substitutes are also widely available and can be added to the mix.

You can pre-mix your meals (including the grains) and store them in individual plastic bags in the freezer at home or at work until you're hungry. DO NOT LET THEM THAW IN THE FRIDGE. Frozen foods do NOT go in the fridge, they go straight from freezer to microwave. The reason is germs.

Tofu and cheese cannot be frozen, sadly.

That's all i have at this time! Now I'm going to start eating my microwave bowl of leftover takeout + frozen peas.

#adhd #eating while adhd #food #food mention

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serenasoutherlyns · 3 years

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Not a Summer Crush Part Four

a/n: this is a long one! enjoy. this chapter features coffee, colds, cuteness, serena southerlyn, schemes, saturdays. all feedback makes me LOVE you, so please please reblog, reply, like, anything! you can always find this on ao3 as well. happy evening, and part five coming at you soon!

Part Four

"Haley," Anderson stopped you in the kitchen the next day. He was reaching into the fridge to get one of the terrible salads he always ate and you were rinsing out your French press (you figured, there were plenty of coffee shops nearby but a) you didn't need to be spending your money like that and b) the way the grounds fell as you pushed them slowly to the bottom had more than once brought you moments of enlightenment). You didn't stop to listen initially but he continued. "Haley," he said, "how do you do," he paused, gestured to your whole body, "that."

You looked at him, blinked, expecting him to clarify, but he did not. You laughed at him, gently, appropriately. "I don't know, Anderson, I was born 27 years ago," he winced, "I did some things, I'll do some more things, in fact, I spend most of my time doing," you gestured to yourself, "this."

He opened his mouth a few times, trying to think of what he meant, but said, "I mean, you work sex crimes, and you're so,"

"Exuberant?" You said.

"I was going to say bubbly."

"Hm."

"Forget I said anything."

"No," you said, taking pity on the guy. "It's ok," you patted his shoulder, "You learn to deal with it, right? I mean, I think I am."

“How do you keep it from getting to you?” His question made you laugh, then your face fell, something serious behind your eyes.

“It gets to me. I’m so sad all the time. But if I always acted how I felt, I don’t think I could do it.”

"Right," he said, not quite convinced. "Look I've been with homicide for five months and I still don't think I'm there yet."

"Give up or give it more time then," you said to him with a raise of your newly cleaned French press and a shrug. As you walked back to your office (you had banned him from having meals in there in your first week on the job) he watched the way you occasionally raised yourself up on your toes, in awe at your apparent ability to stay sunny.

Someone else noticed your little rise and lower. Alex Cabot had, today, decided to leave the blinds to her office door open. It was so she could catch moments just like this one, you bopping along in the hallway with your coffee maker, somewhere between walking and dancing.

Fuck, she thought, not even bothering to stop the grin, that's so cute.

Alex had talked to Casey. Well, Casey brought it up, actually, but Alex would have.

---

"So, I talked to Rita," Casey'd said almost before she shut the door behind her.

"Good evening to you, too, baby," Alex said, greeting her in the entranceway, kissing her sweetly. Casey smiled into it. Casey broke the kiss and walked towards their living room, her body aching for a comfortable seat. Alex walked behind her, pinching her (lovely perfect gorgeous) ass, causing her wife to yelp in the silly way she reserved for Alex alone. Casey always flopped onto the couch, which had originally annoyed Alex. She'd once insisted Alex try it, and while she did not move to change her habits, she admitted to seeing the appeal.

Alex, having followed Casey to the couch, bypassed the ample seating and chose the same side as her wife, who was sitting against the arm rather than the back, providing a perfect avenue for Alex to make her way up her body, continuing what she'd started. When Casey moaned, Alex got up and walked to the kitchen, ignoring Casey's whines. Alex picked up the plates where she'd put dinner (ok, it was carryout, but still, plates!) and joined Casey, another habit that was Casey's first, this one she was happy to go along with.

Casey and Alex sat on the floor, playing quiet music and making their usual conversation, routine and comforting.

"So, you talked to Rita?"

"Mm, mmhmm," Casey said, Alex having caught her mid-asparagus-bite. They laughed. "Yeah, I talked to Rita. She almost broke my door down to ask if I was sleeping with Caroline.”

Alex paled, “I was just talking to Serena about the same thing.”A panicked look flashed across Casey’s eyes. “Oh god, no, I don’t think you’re cheating on me. I mean, I went to Serena’s to be all emotional about Caroline.”

“I nearly cried.”

“In front of Rita Calhoun? And she didn’t melt?”

Casey scoffed, “She’s made me cry so many times.”

“I try to forget that fact,” Alex said.

“Fair enough. Anyway, apparently, her prowess in deductive reasoning led her to believe that I was having an affair.”

“A one-sided affair, that’s new.”

“Two-sided, unless both of us are only one side.”

“Two-sided implies there’s something there.”

“Isn’t there?”

“Isn’t that it.”

“Yeah.”

They both picked at their salads, wondering why Alex had bought salad. Casey looked up at the ceiling, Alex looked down, fiddled with the rug. Alex skipped a couple songs on her phone.

“Casey, what are we going to do about this. I don’t, I mean, I think, um.”

“I don’t know. I guess, our options are, pursue what we want or don’t and get over it.”

“If you put it that way,” Alex said, pausing, “I think we need to know what we want.”

“What do you want?”

“I want you. I want us both to be really happy, and I want her.”

Casey took a sip of her wine, agreeing with her fingertips, taking Alex’s hand. “You said what I was thinking.”

“What do you want, though? Serena said this thing about me being upset over a threesome we haven’t had and I kind of thought like, I don’t think I just want sex, um. I don’t know if that’s how you feel.”

“I do feel that way, actually, Lex.”

Casey held their hands up to her cheek, kissed Alex’s.

“So we’re pursuing that?”

“So we’re pursuing that.”

“What if,” Alex started. Casey responded with a shrug, and Alex thoughtfully nodded.

---

So, they were pursuing it. What that was going to mean was unclear as of the moment Alex saw you being very cute in the hallway, but they’d agreed that they wanted some kind of relationship, romantic, sexual. They wouldn’t want it if you only wanted one of them, they wouldn’t want just sex. It all would work out, Alex hoped. Casey was more confident than she was, but Alex had more of a cautious spirit when it came to relationships. They were well balanced. Alex hoped (and hoped and hoped) that you would want them. She gave herself a few more moments to smile, then turned back to her work.

Despite Anderson’s impressions and what Alex saw, you were not, in fact, feeling good. It was the middle of summer, but you couldn’t get warm. It’s just a cold, you thought, as you held your hands against the warmth of the coffee. Your cases were getting overwhelming, and you couldn’t afford to take any time off right now, not even to be sick in bed. Getting sick in the summer was exactly your luck.

A knock on your door startled you. You quickly collected your composure, turned on your peppy demeanor (you told the truth to Anderson: you learned how to seem OK a long time ago).

“Hey,” Casey said. “Are you in court at all today?”

You shook your head. “No, just paperwork, research. Why?”

Casey shrugged. “Thought you might want to have lunch or something.”

“I ate already,” you lied. You just didn’t want to request a place that served chicken soup. Your appetite had disappeared. “Sorry,” you said with an apologetic smile. “You want some coffee?” you asked, gesturing to the full pot.

“Sure, actually. The setup is a smart idea.”

“Isn’t it?” you said, getting up to pour two cups. “My apologies for the lack of sugar and cream.”

“Ah, it’s ok.” Casey said, accepting the cup and sitting down across from you in the extra chair. “No honey?”

“Alex told you,” You said, smiling, and Casey nodded. “It’s more of a special occasion thing.”

You watched her blow on the drink, her lips pursed over the top of it. They were a lovely shade of pink, you decided. She stuck her tongue out a bit when she took a sip, like a butterfly and its proboscis, you thought. You promptly scolded yourself for thinking that sort of thing at work. You had been considering Ramin’s advice, to “use your feminine wiles” on Casey and Alex, make them want you so bad that they believed it was their idea. It was sneaky and exciting. You’d resolved to start doing tiny, almost unnoticeable things around them (however convincing they could be when congested). Before you sat, you brushed your hand along your hip; as you held your mug, you ran your fingers along the handle.

“How’s your day going?” you asked her, knowing she’d had lots of tough cases recently. SVU had brought you on as a junior ADA because with the rising awareness of sexually-based crimes (a good inconvenience), the caseloads had risen to an all-time height, even after they brought Gillian back in to cover some cases. They were both very relieved that the gamble the office had taken in hiring a young person, whose experience had mostly been in property crimes, had worked out. It stood to reason, Casey had pushed for a younger lawyer, knowing first hand how much of a strength that could be; and when Alex had seen two Stanford degrees on your C.V., she felt sure too. You’d been a good choice. Still, you were all four overextended.

“Eh, it’s been fine, all things considered,” Casey replied. She watched as you fiddled with the tips of your hair. You’d begun wearing it curly more often, which had proven to be somewhat distracting for her. “How good can any day be in this line of work.”

You agreed with a nod. “I was just talking to Anderson about that.”

“What did he have to say?” Casey asked, knowing the attorney’s propensity for putting his foot in his mouth.

“I feel for the guy. I think he’s having trouble in homicide. He called me bubbly.”

“You are bubbly.”

“I’m energetic.”

“He should transfer to white collar. He’s got the attitude for it.”

You squinted your eyes scoldingly. “You would know.”

“I would.” The two of you broke into much-needed laughter. You were about halfway through your cup, but wished you were at the beginning again. “Was it hard?” you asked, “moving from white collar to sex crimes? I mean, just the level of emotional complication required, it must be so different from all that, detail.”

“It’s the hardest thing I think I’ll ever do in my professional life, yes.” Casey always looked you right in the eye, it was intense, the way she never averted her gaze. You tended to shift your gaze around rooms, taking in details, never resting on anything for too long. People sometimes wondered if you were paying attention, and explaining that looking them in the eye made it harder to listen didn’t work. Casey never cared, or at the very least never brought it up, just let you be the way you were. She set her coffee cup down. “I cried in my office my first day, in front of Olivia. I practically begged Arthur Branch to reassign me. I had wanted homicide, major cases. You know, all the glory less of the gore.”

“Have you ever regretted it since?”

“Never long enough to think about leaving. Voluntarily, that is,” she stated with a smile, referencing her suspension. You didn’t know all that much about what had happened, and you let her talk with a warm and open demeanor. “In all honesty, I needed that suspension to rewire my brain, I was drowning. And it didn’t last as long as I thought it would. That’s actually when I got together with Alex,” she said, smiling again, wider this time. “In a stupid hipster bar. She had brown hair at the time, I almost didn’t recognize her.”

“Please tell me you have pictures of brunette Alex Cabot.”

“Oh, I do, but they’re all buried deep in different camera rolls…” she trailed off in memories, “I’ll find them for you when I need to embarrass her. I, for one, liked the brown, but she can be very self-conscious.”

“You wouldn’t guess that when you meet her.”

“No, you really wouldn’t. But, Caroline,” Casey said, and hearing your name out of her mouth never failed to give you butterflies, “truly, I don’t think ‘like’ is an appropriate word for what I, what we do, but I feel called to it.”

“I think I do too.”

“Retention rates in this field are low. You’ve already outlasted them. I think that’s proof enough.”

You finished your coffee and brought your mug to the little table where you kept it. How you had such a messy desk but such a tidy coffee space evaded Casey, and probably told her more about you than you’d like. Alex walked by your office coming back from a meeting, pleased to see you and Casey conversing in the junior office. Casey finished her coffee shortly after you did. She met Alex in the hallway.

---

“Counselor, do you need a tissue?” Judge Catano said to you in an irritated tone in chambers the next day, apparently after one sniffle too many.

“Or a nap,” John Buchanan added under his breath as you pulled a nearly empty packet out of your suit pocket and wiped your nose.

“Thank you for your concern, I assure you both that I am quite alright.”

---

“Go home, get some sleep. Your cases will be there in the morning.” Alex said the evening after that, passing by the open door to your office on her way out.

“I won’t stay long,” you replied, knowing full-well that you would.

---

The day after that, Anderson got in your way at the wrong time and found himself unfortunately sneezed on.

---

You made it to Friday, and despite what you were telling yourself, you kept getting sicker. Every day was like time couldn’t decide between speeding and slowing down. Sometimes, you’d look up from what felt like ten minutes of work and an hour had passed, sometimes a meeting that felt like an hour was only ten minutes. And you still had work to do. Casey tapped on the door, unsurprised, again, to find you were the only one there. Anderson had left about a half hour ago, the other juniors often left right at 5:00.

“Hey,” she called from the doorway.

“Yeah?” You replied, looking at her over the top of your laptop.

“Come work in my office?” She asked. You’d taken to working with her or Alex or both of them in the evenings, with the general idea that many heads make light work. Or something. Really, for you, it was just a good excuse to spend time together.

“Sure,” you replied, “meet you there.” She walked off as you packed up your things. You were a bit woozy as you stood up from your desk. Oh well, that was how it went. You made yourself comfortable in Casey’s office (Alex, she explained, was off picking up some documents at the precinct).

You shivered in your seat on the couch, you blew your nose Casey eyed you, having noticed how you’d been sniffling all week. “Allergies? I have some Zyrtec somewhere in this desk,” she said, opening her drawer up to look.

“Oh, no, I’m not allergic to anything, I just didn’t,” sniff, “sleep well last night.”

This was an attitude Casey knew well.

---

Alex always liked summer evenings in the city. Yes, the smell required some getting used to, it could get noisy and crowded, but something about the way the orange light (that lasted longer than any other time of year) played off the tall buildings, the metal vendors on the sidewalk-- it just got to her, made her enjoy the walks she took from place to place. She checked her notifications on the way back from the precinct.

Casey: Caroline is sitting in my office sniffling and looking pale.

Alex: “Allergies?”

Casey: She denies them.

Alex: So the cold she’s had all week caught up to her?

Casey: Can you pick up some meds and we can make her go home?

Alex: I mean, good luck to us…

Casey: Alex.

Alex sighed and crossed the street, ducking into a Duane Reed for the requisite illness package. convincing you to take advantage of it was going to be a wholly different task.

When she arrived back at the office, she discovered a different scene than she expected. As she reached Casey’s office door with the supplies, her wife caught her eye through the window, motioning at her to be quiet when she came in. Alex was, and saw you, on Casey’s couch, deeply asleep with your fingers still on your laptop keyboard, typing endless spaces in a Word document.

“Well,” Alex whispered, coming to Casey’s side, leaning against her desk. “That’s certainly adorable.”

“I couldn’t bring myself to wake her up,” Casey said, “poor thing.” Alex looked at you, your curls flipped up over your forehead, your pink cheeks, your pile of work beside you. A warm sense of nostalgia lit up inside her.

“Remember, when we first came back to the DA’s office,” Alex said, seeing Casey smile playfully, the same feelings building in her chest.

“And there was a horrible bug going around the office,” Casey continued, telling the story for her wife.

“And I refused to admit I’d gotten it,”

“And I found you asleep, with your head on a legal pad,” Casey squeezed Alex’s hand.

“Because I was late to a meeting,” Alex tucked a strand of hair behind Casey’s ear.

“And when you lifted your head up, your forehead was covered in ink,” Casey finished the story with a grin, teasing her wife. “Yeah, I remember that. And I remember trying and failing to get you home, and I remember you getting me sick.”

“Only because you couldn’t keep yourself from kissing me,” Alex said. Casey just shrugged, acknowledging that her wife was correct. They had no need to say what they both were thinking, and, in fact, no time.

You stirred, stretching out, very sleepily. They snapped out of their reverie. “Hey, you two,” you said, your voice nasal. “You guys are so cute,” you continued, still not quite awake, you said what was on your mind. You felt a bit voyeuristic, but you didn’t mind. “Sorry for eavesdropping,” you said, waking up more fully, “sorry I fell asleep, Casey,” you said. You started to pull the notes you were looking at back up to your lap, but as you picked them up, you noticed someone else was holding the other end. Alex had a grip on them, and you were too weak to resist as she picked up all your papers and put them back in your bag.

“Laptop,” she said, holding out her hand. You gave it to her, looking to the side, embarrassed. She held out a packet containing two pills. “Take these,” she said, giving you a bottle of water as well. You wanted to protest, tell her that you were perfectly capable of getting what you had left done, but as you looked at her, then across the room to Casey, you realized that not only would any attempt be futile, you wanted nothing more than to fall asleep in your bed and stay there until you didn’t feel like this anymore. You nodded.

Casey’s voice came from behind Alex, gentle. Still raspy, but more than quiet, sympathetic, understanding-- gentle, a tone meant to be heard from close by and listened to in earnest. “Please take care of yourself.”

Who could refuse that?

---

Alex accompanied you on the cab ride home. Casey genuinely had work she had to finish, and neither of them was about to let you ride your bike or take the subway in your state. You lived in Brooklyn, but close enough to the courthouse that you didn’t feel too guilty about accepting her help when she offered. You tried to make conversation, but you were simply too tired to talk much, and as the sun finished setting, you arrived at the townhouse. Ashley and Ramin lived in the three bedroom unit on the first floor while you lived in the one bedroom unit on the second. It was really a glorified studio, the bedroom was just big enough for a queen-sized bed, the living room barely fit a couch, and the kitchen was mostly good for making tea; but that was why you had a key to your best friends’ apartment. You hesitated on the steps in the still warm air, considering if it would be a bad idea to ask Alex to come up the rest of the way with you, but she had clearly already made up her mind to do so (she had not bought all those supplies for nothing).

Your apartment was cozy, Alex thought as she placed the medicines and magazines and bottles of Gatorade in convenient spots in your tiny kitchen. You went straight for the bathroom, using what energy you had to change into pajamas, brush your teeth, and wash your face. Not much food in the fridge, lots of coffee and tea. A little table covered in papers and books; some law journals, some fantasy novels, some picture books. There were stuffed animals in a bin beside the couch, a couple clearly old enough to be yours. You had one of the fluffiest rugs she’d ever seen and enough throw pillows to drown in, and candles all over the place. Your walls were covered in art; some clearly original abstract pieces signed R.R, some prints from the MoMA, old post cards and family photos (only a couple of your siblings, but countless of Ashley and his family, dancers too), and kids’ drawings, all displayed together, given equal weight. It made no sense aesthetically, technically, but everything about the place screamed Caroline, so she found herself enamored with it.

You emerged from the bathroom with your hair tied on top of your head, wearing an oversized tee and fuzzy pants. It wasn’t your usual choice, but being sick had you feeling like everything around you needed to be soft and cuddly. Alex showed you where she placed everything she’d bought for you, but as she talked, your (maybe feverish) focus could only follow her beautiful blue eyes as they followed your own. You felt warmth, gratitude; you watched her seem concerned and adoring all at once. This whole scenario; Alex in your apartment while the stars were out, taking care of you, seeing you in your pajamas, sniffling and blushing, it made no sense when you thought about it. Yet, it seemed perfectly natural to you, having her in your place. Part of you wanted to kiss her then and there, pull her into your bed and try to get her to cuddle, but, of course, those were not thoughts you shared out loud. Instead, you expressed your gratitude as emphatically as your could manage.

“Get some sleep, Caroline.”

“I will. Alex, thank you.”

---

Alex made you take the following Monday and Tuesday off. Since she didn’t technically have that ability, you responded to her texts by telling her as much. Then, she got Jack McCoy to email you the same sentiments, and that, you couldn’t fight. You arrived at work on Wednesday refreshed, well-rested, and decidedly not sniffly, and she was only a little bit smug. She all but said “I told you so” when you said hello that morning-- but you very quickly shut her up by giving her a smile and an eye roll, taking pride and pleasure in the tiny bite of her lip you saw flash by as you returned to your desk.

That afternoon, you were happy to run into Serena Southerlyn on the courthouse steps, her leaving as you and Alex were returning (there was a case you were working together, you as second chair). She greeted Alex with a professional hug, you with a warm handshake. She had a glint in her eyes, something mischievous about her when she asked, after the usual workplace pleasantries, “you’ll both be there tomorrow, right? For drinks? Gillian said she had something to celebrate, I bet she got accepted to one of those PhD programs.”

“Casey and I will be,” Alex said, looking to you. You tucked a curl behind your ear, another habit of yours she’d noticed, when you were worried.

“I’ll certainly try,” you said, happy that you were now getting regular invitations to drinks, “I promised I’d help Ophélie’s mock trial team prepare for this weekend, she gets pretty nervous about them.”

“They have mock trial that young?” Serena asked.

“Yeah, it’s pretty cute too. A bunch of 12-year-olds in suits using legal language.” As you spoke, Alex understood a little better, Casey’s perspective on children. She chuckled lightly.

“Is she the prosecution or the defense?” asked Alex. You groaned in response.

“Don’t remind me. She chose defense specifically to spite me, and now I go to her school twice a month to teach her how to do it.”

“I think I like this kid,” Serena said. “But I really hope you can make it tomorrow.”

“I’ll do what I can,” you said, knowing you would likely be able to go, but not wanting to promise anything.

“Good,” Serena said as she started walking down the steps again. She turned around when she was struck with an idea. Alex had told her about her and Casey’s ideas, but, frankly, she felt like they were not moving fast enough, and having known them both for years, knew how they needed a push sometimes to go for what they wanted. You and Alex had only gone a few steps, so you didn’t miss the swoosh of blonde hair coming back towards you.

“I remembered,” Serena said, “ I was going to ask you, Caroline, are you going to any salsa nights again soon?” You looked taken aback as she clarified, “I’ve wanted to pick it back up for a little while. I was going to ask last time but the conversation moved too fast.”

“You dance salsa?” Alex asked, blindsided. Serena nodded, an implied obviously in her expression. “When did you learn?” She asked again, knowing that Serena’s upbringing had been astonishingly similar to hers as far as old money and conservative attitudes went.

“Study abroad.”

You let it be quiet for a short moment, seeing Alex and Serena communicate with looks, something panicked in Alex’s and something scheming in Serena’s. You filed the moment away to think about later.

“Yes, actually, I think I’m going to one on Saturday, in Brooklyn as usual,” you said, testing the waters of their reactions. “Ashley’s still on tour so I was going to see if one of my old teammates would want to go with me,” you said. Alex squinted her eyes slightly, Serena knit her fingers together as you spoke. “But if you would like to, Serena,” you decided to just go for the invite, “we should go together.”

You thought you saw a flicker of jealousy from Alex when Serena enthusiastically accepted your invitation. You couldn’t be quite sure, but it was enough hope to leave another little piece of you burning.

---

@addictedtodinosaurs @nocreditinthestraightworld @sweetprentiss

remindr to sign up for my tagłist if you vvant to be tagged in these! (some of my keys are broken)

#svu #svu fanfic #law and order svu fanfic #alex cabot #casey novak #serena southerlyn #rita calhoun #casey novak x reader #alex cabot x reader #alex cabot x casey novak x reader #ofc #schemes!!!!#matchmaking #calex #calex x reader #please rb and 1ike

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amydancepants-peralta · 4 years

Note

Jake getting adventurous and sneaking a vibrator into Amys underwear and she has to sit through an interview as he toys with her

Ok so I tweaked this a little and this came out of nowhere but I really love the idea of this so ... find it under the cut! 🙊

He waits until she’s well into reciting the third paragraph of Subsection Eight before running his thumb over the button in his pocket, pressing once to keep the device at its lowest speed.

To her credit, there is only the slightest falter in her voice, short enough to be considered a tickle in her throat by anyone other than him, and he takes great pleasure in knowing that while the tickle does exist, it is actually much further down.

He keeps the vibration on low for the rest of her speech - subtle enough for Amy to be aware of its existence, not quite strong enough to gain anything more than heightened senses. Alternates between the on and off button once her part is over, tampering the urge to smile as she keeps her gaze steadily focused on the boardroom in front of her, clearly refusing to break the facade that everything isn’t Completely Normal.

Her hand lands with a quiet slap on his inner thigh fifteen minutes later as the vibrator begins moving steadily at full speed, and he’s pretty sure he’s got this win in the bag.

It had all started out as an idle bet (admittedly, like a lot of their shenanagoogles do) - an attempt to make what had threatened to be a boring day into something far more interesting. The dangling carrot of a glowing evaluation had led to Jake signing up for the next HR seminar - this one being held at another precinct downtown - and Amy, after such a stellar display of preparation at the nine-nine’s turn, had been invited back to show off her ‘impressively professional portfolio of knowledge on the topic’.

(He’s pretty sure that detail alone had turned Amy on before their bet had even started, but that was just an added benefit.)

The Lock-n-Play panty vibe was a relatively new addition to their repertoire - among the few items recently purchased from their preferred sex shop - but one that was quickly becoming their favourite, if only for it’s handy magnetic tabs that kept the vibe in place (because really, is there any universe where Amy Santiago isn’t a massive fan of a well-placed set of tabs?).

She had been halfway through casually mentioning (read: straight-up bragging) her quoted professional manner as they got dressed this morning when the idea had come to Jake, the toy’s remote still sitting on his dresser from it’s weekend workout and catching his eye as he reached for his watch. He hadn’t ever thought that she’d actually go through with it - which is on him, really, because his wife rarely steps down from a challenge - and mentioned it merely as a passing joke until he noticed the spark of interest in his wife’s eyes, and realised that there was a chance that this could actually happen.

The conversation was quick: their terms clear. Amy would wear the vibe in her underwear, with Jake having sole possession of the remote. He could activate it anytime he liked, as long as he adhered to the kill sign (three quick squeezes of his wrist) if actioned, and the only thing Amy had to do was not break her Professional Sergeant at a Seminar role. If Jake won, he got to choose their movies for the next two weeks. If victory went to Amy, he had to eat a salad for lunch every single day for a fortnight.

(There would also be the added benefit of nightly foot rubs, but given the baby that was currently growing in his wife’s uterus, nightly massages were kind of a given.)

The stakes weren’t necessarily high, but both of them loved to win; and Jake would be straight-up lying if he didn’t admit that just the idea of his wife secretly being buzzed to climax in a boardroom full of strangers didn’t turn him on more than a little.

From his position at the front of the room, Andrew The Presenter switches over to non-verbal communications, and for no reason other than sheer curiosity Jake switches the vibrator into it’s highest mode, biting the inside of his cheek as Amy’s shoulders jump in surprise.

It only takes a minute before she shifts forward in her chair, resting on her elbows before wriggling slightly in her seat; and to anybody that cared to pay attention to her and Jake’s position at the back of the room it would have looked like nothing more than a restless woman waking up her limbs. But Jake knew better - knew that the tip of the vibe raised slightly, ergonomically designed to cup a woman’s clit in all the right ways - and there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Amy was maximising the opportunity for pleasure while it lasted.

He gives her another twenty seconds, waiting until the wriggling seems to have stopped before pressing the off button once again, not even pretending to ignore the exasperated look she throws him from over her shoulder. He gives her a wink, to which she responds with a roll of her eyes, and he is always going to be in love with what they have together.

She pulls him aside during the coffee break, leading him down an unfamiliar hallway into a stationery supply cupboard (her knowledge of its presence, he assumes instinctual); pulling him in for a hungry kiss as soon as she hears the lock click into place. Their makeout session is hurried and passionate - the kind of teeth-gnashing, body-pawing kisses you give each other when you know there’s not enough time for what you really crave - and as they move to return back to the group he offers her the chance to call off the bet, no questions asked. (The foot rubs after all, were already a given, and he’s pretty sure that stack of green stuff they put on top of nachos counted as a salad.) But she stops in her tracks, eyes blazing as she presses a hand to his chest and gives her answer in no uncertain terms:

Don’t you dare stop.

It’s the clear arousal in her voice that keeps Jake from activating the vibrator again for another forty minutes, waiting until a slideshow on Something Boring begins playing before sliding his hands back into the pockets of his hoodie, sliding his thumb casually over the power button and slowly working the vibe back up to it’s previous level.

Her hand lands back on his upper thigh after another few minutes, the grip tightening slightly when he presses the button again, and he takes his hand out his hoodie, grabbing her wrist and moving it towards his own - a silent reminder that he’ll stop in an instant, if she only asked. But she wriggles her hand out of his grasp, returning to the previous position, leaning back in her chair in what completely fails to be a casual pose. Her fingers creep towards his inner thigh, a movement that undoubtedly brings his growing hard-on to her attention, and she leans forwards again to let out a shaky breath.

The high level buzzing is quietly audible through her uniform now, perhaps more noticeable because his imagination wants it to be, and her ribs begin to expand and contract at a steady pace.

Jake knows that if he keeps this up, Amy is absolutely going to climax - perhaps too far into the sensations the vibrations were giving to realise that she would be doing so in the middle of a seminar - but he also knows that his beautiful wife is not quiet when she comes. It’s one of the many (many) things he loves about her; the clear display of unbridled passion that courses through her, the way her voice tends to shake a little as she calls out his name - or yes, or fuck, or a combination of the above.

But she hasn’t given the signal, and there is a good portion of his blood that is most definitely not pumping through his brain anymore, and so he obeys the silent instruction, and keeps his finger on the increase button.

She excuses herself a few minutes later, standing quickly and offering an apologetic smile, pointing to her growing baby bump as the reason for nature calling. Her boots tap quickly across the tiled floor as she exits, head ducked down low to convey the urgency of her steps (a movement that he is certain is not an act).

He waits another couple of minutes before switching off the vibe, hoping the remote holds enough range; and his phone buzzes shortly after, the notification on his locked screen telling him that Babe ♥️ has just sent him an image. And while he’s absolutely bursting at the seams to unlock and look, he also knows that it will most certainly lead to a wet patch on the front of his jeans, and there really is no coming back from that.

And so he trains his attention back to the Manual of Boredom in front of him, reading through various scenarios involving Employee A and Colleague D, all the while trying desperately to get his mind to focus on arithmetic … asparagus … Scully’s foot fungus … all the genuinely unsexy things in life. His phone vibrates again, another text from his wife causing his mind to nearly implode, and time has somehow completely come to a standstill.

Amy leans in to kiss his cheek when she returns, using the closeness of her position to whisper in his ear just how hard she’d just come, and Jake absolutely needs this seminar to end now - right now, please oh god, end now.

It takes another hour before they have a lunch break - a solid hour of Jake running through a breakdown of all Transformers - Autobots, Dinobots and Decepticons inclusive - and when Amy finally stands, grabbing his hand and leading him towards the parking lot he follows willingly, by now completely unable to contain a gigantic smile from taking over his face.

She drives their car up to the very top of the garage, parking in an empty spot right at the edge of the otherwise abandoned section before sliding over the gears and settling onto his lap. Her nimble fingers find the lever to the side, dropping the seat’s backing towards the rear, his zipper descending just as quickly.

It doesn’t last long - both of them way too close to the edge for it to be anything but quick - but by the time they need to head back to the seminar it’s fairly safe to say that Jake no longer has a hangup about having sex in a car in a garage.

She packs a salad for his lunch the following morning, pulling him in for a longer-than-normal kiss as he lets out a defeated sigh, and while Jake knows that while he technically lost the bet, they both got to have some pretty great orgasms yesterday and really, how could that ever be considered a loss?

(and when he receives an email a year later, reminding him of an upcoming refresher course on HR, he absolutely sets up a plan to raise the stakes for Sexy Seminar, version 2.0.)

#just a little something that came to me when I read this prompt #thank you anon #secret sexy seminar fun #how to make training fun: the Jake and Amy edition #peraltiago smut

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offbeatbrainwaves · 3 years

Text

It's my birthday and for the first time in years it hasnt been utter shit. I'm high as hell, my partner sent me money as a gift which bought some damn good groceries. And I just cant explain how much I fucking appreciate/adore her. Dinner was lemon garlic salmon with asparagus

Now it's time to sit back and get higher, watch the mummy, eat coconut cream pie, and play Tales of Graces f.

Ok well I did slice about a quarter of the tip of my pinky off with a mandolin slicer yesterday but besides that. All good really. Only way this could be better is if my partner were here. But hey one more vaccine shot away for both of us on that. So almost.

May post picture the pinky later. Consider yourself warned.

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homosociallyyours · 3 years

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☕/what surprising things should/shouldn't be refrigerated

Also got an anon asking this LOL thank you for indulging me!!!

So, caveat: if you live alone and are buying a large size of these things, you might need to refrigerate them to extend their life. But if you share food with multiple people or buy enough to eat with a week or two, you should be ok.

I’ve put this behind a cut because i had a lot to say!! Replies are open if anyone wants to disagree or ask more questions, but I hold these opinions very firmly so I’m not going to debate about a better way to store food. You can do whatever you prefer, and as long as you aren’t serving people things made with unrefrigerated mayo you’re probably fine!!

Produce: Refrigerate your apples. BUT BUT...listen, they’re edible out of the fridge, and they’ll absolutely keep. The reason to refrigerate them is to maintain a crisp, not mealy, texture. So if your apple plans including cooking, nbd. But if you’re just going to eat them plain it’s fridge land.

Pears, however, should stay on the counter until they’re almost ripe (the stem end yields slightly to gentle pressure) and then refrigerated. If you think they’re almost there but you aren’t sure: fridge them. Pears will turn to mush in a heartbeat.

Lemons/limes/citrus go in the fridge. This is just a matter of them keeping longer. Their ideal temp is a little higher than refrigeration (think 55 degrees F/13 C), so it won’t make loads of difference unless it’s summertime and you don’t have AC.

Most herbs, but especially basil and cilantro: set them in a glass of water on the countertop that you refresh every couple of days, and trim their ends. Treat them like flowers!

Tomatoes should only go in the fridge once they’re cut. If they’re getting ripe, EAT THEM! If they have a soft moldy spot, cut it away and eat the ripe fruit that day! Refrigerated tomatoes are a heartbreak because the texture is drastically effected. Mealy mushy bleh.

Stone fruit: KEEP IT ON THE COUNTER! Check daily for bruises/spots and eat right away. Only refrigerate when the fruit is ripe. You know the poem about the plums in the icebox? WCW’s friend was smart and ripened those babies on the counter and then refrigerated them when they were ready. If you somehow find/buy already ripened stone fruit, don’t wait around: eat it immediately. The texture of peaches, like tomatoes, changes quickly based on temperature shifts. Time in the fridge results in a mealy peach. Boo.

This isn’t for storage, but a good tip if your greens have gone limp: fill a bowl with enough lukewarm water to cover, and trim the ends of your greens. Let them sit for a minute or so-- use the cast off water for plants if you can --and then put them back in the crisper drawer overnight. Your greens will be unwilty! Cook them immediately, though, bc while they’ll look refreshed this trick doesn’t actually stop them from rotting.

And another storage tip: Trim the ends of your asparagus and keep them in a glass standing upright with a bit of water in the bottom. Change out the water every couple days, and DO NOT let the heads of your asparagus get wet: they will turn into mush FAST.

Dairy: Hard cheese can (and ideally should) be stored at room temperature. This includes Parmigiano, Pecorino Romano, Grana Padano, and other blocks of hard cheese (hard cheese at room temp won’t bend and usually won’t break cleanly-- it will typically crumble. In case you’re wondering if you’re dealing with hard cheese or not). HOWEVER, it’s very appealing for pests so it’s best to store it in a container that allows it to breathe (wood is best) and with a wax paper/cheese paper wrapper on the cheese itself. Scrape the surface gently before use. If your kitchen is very hot (regularly over 75F) and you don’t plan on finishing the cheese within about 10-12 days, you should keep it in the fridge. It’ll keep much longer there, literally months if you scrape it before use and wrap it properly.

Firm cheese can (and ideally should) be at room temp for about 24 hours before eating if you’re planning on consuming the whole piece. Same temp rules apply as above. Firm cheese will bend at room temp and may have a craggy looking yet clean break, and will just start to squish when pressed between 2 fingers. If your cheese squishes completely at room temp, with a lumpy, jagged break when bent, it’s likely only semi-hard and shouldn’t be out as long.

Typical US Eggs, which are washed before being sold, should be kept refrigerated and only held at room temp for a few hours if being used in a recipe that requires it. Eggs sold outside the US are often unwashed and therefore meant to be kept on the counter/at room temp. If you have chickens or get eggs directly from someone who does, they’re probably unwashed and should be kept on the counter until you wash them, at which point they get refrigerated.

Maple syrup is refrigerated after being opened, as are all jams. They’ll mold if left out. Honey never needs refrigerating, though. Natural peanut butter (without extra oils or stabilizers) that is separated when you open it should be thoroughly mixed and then can be kept refrigerated for longer life or kept at room temp if you’re going to eat it within a month or so. Refrigeration here is to keep the delicate nut oils (heh) from going rancid. But truth time, I think a lot of people don’t know what rancid nuts taste like?

Bread products last longer in the fridge (if you’re eating them over the course of 7-10 days) and stay completely fresh in the freezer for a couple months.

If you’ve seen someone keeping flour, sugar, etc in the fridge or freezer, the reason for that is to keep moths/weevils/kitchen pests out of them. If you’re not going through your flour/baking supplies quickly, it’s the best thing you can do for yourself, bc nothing is worse than preparing something to bake only to find a bug crawling around in it. :((((

I think that’s all my thoughts on food and proper storage! But uhhh if anyone actually read this and has a burning question i’m here lol

#thank you for this seriously #you know i love to talk about food #food cw #long post #that's my opinion!!!#this is truly the only kind of discourse i'm here for #harrystinyshorts #answers

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shireness-says · 4 years

Text

and he called her love amongst the snowflakes

Summary: Being a princess is no guarantee of a perfect Christmas. Spending the next two days snowed in with her brother's hot bodyguard just might be, though. Rated T for language. ~6.8K. Also on AO3.

A/N: Merry Christmas, @owlways-and-forever! It was an absolute delight to be your @cssecretsanta2k19. I hope you’re having a wonderful time with your family - in the meantime, here’s a little bit of a modern royalty AU for you!

Super thanks to @snidgetsafan for her last-minute beta skills, and @let-it-raines for her help with a title.

Tagging the usual suspects: @kmomof4, @thisonesatellite, @profdanglaisstuff, @ohmightydevviepuu, @scientificapricot, @optomisticgirl, @spartanguard, @winterbaby89, @thejollyroger-writer, @searchingwardrobes, @snowbellewells, @stahlop, @teamhook

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

“What do you mean, you and Dad won’t be home for Christmas?”

“Now Emma,” her mother sighs. “I never said that. I just said we won’t be home on Christmas Eve.”

“Oh, like that’s better,” she grumbles under her breath in a manner very much unfitting of the Crown Princess of Misthaven.

“Emma.”

“Ok, fine,” she concedes with as much attitude as she thinks she can get away with. “What do you mean, you and Dad won’t be home for Christmas Eve, a totally separate thing that’s not at all like Christmas?”

Her mother - Queen Mary II of Misthaven, if you want to get official, though Emma doesn’t quite want to when she’d rather act childish about Christmas - doesn’t even bother to respond to that particular bit of sarcasm. “I know you’re upset, sweetheart, but there’s nothing to be done about it. The snow’s just coming down too hard, and it’s supposed to keep up tomorrow too. As much as we both want to be home with you and your brother, neither of us can control the weather.”

What’s the damn point of being Queen, then, Emma thinks, mostly jokingly. Mostly. She still has a small self-preservational instinct, however, so she does not voice this out loud.

“We knew this was a possibility when we went,” her mother continues. “We knew the weather might turn. We hoped it wouldn’t, but we had to go anyways. We couldn’t miss this hospital opening, Emma, not when they named it after your grandmother. At the end of the day, we are here to serve our citizens.”

Emma mouths the last words along with her mom, having heard them many times. It’s not quite a catchphrase in their family - that distinction goes to her father’s very sappy “I will always find you”, the one thing that can reliably make both his children gag - but it does get repeated an awful lot. Call it their motto, or something. The lines just get more blurred when your family life and your professional life is so entwined.

“I’ll miss you,” Emma finally says after letting the line sit silent for a moment. That’s what this all comes down to, after all - as much as Emma understands why her parents had to fly across the country, and as much as she knows that they can’t control the weather, it’s Christmas time, and she wants to spend it with her parents.

“We’ll miss you too, sweetheart, and your brother too. Dad and I will be home as soon as we can, okay?”

“Okay, Mom.” What else is there to say?

“They’re waiting for us, but I’ll talk to you later. Give Leo a kiss for me. I love you, Emma.”

“Love you too. Say hi to Dad for me.”

As comparatively well as Emma holds it together on the phone, that evaporates as soon as the call disconnects and she lets out a screech of frustration. It’s immature. She doesn’t care. She’s allowed to want her family on Christmas… Eve. Eve.

(It’s technically still the night of the 23rd, but it’s the principle of the thing.)

Barely seconds later, a dark head pops into the room. Killian Jones - her brother’s security officer. Emma wouldn’t say she has a crush on him, but… she kind of has a crush on him. He’s just so goddamn handsome and charming, and she’s only human, even if she is the princess. They don’t cross paths very often - just on summers and school holidays, when Leo was home from boarding school and now from uni - but when they do, Emma can barely tear her eyes away. Damn, can that man wear a suit.

(Mostly, Emma just blushes a lot whenever he’s around, embarrassed by her own lustful thoughts. It’s a miracle no-one has called her on it yet.)

“Everything alright in here?” he asks, craning his neck towards all the corners, as if some kind of assassin might have made it through multiple layers of security at the palace just to crouch in the corner of a private sitting room. Just doing his job, she guesses. “I thought I heard some kind of shriek from the hallway.”

Emma colors a bit at being caught. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I just —” She abruptly cuts off. “Is that an entire tub of cheese puffs?”

It’s Killian’s turn to turn a bit pink. “Aye. Your brother is playing one of his games, and you know how he gets. Likes his junk food.”

“Spoiled rotten, you mean.”

“I’d never say that,” Killian protests.

“Yeah, says the man bringing a tub of cheese balls up from the kitchens when His Spoiled Highness still has working legs!”

“You know, it sounds an awful lot like you’re deflecting, Your Highness,” Killian points out. His eyes still manage to twinkle with restrained laughter, even if his ears are still red.

He’s caught her, too. “Just a bit frustrated, is all. You know the stormfront going through up North?” Killian nods. “Mom and Dad got caught in it. They won’t be home tonight after all, and probably not even tomorrow. So… it’ll just be me and Leo for Christmas Eve, I guess.”

“I’m sorry, lo — ma’am,” Killian says softly. He does that, sometimes - start to say one thing, before quickly course correcting back to propriety. She’s always wondered what he’s trying to say - she’s never quite figured it out.

"It's not your fault," she shrugs. "Unless you've got some weird weather powers you've been hiding from me." It would just figure that Killian was the one who could control the weather; just one of the many secrets she doesn't know about him. "When are you heading home? You didn't get the Christmas shift, did you?"

Killian scratches behind his ear as just the tip of the cartilage flushes red. She can't imagine what he has to be embarrassed about; regardless, it's kind of cute.

Not that she's watching. That closely. (All the time.)

"I traded shifts with Mulan," he explains, referencing Emma's own security agent. "She's got... something with her girlfriend's family. Kind of a last minute thing."

"Looks like you're stuck with us, then," Emma comments, trying to tamp down the excited little butterflies in her stomach and the voice in her head that screams score! Very dignified.

Killian grins back. "Looks like I am." They smirk at each other for a minute, some camaraderie simmering between them with an undercurrent of something more. "Well, I'd better get the prince his cheese puffs," he finally says, shaking the container for emphasis. "I'll see you around, Your Highness. Let me know if you need anything."

(It would be horribly foolish to tell him you, so she doesn't say anything at all.)

———

By the time Emma makes her way down for dinner, the snowstorm has started in earnest - big, fluffy flakes that accumulate as soon as they hit the ground. In the little sitting room overlooking the gardens where her family takes informal meals, the swirling flakes make her feel like she lives in the little house in the middle of a snow globe. As much as she wishes their parents were here with herself and Leo, she's simultaneously glad that they're not out in the middle of this.

Leo flings himself into a chair with all the grace of a nineteen-year-old boy. Emma tries not to sigh too loudly at the way his limbs fly every which way, banging against the table and rattling the dishes; she's not willing to turn into her grandmother yet, thank you very much. She loves her brother, but somewhere along the line, he's developed an attitude that's hard to live with. Probably something about the independence of university going to his head, making Leo think too highly of himself. Maybe some girl out there will find it attractive - with their mother's hair and eyes and their father's strong jawline, he'd be a catch otherwise.

(She really must be turning into Grandma Ruth, if she's thinking that kind of thing.)

The one thing that's noticeably absent from Leo's little display is Killian. "Where's Lieutenant Jones?" she asks as the kitchen staff bring in plates of chicken and potatoes and asparagus to place in front of the pair of them.

Her brother shrugs. "I dunno. Probably having dinner somewhere."

That would make sense. It also brings into stark evidence that he's probably doing so alone; around Christmas, the palace always operates with a skeleton crew of staff so that as many people as possible can spend time with their families. There's no reason he couldn't just eat with the two of them. "Did you invite him to join us?"

Leo flushes red and mumbles something at his plate as he reaches for a dinner roll - not really an answer, but at the same time, more than enough of an answer.

“Leo…”

“I didn’t think of it, alright?”

Emma sighs heavily, before standing from the table to track down her brother’s security agent. It doesn’t take much searching; Killian is right outside the door, thumbing through his phone. He hurriedly stows the device away when he sees Emma, practically snapping to attention. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

“Nothing, really,” Emma says. “You can stand down, or… whatever. I just wanted to see if you’d like to join us for dinner.”

“Oh, that’s really unnecessary —” he protests, but Emma’s determined.

“I know, but still. It’s kind of weirdly quiet around here, and there’s more than enough food. You don’t have to, obviously,” she hurries to clarify, “but it’d be nice to have you there. I’d appreciate the Leo buffer, at least,” she even jokes.

“Well when you put it like that…”

He follows. And of course there’s enough food, and of course he’s perfectly charming, and of course he has the presence of mind to suggest watching a Christmas movie after dinner to get them just a little more into the spirit of the season. Killian fits like that - unobtrusive, the way a good agent ought to be, but also charming and seemingly super-aware of how to cut through some of that sibling tension that always inevitably exists between Emma and her brother.

The movie is an old classic - one with dancing and singing and two reluctant people falling in love. Emma wouldn’t have expected Killian to like this - would have pegged him more for an action movie fan, or something like that - but he smiles and bobs his head along with the music. Leo is a different story altogether - after not even an hour, he’s already deserted the lounge for his room and video games, leaving Killian and Emma alone together.

“So what would you be doing tonight? If you weren’t here with us.” Emma’s clarification isn’t necessary in the least; however, she’s sitting close enough to touch Killian on the couch, and the thrill of it all is making her babble.

He’s gracious enough not to mention it, at least. “I’ve got a brother,” he explains, “and he and his wife have a little boy. Max. Really cute kid; let me dig out my phone, I’ve got so many pictures on there.”

The little boy on the screen can’t be more than four, with a wide and silly grin on his face and a dinosaur shirt to complete the picture. He’s just as cute as Killian promised.

“That was at his birthday last month,” Killian smiles fondly. “Four years old - growing so fast. Anyways, I usually spend my holiday with them. My sister in law has a huge family, and they’re always happy to let me tag along. Too kind, really.”

“I’m sorry you’re having to miss that,” Emma replies with genuine regret.

Killian shrugs; Emma has already proven she wouldn’t be nearly as gracious in the same situation. “There will be other years,” he explains. “All things considered, it’s not so bad, spending the holiday with Leo and your lovely self.”

“I think you’re the first and only person happy to be spending Christmas with that ball of teenaged attitude,” Emma jokes.

“It’s not so bad,” Killian deflects. “I’ll admit, the constant quips and eye rolling can be a bit much some days, but he’s a good kid underneath. Did you know he paid for all his roommate’s books for the coming semester?”

“No, I didn’t.” Emma shouldn’t be surprised, but she is. She’s gotten so used to the snarky terror her brother acts like around their family that it’s shocking to hear that it’s not always the case.

“Like I said - he’s a better kid than he lets on.” They watch the screen in silence for a few moments; they’re coming up on the finale. Perhaps Emma can convince him to watch a second movie with her afterwards. “I suppose he didn’t tell you about his girlfriend then?” Killian asks with a laugh.

“Leo’s got a girlfriend?”

“He would if he’d just ask her,” Killian snorts. “Her name’s Britta. You’d like her, I think - she doesn’t put up with any of his nonsense. Which, just between you and me,” he says from the side of his mouth like he’s confiding a secret, “he sorely needs sometimes. Anyways, she lives one floor up in their dorm. They have Intro Geology together.”

“He’s really doing alright?” Emma asks softly. Leo is, more often than not, a little shit, but he’s still her little brother. She still just wants the best for him, most of the time.

“He’s really doing alright,” Killian confirms. “Don’t worry - I’m keeping an eye on the boy. For all of us.”

The warm feeling that leaves in Emma’s soul carries her through the rest of the night.

———

Christmas Eve dawns much the same as the evening before - cold and snowing to the point of a whiteout. Emma isn’t particularly pleased about that turn of events, especially since it means that there’s almost no chance in hell of her parents getting home that day.

At least it’s a good opportunity for her to get a lot of work done. Being the crown princess means commitments to various charities and foundations and plenty of reading to come along with them, not to mention the never-ending stream of correspondence. A day just to focus on the things that have been accumulating on her desk will be good for everyone involved.

At least until the power flickers out.

It’s midafternoon, just when the light is starting to dim, and she’s been working on editing a proposal someone sent her via email. She technically can do it in the dim light, but it’s… not fun. Emma doesn’t particularly enjoy squinting. There’s generators at the palace, of course, but they’re directed towards the most essential functions - security, heating, and minimal kitchen operations. Lighting, for better or worse, isn’t included on that list - nor is wifi signal. She’s stuck.

On a hunch, Emma wanders down to the kitchen, to find Leo and Killian raiding the cabinets for candles and snacks. She should have figured; two young-ish guys, food was obviously going to be the priority.

“This sucks,” Leo gripes. “First, Christmas gets screwed up, and then this. Unbelievable.”

“To be fair, the electric company can’t really help the snow,” Killian points out as he extracts a roll of cookies from a cupboard. “A lot of electrical infrastructure is still above ground. It’s easy to get knocked out.”

Emma shoots Killian a sidelong look before swiping the same cookies. “How do you know so much about this?”

“You pick up a few things when you read, Your Highness,” he winks back.

“Are you guys done?” Leo interrupts. “Not everyone wants to watch your thirsty asses flirt all night. I’m not that desperate for entertainment.”

“Oh my god, Leo,” Emma groans back. It’s much more fun to watch how Killian turns bright red to match Emma’s own embarrassment.

“Look, just because the TV is out, doesn’t mean I want to deal with this.”

“Ok, what would you rather do then?” Killian asks in much more measured a tone than Emma would have been able to muster. Probably the benefit of not being related to Leo.

The younger man shrugs. “Scrabble?”

Killian snorts at that, though Emma doesn’t quite understand why. “Are you sure?”

“I like Scrabble,” Leo defends. “I’m going to kick both your asses.”

It’s as good an idea as any to spend a snowed-in afternoon.

———

A couple hours later, Leo is singing a different tune as Killian plays the last of his Scrabble tiles.

“Make sure you mark my latest points, lad,” he prods with a grin. “I want to make sure my lead is really cemented.” Killian has proved to be an invaluable ally in Emma’s personal quest to knock her brother down a peg; unfortunately, Leo is less enamored of the effort.

“Whatever. This is so lame,” the prince says, pushing back from the filled board. “I’m going back to my room.”

“Oh, c’mon, Leo, it’s just a game —” Emma protests, but her little brother is already out the door.

“I thought he said he liked Scrabble?” Killian asks, starting to collect the little tiles back into their bag.

“Oh, he does. He just likes winning, and usually he can beat the rest of us. Finally met his match with your fancy words, I guess,” she jokes, though it kind of falls flat. It’s hard for the punchline to land when its subject has already stormed out of the room.

“Ah. Well, I apologize for that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Emma excuses. “Though if you don’t mind, I’m not sure I’m up for a rematch - at least not of Scrabble.”

“You got something in mind, Your Highness?” Killian smirks.

“Have you ever played cribbage?”

“Once or twice. I could be persuaded.”

“I’ll get the board then.” Emma stands up, but pauses before actually leaving to do so. “And call me Emma.”

She leaves the room before she can see him react, but barely catches the soft trail of his words as she passes through the door.

“As you wish… Emma.”

———

It turns out, Killian is lying about having played “a time or two.” Either that, or he’s extraordinarily lucky.

(Cheating isn’t fully off the table, either, but she’s trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. Not that he makes it easy.)

“So that’s fifteen two, fifteen four, fifteen six, fifteen eight, fifteen ten, fifteen twelve, fifteen fourteen, pair is sixteen, and three pair is twenty-two.”

Emma groans as he moves his red peg around the outer curve of the board. They look like such a cliche - Emma in her pajamas, Killian with his tie loosened, sitting in front of a roaring fire with candles scattered on all the flat surfaces as they play cribbage on the floor. The typical picture of two people caught in a power outage. Touching, really. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but you’ve got the proof right in front of you. A damned good hand, if I do say so myself. What’ve you got there?”

“Utter shit,” Emma proclaims, tossing her cards down on the carpeting. “Run of three and a fifteen for five, plus a fucking useless ace. Absolutely jackshit.”

“It can’t be that bad, can it?” Killian cranes his neck to see where her cards are strewn on the carpeting. A nine, an eight, a seven, and that stupid ace. Nothing. “Never mind, it really can,” he laughs. “Tough luck, love.”

That little word - just a small endearment - hits her like a brick. That’s what he keeps trying not to say, all these times. Love. It just took a few permissions from her, and several more drinks than either one should have indulged in, for him to let it slip.

(She just might like it - being called love.)

The real question is what he means by it. It could be a verbal tic; it could be something more. Emma knows how she feels, her persistent crush, but it’s hard to tell how Killian feels behind his unflappable professionalism. Or maybe it’s not professionalism - maybe it’s just how he feels? God, she just can’t tell, and it’s about to drive her crazy.

Emma spends a lot of time studying Killian for the rest of their game. She doesn’t really discover anything new - she already knows the way that he laughs and smiles and teases - but it cements, somehow, that he’s a really good guy. She already knew that, really, but tonight has really driven that home.

The longer she watches him, and the stronger her conviction comes, the more she wants to do something about it. Maybe it’s the rum; maybe it’s the ambiance. Whatever it is, Emma wants to know just how he feels too, and hears herself talk without thinking.

“Hey, Killian, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Emma,” he smiles.

She shouldn’t continue - should just keep her mouth shut and her dignity intact. Drunk Emma doesn’t agree. “I was just wondering —”

By some miracle, a face-splitting yawn interrupts her sentence, saving Emma from herself. Because she was definitely about to say I was just wondering if you, like, like-like me. You know, like middle school.

“I think it might be time for bed there, love,” he laughs, seemingly oblivious to the butterflies he just set swarming in her stomach. Love. God, she’s a sap, and one who reads too much into things at that. “What were you saying?”

“I… can’t remember. I think the yawn knocked it right out of my head,” Emma lies with a laugh. “You’re right, I should get some sleep. You too - you know where there’s a guest bedroom, right? You’re totally welcome to use it.” A stupid thing to say, all things considered, but Emma has progressed to babbling to cover herself.

“Aye, I do,” he assures her. “Now come on, love, up you get and off to bed you go.”

Love.

Emma goes to bed floating on a happy cloud made of rum and his endearments, certain the pairing will only bring her the sweetest dreams.

———

The dreams are sweet. The morning is decidedly… not. The room is too bright where sun seeps through the shades, and her mouth is too dry, and she can already feel the beginnings of a killer headache encroaching behind her eyes. Revenge of the rum, or something.

A glass of water helps a bit, as do a couple of painkillers, but Emma is still less than pleased to hear the knock on her door. She’d much rather spend the day in bed, Christmas together-ness be damned, but there’s traditions in this family she can’t run away from, and every year since Emma was very young, they’ve passed out holly sprigs and candy canes to the visitors at the gate.

Killian smirks when she opens the door, apparently finding some sick amusement in the death glare Emma shoots in her groggy state. God, it’s just patently unfair that he still looks so attractive while she’s so hungover - even in yesterday’s suit and shirt. He’s not quite all buttoned up yet - still a bit of chest hair peeking out the top and his tie hanging loose - and it only makes him look even more delectable.

(Is that still a way that people describe hot guys they have chemistry with? Truthfully, Emma is a little too foggy to know or care.)

“Well don’t you look festive,” he teases. “Is this what they call high spirits?”

“No, that was last night.”

“Touche, love,” he laughs. “Do you think you’ll be ready to greet the people at 10:30? That should give you and Leo an hour or so for the meet and greet. Your mother’s speech is scheduled for noon - though I suppose you’ll be tackling that if she doesn’t make it back in time?” He phrases it like a question; it’s not.

Emma groans at the prospect. “Don’t remind me. And don’t jinx it!”

“Sorry, sorry.” His eyes crinkle when he smiles at her - an extra little detail Emma hadn’t noticed before, but now can’t stop seeing. “I’m sure you’ll be brilliant.”

“Yeah, well, I’d rather not have to be.” And it’s true; Emma’s perfectly capable of giving a speech, and has done so on multiple occasions, but her mother’s annual televised Christmas address is something else entirely that Emma would rather avoid at all costs and if at all possible. That all depends on her parents being able to make the flight, however. “How’s the weather today? Any better?”

“Have you not even looked out your windows today?” Killian prods gently. Emma isn’t quite sure when they switched to this teasing relationship they’ve apparently established, but she thinks she likes it.

“I was a little busy trying to avoid all trace of sunlight,” she shoots back.

“Well, it’s a lovely, crisp day,” he promises. “I don’t see why your parents shouldn’t be home for Christmas.”

Just to hear it out loud is a huge relief, even if she has enjoyed their little bonding exercise the past couple of days. No matter how much fun she’s had with Killian, it’s still Christmas, and she still misses her parents.

“I’ll see you at breakfast?” Emma asks tentatively, hoping he’ll say yes, scared that he’ll say no.

“I’ll have the kitchens whip up something particularly greasy,” he winks back.

———

The morning is cold, but just as clear as Killian had promised. As much as Emma had grumbled this morning, she actually likes this bit of Christmas tradition - shaking hands, giving their visitors well-wishes, making sure to hand out candy to all the children. It feels like the true spirit of the holiday - giving not for the thanks, but for the smiles, and because it’s the right thing to do.

Still. It’s cold, and as much as Emma had appreciated how wide Killian’s eyes had gotten when she had emerged after breakfast in a full-skirted green coat dress, her skirt and hose don’t offer much protection against the weather. Pants would have been a much more practical choice, but there are expectations for days like these, and a skirt is part of that.

Her relief is palpable when they finally make it back inside. God only knows where Leo gets to - he’s off the hook, at least - but Emma treks back to her mother’s formal office as soon as her winter wear is sorted. As much as Emma hopes it won’t come to that, her mother’s annual Christmas speech is scheduled in twenty minutes, and if Queen Mary is still on the road, Emma will be expected to fill in. It’s not something she’s looking forward to; spontaneity like this never is, though she knows she’ll only have to read from a prompter.

Killian beats her there, somehow; by the time she arrives in the antechamber outside where television cameras and lights are already set up, he’s crouched under the tree, fiddling with the lights and offering an excellent view of his ass. Nice.

He catches her staring, of course. “Anything I can help you with, Your Highness?” he asks with a smirk.

“Nah, just taking in the view,” she winks back. Any fears she might have had about last night only being a product of the outage and the rum are largely quelled by the way he’s acting today - not quite just like normal, but not in a bad way either. Closer. More intimate. More… something.

Emma’s face settles into something more contemplative as she reflects on the change - something Killian, of course, doesn’t fail to notice. “What’s on your mind, love?” he asks, tilting his head in concern and curiosity.

“Nothing, nothing,” Emma hurries to say at first before reconsidering. She still wants to make a move, to see where they stand; more than that, she wants him to know just how much these past few days have meant to her. With that in mind, she takes a deep breath and tries to be a little brave. “I just… I guess I just want to thank you, Killian.” Emma makes sure to look right in his eyes as she says it so he can see how much she means it. “This wasn’t the Christmas I expected to have, obviously, but it’s been… wonderful, really. And you’re a big part of that.”

“Oh, Emma, you don’t need to —”

“Yes, I do,” Emma interrupts. “I know this probably wasn’t how you planned to spend your Christmas - not when you’ve got your brother and his family to spend time with. But it meant a lot that you were here, even if you didn’t want to be.”

By the time Emma finishes, Killian has flushed a brilliant red - even more than just his ears. “About that, love…” he says, tugging at his hair. “It really wasn’t quite as out of my hands as you believe. Please believe me - there’s no reason to thank me.”

“I don’t understand.” He had switched with Mulan, of course - she knew that already, he had told her as such - but that didn’t change that he’d ended up here for much longer than he should have been, thanks to the storm.

“You know that I switched shifts… but not when.”

“What does that matter?”

“Well, it matters because when I told you that I’d be around, that I’d switched… I hadn’t, actually. I arranged that with Mulan afterwards. There was no conflict with her girlfriend’s family, I just… I wanted to be here.”

As surprised as Emma is by the revelation, she still feels like there’s something she’s missing - whatever would make him want to stay when he could have avoided it. “Why?” She asks softly, taking a step closer into Killian’s space. This feels like the kind of conversation to require close proximity - foster emotional intimacy, or something like it. As Killian proved in scrabble last night, he’s the one with the words.

Emma can see Killian swallow as he stares down into her eyes. “I wanted you to have a nice Christmas, love,” he replies, just as softly. Tenderly, even. “I could tell you were frustrated, and upset, and… I know it was the height of hubris to think that I could make that better, but I wanted to try. If I could help make it a happy Christmas for you, love… I wanted to try.”

“For me,” Emma breathes - more a realization than a question.

“For you.”

It’s impossible to miss the earnestness and truth in his words and gaze. That desire Emma felt last night to kiss the daylights out of him has been simmering on low ever since they parted for separate beds, but it flares up again at his confession. He did that for her, because he wanted to make her happy. Carefully, Emma takes that last step into his space, so close that their bodies nearly touch. Slowly, she trails her hands behind his neck and up into his hair to draw him down, lips mere inches apart —

A commotion in the hallway barely gives them a moment to break apart before Emma’s mother bustles into the room. As much as Emma has spent much of the last three days wishing her parents were here, now feels like the worst possible time.

“Mom, you’re home!” she manages to gasp weakly. Killian discretely steps away again; though Emma understands why, she’d much rather continue what they’d started - without an audience - than watch him retreat back into professionalism. Especially when moments ago, she’d just gotten a preview of what his hands might feel like against her skin.

“I couldn’t miss Christmas, now could I?” her mother asks, hugging Emma tightly. “I didn’t want to leave you to take care of the Christmas speech either; I know that kind of thing isn’t your favorite, and you’ve had no time to prepare besides… but oh! It’s just so good to be home again! Your father went to try and track down your brother…”

The queen keeps rambling as she strips off her gloves, but Emma doesn’t pay much attention. Sometime in the last handful of minutes, Killian slipped out the door altogether, leaving only Emma, her mother, and her mother’s security head. She missed her chance, it appears.

(And after all they’d shared these past days… Emma could just screech with the frustration of it all. It’s becoming kind of a habit.)

———

Emma hopes to talk to him after their interruption - tries to talk to him, even, searching for him across rooms. But it’s Christmas, and her parents are finally home, and it’s so easy to lose track of time and get caught up in the hustle and bustle of things. By the time Emma can break away from the festivity for a few minutes, Killian has already slipped out, quietly replaced by Mulan. She knows that he won’t be back for several days - more than earning a vacation and time with his family after giving up most of his Christmas with her and Leo.

She should be able to talk with him once he’s back at work, too; after all, he’s only got three days off (she knows this for a fact - she asked Leo, any hit to her pride be damned). But by the time Killian is back at work, so is Emma, with charity appearances and daily meetings and everything else her usual schedule entails.

Maybe it’s fate that they don’t meet again until New Year’s Eve. Maybe it’s just fortuitous scheduling. Whatever the case, Emma doesn’t get a chance to speak with Killian until the annual New Year’s Diplomatic Gala, of all places.

It could be for the best, maybe; Emma can’t deny that she looks fantastic. Her dress tonight is silver and drapes elegantly across her body, creating a kind of vintage aura, topped with pinned waves, a rich burgundy lipstick, and long white gloves. The diamond and sapphire tiara is just the topper of it all, the icing on the cake.

(Emma’s always liked sapphires, but tonight, the stones don’t seem nearly as blue as his eyes, no matter how much they catch the light.)

She sees him across the room the moment she walks in, along the wall in another tailored dark suit, and she could swear that his eyes follow her too. Killian has a dress uniform, she knows - he wore it to the Armed Forces charity ball last year, and looked quite dashing at that - but tonight’s not the time for that. Tonight, the idea is to be as unobtrusive a presence as possible since he’s on duty, not that it’s going well. It’s hard for Killian to blend in with that face and that suit - or maybe Emma’s just attuned to noticing him.

Regardless, it’s still not the time to talk anyways - she’s still being escorted into dinner on the arm of the Ambassador to Glowerhaven, and there’s still a banquet and dancing to come. Maybe, if she’s lucky, she can steal away later; maybe, with even more luck, she’ll be able to pull Killian along with her.

(They’ve got unfinished business, and Emma still wants to learn how he kisses.)

The garden balcony off the ballroom isn’t exactly an ideal location in late December, but it’s the only place Emma knows she can get a few blessed moments away from the crush of people inside. It’s cold out, nearly trying to snow again; a few rogue flakes drift from the night sky to land on her bare skin. There’s a handful of heat lamps scattered about, but they only do so much, as do Emma’s gloves. This hadn’t been one of her brighter plans, Emma knows, but she and Killian had been making eye contact all night across the room, and she simply couldn’t wait any longer to slip away and hope he follows her.

Just as Emma’s preparing to abandon the plan and head back inside, a warm weight drops on her shoulders - the faux-fur wrap she’d discarded at the dinner table earlier as it got in the way of her eating. Killian smiles at her when she turns her head to meet his gaze.

“I thought you might be cold, love,” he explains. “We can’t have you catching a chill.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think much about the weather when I came out here - I just wanted a little time alone,” Emma admits. “With you.” The last part is added hurriedly when a flash of embarrassment streaks across Killian’s face, and he looks like he might make an utterly unnecessary run for it.

“We never finished our conversation from Christmas, did we?” Killian almost looks a little bashful about the subject, ducking his head and tugging at the hair behind his ear. It’s adorable, truly, not to mention a little fascinating - the way he shifts back and forth so rapidly and confidently between seeming like a smooth master of seduction and a bashful boy who isn’t quite sure what’s happening, but is happy to be there. Fascinating, in the best of ways.

“Oh, I thought that conversation was plenty finished,” Emma teases. She even sways into his space flirtatiously to underline her point, finding some kind of boldness within her that she wasn’t certain she possessed. It must just be something about Killian that brings it out in her. “If I remember right, we were about to move on to… how would you put it? Much more pleasant exchanges, or something like that?”

“Something like that,” he mumbles back. “If I crossed a line the other day… I’m sorry if I overstepped, Your Highness —”

“It’s still Emma,” she corrects with a smile, reaching out to lay a hand on Killian’s arm. “And you didn’t overstep. I was right there wish you.”

“I’d just hate to think that I pressured you into something —”

“Killian, did you want to kiss me on Christmas?” Emma interrupts.

Killian pauses. Emma wasn’t aware a human person could turn that red. “Yes,” he finally admits - just one simple word that sets her heart a-flutter.

“Well, that’s lucky, because I did too. Still do, honestly.”

“You do?” Killian looks like he can’t quite believe his luck.

“I mean, yeah. Christmas could have been… honestly, straight up depressing. But you made it better. And I… I like you. I mean, I’ve been attracted to all this —” she waves a demonstrative hand — “for a while, but I like you. It’s New Year’s Eve, and it’s stupidly picturesque, and I want to kiss you at midnight. If you still want that too.”

Killian breaks into a wide smile. “What if I don’t want to wait for midnight?” he asks, moving so close into her space that she can feel his breath on her face. She twines their fingers together where their hands finally meet. “What if I still want to kiss you? Now?”

“Then I’d say…”

Emma never bothers to finish the sentence, opting instead to lean forward and meet Killian’s lips with her own. Her high heels put her at the perfect height to just barely need to tip her head upwards to find a perfect angle. Killian’s lips are soft against her own - gentle and teasing at first, almost like he’s just trying to learn the shape and feel of them before anything else, but he’s more than happy to deepen the kiss when Emma sinks her hands into his hair to pull him closer. He tastes a little minty, like he just popped a mint before coming out to speak with her - a fact that seems impossibly endearing, even through the pleasurable haze of their kiss. She can feel his hands through the fabric of her dress, firm and warm at her hips, like he’s keeping her safe even now. The kiss is tender, and passionate, and perfect.

(Then Killian tilts her head with calloused fingers at her chin to adjust the angle and sweep his tongue into her mouth, and she gladly stops thinking much of anything at all.)

“That was…” he breathes when they finally separate, breaking apart just far enough to rest his forehead against her own.

“Well worth the wait,” Emma finishes. And then laughs, unable to hold it back. “You’ve been holding out on me, Jones.”

“Call it the magic of Christmas,” he teases back. Fireworks start going off around them; though Emma hazily wonders for a moment if they did that, somehow set off literal fireworks to match the metaphorical ones bursting between them, before she realizes it must be the new year. They completely missed the countdown - not that she cares.

“So how does one go about dating the Crown Princess?” Killian asks, already leaning in for another round of kissing. “I think that just might be my New Year’s Resolution.”

“Stick around, and you’ll find out.”

She’s got a lot of plans for them.

#captain swan #cssecretsanta2k19 #cs ff #captain swan ff #modern royalty au #my stuff #and he called her love amongst the snowflakes #princess!emma #bodyguard!killian #and one hell of a snowstorm #merry christmas!#my writing

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jaybug-jabbers · 3 years

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Meal Ideas for College Students

Ok, so. As a college student, I’m compiling my own list of easy meal ideas. I have a bad habit of skipping meals, like many students do. A list of ideas helps a lot when you’re busy, stressed, tired, and/or not feeling up for much.

This post will prioritize quick/easy meals, ideas for relieving meal monotony, food that gives energy that sticks with you throughout the day, and meals that are generally healthy and balanced.

Note: This list of ideas was made with myself in mind. Everyone has their own dietary needs and/or preferences to keep in mind! Still, you might find something useful here. :) Also, check out my other post of recipes for more specific ideas.

Lunch/Dinner Ideas

1.) Soup/Salad/Sandwich.

-Not many canned soups are worth eating in my opinion, but a few taste acceptable (split pea’s pretty good), and sometimes grocery stores have containers of fresh soup. Those are almost always better tasting then canned!

-Salads ideally are more then just plain romaine lettuce and croutons/salad dressing. They can have all kinds of crap thrown on: nuts, seeds, tortilla strips, dried fruit, fresh sliced fruit, cheese, chicken, even some pasta noodles.

-It’s better to buy heads of greens and wash them yourself, as the already-washed bags of greens go bad quickly and have been prone to e. coli outbreaks. A little salad washing bowl speeds up cleaning greens. In either case, try to get a mix of darker, vitamin-rich greens.

-Sandwiches can use the healthier lunch meats but also leftover cooked chicken, or just a grilled cheese sandwich. (Use different kinds of sliced cheese.) Fancy mustard, pesto and horseradish can really punch up a sandwich; so can bread that actually tastes good.

2.) Pasta.

There are a lot of options of what to put on top of pasta; just adding some marinara sauce to spaghetti noodles is only the beginning.

-If you do use red sauce, I suggest adding mushrooms, sliced sausage or ground meat, or lots of cheese on top to bump up the protein.

-If you do something else, stir-frying some veggies (fresh– zuccini, mushroom, celery, carrot, snappeas, etc. frozen– frozen stir-fry veggie mix) and adding a light sauce is good; even dumping vinegarette salad dressing on it can be tasty.

-Other options include frozen shrimp, meatballs, leftover chicken, tofu or a cheese casserole.

-Try other kinds of pasta noodles, because even that can relieve some food monotomy. You can even use cheap ramen noodles, because why not? Just skip the spice pack they come with and add other things instead.

-Raviolis or tortillinis are also great for a light dinner or lunch.

-Sides for pasta include bread/garlic bread, salad, and fruit.

3.) Tacos/Burritos/Tostadas.

Canned beans, cheese, a bit of shredded lettuce, some jarred salsa, a tortilla, presto. Also great for using leftover ground meat or baked chicken. If you are lucky enough to own an avacado, please use it for this.

4.) Nachos.

This is basically when you have canned beans but you ran out of tortillas. Dump everything on top of corn chips instead.

5.) Enchilada Casserole.

Ground meat (or shredded chicken), canned black beans/red kidney beans, shredded cheese, canned enchilada sauce, corn tortillas, and a casserole dish. Dense and lasts you for a long time. Freezes well, too.

6.) Baked chicken.

There’s about a million different ways to prepare chicken. What’s more, the leftovers are so useful for so many things.

7.) Homemade pizza.

-They sell those kits at the store with the shell and the pizza sauce all ready. Just add your desired toppings and cook. A million times better then frozen pizza and worth the five extra minutes of work. You’ll need to invest in a large cutting-board and a pizza cutter or a large knife, but that’s it.

-If you want emergency personal pizzas, you can even use English Muffins for the task.

8.) Hamburger.

If you don’t care for ground beef, ground turkey or chicken works just as well; you can cook them insanely fast and easily on a Foreman grill, but still cooks pretty fast in a regular pan too. Adding some fixings goes a long way: pickles, cheese, lettuce, tomato, pineapple rings, etc. Good sides: salad, fries/potato, peas or beans.

9.) Baked frozen fish/salmon.

Again, you’re unlikey to have the time to buy and prepare fresh fish, which needs to be cooked and eaten quickly, but you can buy a filet of frozen fish. Good sides: rice, easy risotto, boxed couscous, broccoli, bread, etc.

10.) Fajuitas.

Steak strips/chicken strips that are pan-fried, plus stir-fried mushrooms, asparagus, zuccini, etc. Lime juice and avacado add a lot of flavor.

11.) Chicken, mustard, mushroom, garlic, spinach and swiss hot sandwiches.

Bake ‘em after assembling them for melty goodness.

12.) Smoothies/shakes.

This is a great addition to breakfast or lunch if you’re not very hungry or running low on food supplies; only if you have a blender, of course. Ice cubes, plain yogurt, fruit (fresh or frozen), shredded coconut, honey, fruit juice or ice cream, and blend. Experiment to find what works best.

Breakfast Ideas

Bulk up on breakfast if your schedule demands it!

1.) Oatmeal loaded with nuts, dried fruit, powdered proteins, flaxseed, and a dash of maple syrup/honey

2.) A plain yogurt parfait loaded up in a similar manner, plus granola

3.) Bagels or toast with cream cheese, nut butters, jam/honey, or avacado

4.) Stir-fried potatoes, potato pancakes, hashbrowns

5.) Low-sugar muffins

6.) Breakfast burritos

7.) Omlettes

8.) See above for smoothies!

General Tips

1.) Always make large portions when you cook so there are leftovers. When you bake chicken for dinner, you can use the leftovers the next day or make a sandwich or a taco or whatever. If you’re going to invest your precious time and energy into cooking, get the most out of it. If you have TONS of leftovers, freeze them in portions that are easily taken out, bit by bit, to use later on.

2.) See if you can locate a microwave on campus. This expands your options for what to pack for food, in case sandwiches a million times a month gets tiring. Pack things into microwavable tupperware or bring little paper plates and plastic utensils. Plastic bento boxes are also handy ways to pack things other than sandwiches. You can even bring soup, pasta, or ramen with you in a thermos.

3.) Frozen vegetables help a lot. You may not have the time to buy, clean and cook fresh veg, but grabbing a bag of something frozen is easy to make sure you have balanced meals. Steam them in the microwave easily in a bowl with a plate on top; avoid the ‘steamer’ plastic bags if you can, which tend to taste gross imo and may not be super healthy. (zapping plastic may create toxins.)

4.) See what’s in season for fruit. That way you can buy cheaper organic fresh fruit such as grapes, melons, berries or even exotics like kiwi. If you get them in bulk and need to use fresh fruit up before it spoils, try smoothies or put them on cereal/oatmeal or even make a fruit salad.

5.) Consider investing in a crock pot or insta-pot cooker. This opens up options for a lot of low-effort recipes, where you can just toss crap in and come back later and it’s done.

6.) Invest in spices. It’s worth the money and effort to get a variety. Get in the habit of tossing them into things. It can punch up just about anything and is way better then just salt. Even scrambled eggs can be punched up with some Sriracha sauce or some spices, or a little bit of shredded cheese.

This is a repost on a new blog. The original post was on Nov 4, 2019.

#mycontent #college survival

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night512 · 4 years

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“I almost forgot something. Ill be right back.” He comes back with a black velvet blindfold and wrist cuffs. Quietly walking up behind Agatha, he touches her shoulder and she turns to look at what he is holding.

“What do you think you are doing with those, Sir?”

“I told you this was going to be an experience. Do you trust me?”

“I trust you enough to bring me to your house after meeting you just this morning. But I am intrigued so Yes Sir, I do.”

He hands her the blind fold, and she immediately takes it placing it on the table and looks around for a second. Agatha gets up from the table, removes her hoodie, and walks into the kitchen grabbing a set of chop sticks she had spotted, and quickly places her hair in a hastily fashioned bun. Then takes her seat and places on the blind fold.

“Agatha, hold out both hands palms up.”

“Yes Sir” She replies. While he quickly fastens her hands to the chair.

“This is the trust part.” He said quietly while she heard him cutting up the meat on the place. Her ears twitching as she listened to what was happening right in front of her.

Anticipating what was coming she could feel her mouth watering. With a large gulp clearing her mouth.

“Now open.” He stated while putting the meat to her lower lip.

She eagerly opened with excitement, pulling the meat off the fork.

“OK, again Agatha. Open.” He stated again.

Again she complied and opened eager to accept what he had to give. She got the taste of the salty bacon and earthy asparagus this time and moaned with excitement. He did this several more times over the next few minutes. He looked down to notice her excitement was getting out of control. Her legs were already slightly trembling. He stopped for a second, placing his hand on her upper thigh, giving a firm squeeze. He reaches up and pulls her blindfold off. Now nose to nose. She looks at him with a sad look on her face, and in a begging seductive tone; “Please, Sir, please keep going.”

“Too much to fast can be a counter-productive, and cause the excitement to run out.” He reaches for the glass of wine, and tips it to her lips. She takes a generous sip, trying to calm herself down. He places the glass gently on the table. Then reaches back up to her blindfold and starts to pull it down. A smirk comes across Agatha’s lips, and her heart starts to race with anticipation. She again hears the cutting, the moving. But something was different about this, he didn’t ask Agatha to open her mouth this time. She felt a touch to her chin and a caress to her jawline. Then it disappeared, She heard the metallic ring of a knife being unsheathed, and more movement around the kitchen. She could hear the slicing of something but unable to make out what it was.

“Sir… What are you doing?” Agatha asked, concerned. She was thoroughly excited and confused. She had never become aroused because of a dinner. She hadn’t even been teased with food. So she became more and more excited for what was to come.

“Im now preparing dessert. It will be done in a second.” He said.

“Yes Sir.” Agatha said, now thoroughly confused and mystified, because she has no idea what is going to happen next.

She feels his presence moving closer to her and he sits down again. Moving a cold spoon and touching her neck. Instant goose bumps down her neck, as she tosses her head back in excitement. He withdraws the spoon, and the only thing Agatha hears is “Open”. She again complies and then hears “Bite”. The burst of a grape in her mouth almost shocks her taste-buds and sends a shockwave through her entire being.

He sees that she is quivering and asks Agatha if she is ok. In a quick and hasty response, “Yes, Sir.” Seems to be the only thing she can utter at this point. “Agatha, would you like me to continue?”

‘Yes, please.” She doesn’t even wait for the command to open her mouth this time. And she quickly feels a cold spoonful of ice cream on her tongue. She quickly closes her mouth to not miss a drop. She can feel the cold, moving down as he touches the spoon to her neck again. Sending a cold shiver throughout her body. He could see all of the affects this was having as she yearned for more and more. He looked down and noticed that the ice cream was finished and all of the fruit was eaten. Before he could say anything, Agatha asked for more. He instinctively grabbed her behind her neck. Pulled her in and gently kissed her on her lips, nibbling her lip slightly as he pulls back.

Agatha’s body exploded with excitement, and seemed to melt in her chair. He pulled the blindfold off, and asked Agatha how she enjoyed dinner. She could hardly think straight, no less answer a question in a coherent matter. She took a deep breath, and a long sigh then answered.

“That was absolutely fucking amazing.”

#creepy-bi-day #agatha #kinkyaf #my inner demons #demons #succubi

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graybeards · 5 years

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The Other Mr. Brewer

“Mr. and Mr. Jonathan Brewer,” the invitation read. A shiver ran down my spine.

He didn’t make me take his name. He didn’t urge or pressure me, but I knew he wanted it. When he asked, I just smiled and answered, “I’d love to, Jon.”

His grin—lips curling over rows of shining white teeth at the center of his handsome face—had been worth it. He’d leaned in and kissed me, holding my head tight in his weathered hands as I admiringly ran my fingers through his thick, gray hair. We tore at each other’s clothes until he was buried inside me, whispering hotly against my neck, “Emery Brewer has a nice ring to it.” I nodded, voice lost to moans.

It was a pleasant memory. And just a few months later, I’d shrunk from ‘Mr. Emery Evans’ down to a spare ‘Mr.’ beside my husband’s. He was the sort of man who always felt larger than life to begin with, but it was unsettling to see the difference between us in print. He was a husband to me, but I belonged to him, changed as surely as a Ms. becomes a Mrs.

My phone buzzed on the kitchen counter.

Jon Brewer: What’s for dinner tonight? Me: Want to order a pizza? Jon Brewer: Aww, I could use a home-cooked meal Me: Oh. Rough day? Jon Brewer: Yes Jon Brewer: Settlement falling apart, may have to fly to NY tomorrow Me: Poor baby 😭 Jon Brewer: I know! Grill some steaks for dinner Me: I don’t think we have any Jon Brewer: Then go get some, husband 😉 Me: Lol, ok Jon Brewer: Good boy 😘I’ll try to be home by 7:30. Be ready… Me: Ok, love you Jon Brewer: Love you too

When I put the phone down, my face was still flushed tomato red. I tended to cook for us, and for a long time I told myself it was just because I got home earlier—As a therapist, I usually scheduled appointments between 8:00 am and 4:00 pm with a break for lunch, whereas Jon was frequently stuck at the firm late into the evening—but even on weekends he’d kick back with a beer and grin while I prepared his lunch for him.

Back when we were dating, he’d encouraged me to take classes and offered to pay for them. Frankly, I enjoyed cooking and Jon’s generous compliments when I made something delicious. But he’d never been demanding about it before.

He was just teasing, I told myself over and over as I drove to the store. Yet I knew he wasn’t. Along with the steak, I picked up some sweet potatoes and asparagus, some of Jon’s favorites to round out the meal. I timed it out so dinner would be ready at 7:30 on the dot, but he walked in the door a few minutes early.

“Hello,” he said, in his trademark booming voice, from the entryway as he shifted off his jacket and hat, dropping his keys in the bowl.

“Hey,” I raised my quiet voice, “did you survive the rest of the day?”

“Barely,” he huffed as he walked into the kitchen, where I stood over the sizzling stove. I smiled, deftly adjusting the asparagus in the skillet. He came up behind, wrapping his burly arms around me as his broad chest and slight gut pressed to my back through his suit. “I’m starving,” he breathed into my ear, teasing, “I thought I said to be ready when I got home.”

“You said 7:30,” I laughed, easing my slender body back against him as his strong fingers grasped at my chest through my buttoned shirt.

He chuckled, took a deep breath through his nose, and purred, “Mmmmm. What would I do without you?” Against my ass, I felt him stiffening and I couldn’t help but rub back against it. “Oh,” he sighed, “you’re such a tease.” He lowered his hands to my hips and pushed his bulge against me. “Let me have a taste.”

I carefully lifted a slice of sweet potato up on the spatula and tipped it onto his waiting tongue. He chewed loudly before a gulp and a satisfied sigh as he humped against me. “My husband is the best cook in the world,” Jon declared as he unbuckled my belt. “But I think I’d like you to start cooking naked.”

“Is that so?” I giggled as my jeans dropped down around my ankles, struggling to reach the steak as he pushed my briefs down.

“Yes,” Jon growled, “I don’t want anything between me and this ass.” He pushed a finger between my smooth butt cheeks and made me squirm in his embrace. “It’s mine now, after all.”

“Yours?” I asked, smirking back at him.

He grinned and nodded, “You like that?”

“I don’t know…”

“Come on, babe,” he insisted, pushing his thick index finger past my sphincter to make me gasp. “I need this.” I moaned when he pushed deeper, which he took as agreement. “Yeah, give me that tight ass, Emery. The smell of that steak is making me so horny.”

“I have to finish it,” I whispered the excuse, not certain I wanted him to listen as he spat down on his fingers and shoved another one inside me.

He pressed tight against me and rasped in my ear, “You vowed to obey me.” It had just been part of the vows, one sentence among many, but I remembered it clearly. He said, “And you have been. I tell you to keep the house clean, and you do. I tell you to rub my feet, and you do. I tell you to cook me a steak, and you do. And now, I tell you to give me that ass…”

His fingers slid out and pulled down his zipper, freeing his rigid, thick cock for just a moment before it sank between my cheeks and made me howl. I cried out, “Oh god, Jon,” planting my hands on the edge of the stove.

“That’s it,” he groaned in my ear, “you’re my obedient little husband, aren’t you?” His fingers tore at my shirt, popping off buttons as he pulled it off and threw it aside so I was naked before him. He held my hips and pushed forward, sinking eight inches of flesh into me until the fabric of his suit pants pressed to my smooth cheeks. “Daddy’s gonna breed you, boy.”

I moaned and howled as he pummeled his body against mine. With a struggle, I managed to turn down the burners to salvage dinner. Jon pressed his lips to my neck and kissed my sensitive skin, squeezing it between his teeth as he rutted at my surrendering hole.

He felt different that night, but not unfamiliar, like a man who had been living just beneath the Jon I knew and slowly surfacing. But I couldn’t bring myself to deny that I liked him. He pounded me fiercely, slamming deep into my insides, without touching my own rigid, dripping dick. And when I tried to reach a hand down, Jon snarled and grabbed my wrist to stop me.

“None of that, Emery,” he scolded breathlessly, “you’ll cum from daddy’s cock or nothing.” I obeyed, squeezing my fingers into the steel stove as my husband’s cock plowed through the tightness of my hole and forced me open. He put a hand on the back of my neck and bent me forward as he pulled my hips back, steadying himself as he hastened his thrusts.

“Jon,” I whined as he eagerly rubbed his thick knob to my prostate, “I’m gonna—” My arms and legs trembled as I squirmed in his grasp. A stream of thin precum drizzled from my dick onto the floor, milked by my husband’s meaty member. I leaned my head back against his hand and let out a loud, uncontrollable moan as Jon grinned, sensing victory near, and pummeled my insides in a frenzy until I spewed all over the oven door to his delight.

“Fuck yeah,” Jon rasped behind me. “Daddy’s big dick made you cum. Didn’t it, slut?” He squeezed my neck roughly in his coarse fingers and leaned forward to press his lips to my ear. As he did, his cock sank to the hilt inside me and my orgasming body squeezed his shaft wildly. Buried deep, he growled against me and began a series of hasty, shallow thrusts until he practically roared in my ear.

“Here it comes, boy,” my husband exclaimed as his balls tightened. He pumped his hips forward one last time as his shaft swelled and burst deep inside me. His thick cum sprayed in ropes against the walls of my ass until it was threatening to drip out if it weren’t for the tight grasp of my sphincter around the base of his shaft.

“Fuck,” he gasped, sucking in deep, steady breaths as his warm, rumpled suit rubbed against my bare skin. His stomach growled impatiently and he laughed, “It’s way past 7:30 now, boy. Why don’t you finish up while I get undressed?” He kissed the back of my neck and said, “I’m so glad you’re mine, Emery Brewer.”

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hortascountrysidenotes · 4 years

Text

Third week of lockdown comes to close

Well the time actually seems to have gone quite quickly! We have been so busy in both house and garden interspersed with some dog training on our walks that the days fly by. We have enjoyed participating in two and organising one Pub quiz with friends courtesy of Zoom which prove fun and educational! We also of course have enjoyed the most fabulous weather peaking today with temperatures of approx 24C. However rain or rather the lack of it, is becoming a problem and the hoses are out. The new grass seed has been sown so that needs a good soak every day and will no doubt germinate very quickly. This evening I am watering with my revolving sprinkler, the veg patch as the asparagus has started but needs the boost of water with the warmer nights to push it on more quickly - first pick Monday I reckon.

Rhubarb is also about ready and the veg patch is looking very smart. Today I picked off the very last of the purple sprouting broccoli which has been terrific this year. Managed to get four bags into the freezer and Mr Horta amazingly enough actually dug the area over for me, turning in some of our home made compost at the same time, therefore getting ready the patch for the courgettes. I have sown three types of courgette - Defender, a straight yellow called Atene and what is termed Italian striped - I think this is a year when one cannot have too many!

Various plants are now moving out of the greenhouse into the cold frames - the vanilla scented Nemesia, the scented Pelargoniums and the bog standard geraniums which now wait for the summer bedding schemes. I am thrilled that my little trailing lobelias have worked brilliantly and this week I have been able to prick out 24 with another batch to do next week. All the Cosmos I had have been potted on, but I am still waiting for the batch of new seed to come from Suttons of multi coloured ones. Today’s post brought 10 asparagus plants to fill in some gaps which I have planted - they have to go very deep which is awkward between the established plants but I think the plan will work and I have marked them with a stick so as not to pick from them for a couple of years.

The garden looks lovely with one exception which is the roses - they have had a torrid time - lovely new foliage either zapped by those last few very sharp frosts and now frazzled to a crisp, or even completely by first the muntjac and then the roe deer. I have put up yet more deterrants and positioned two garden chairs at the top of the garden with bin liners over them and since then no more damage, but it will take a while for the roses to shoot again - they all had flower buds too which is sickening. These quiet days however do mean that more wildlife is about and more confident - this morning Miss Horta and I left the house at 6 - the most beautiful dawn and did a 5 mile circuit through some of our most beautiful countryside. As we left we saw the barn owl which gives special joy as we have been without one on the common for the last two years. Another one was spotted in old Beetley in its usual haunts and it flew directly up the bridal path towards us over our heads which was glorious. 3 roedeer were grazing just below the house and we saw a total of 16 on our walk plus 3 muntjac. Heron and buzzard both busy, masses of blackcaps singing down by the Blackwater bridge and beautiful bird cherry in flower as we neared the ford.

Wildflowers are starting to increase daily - kingcups, stitchwort, two deadnettles, the first ladysmock, ground ivy, lovely cowslips, celandines and of course the first bluebells. Great excitement too on the yellow rattle front. Last year the 300 m long strip I had sown the previous autumn where PUSH had cleared out a ditch and conveniently left bare earth on the bank top produced a good crop of rattle much to my amazement as it is notoriously difficult to establish. I collected a lot of seed in an envelope and in October, just before the cattle finished grazing the common I spread it surreptitiously, rather like the soil down the trousers in the The Great Escape, on a sparsely grassy area just outside out back gate covered in mole hills - also in the knowledge that the cattle would walk over it, jam it in and then we would wait and hope. BINGO there is a really good patch! I use the word surreptitious as with rattle being a parasite it weakens the grass which of course is not really what some of the graziers want. However the more diverse mix of wildflowers due to lack of competition from grass, does make for a good herbage for cattle with all sorts of vitamins and properties that grass does not give.

Butterflies also on the march - Tortoiseshell, Peacocks, Brimstone, Comma and today the first Orange Tip. Mr Horta has put the moth trap out twice and recorded the first moths of spring - apparently the Norfolk group who he communes with on moths have already seen Poplar Hawk and Elephant Hawk. He just had some lovely little chaps - they have such wonderful names - Hebrew Character, Nut Tree Tussock to name but two!

We continue with dog training - the girls do enjoy it and little by little my neighbour is getting involved with his 10 month old golden retriever Cally. He is finding it very useful to sit Cally up, to watch the girls, so she gets less excited seeing other dogs. Next week we will start walking her through our dogs as in a bending race, on the lead, but with a view to then getting the heel work better so she can do it off the lead. We can keep our social distance, and obviously make sure no one else is about!

To finish on a great note - Mrs Swallow arrived on Thursday so all is really well - swallows, barn owl, yellow rattle, its all looking pretty much ok in our quiet little world. We are very very lucky and we give thanks daily for life at Beck Farm.

HORTA

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fierypen37 · 5 years

Text

The Oasis: Chapter 14

Sorry of the long absence, my friends! Enjoy!

Rage was an acid burn in the back of his throat. His hands shook with it. He staggered into the bathroom, holding a dishtowel to his throbbing eye. That tricky little cunt! How had she held onto that pen knife? Ramsay let the soaked towel thump on the bathroom counter, watching thick drops of blood patter in the sink.

“Fucking Lorathi bitch,” he muttered, peering at the damage in the rust-spotted mirror. It was a fucking miracle that whore Shae hadn’t blinded him. The pen knife had sunk in and stuck just above his right eyeball, jiggling around in the socket. Each jiggle sent a bolt of white-hot pain arching through his skull. Under normal circumstances, if a target had pulled something like that, Ramsay would have taken them home. Played all sorts of fun games with them until they begged for death. Shae’s little stunt had surprised him though, and he’d snapped her neck.

Too quick.

Not to mention he didn’t get the answers his boss wanted. Add to that leaving buckets of his blood at the crime scene . . .

Ramsay snarled a string of foul words. He held a wad of petroleum jelly-soaked gauze in one hand. With the other, he grasped the hilt of the pen knife. Pain arched like lightning through his skull. The blood made the handle slick. A quick yank---fuck! His hand slipped. Ramsay bit down on the bloody dishtowel and yanked again. The penknife fell free along with a hot trickle of blood running down his face. His boss wanted that bitch Daenerys Targaryen dead, and Ramsay never forfeited a contract. Her and Jon fucking Snow would die slow. Ramsay would flay them living, like his ancestors before him. Just because one lead had burned out didn’t mean the trail was cold. Just like his beautiful vicious dogs, he’d pick up the scent. It was just a matter of time.

As the sun set, there was little to look at to occupy her mind. Just darker landscape framed against a dark sky. Nothing but an eerie stretch of highway lit by the car’s headlights. The silence within the car was leaden. She couldn’t find words to ease the tension. Barry was dead. He’d been a steady, comforting figure in her life. He’d been her father’s bodyguard since she was a toddler—the only one Vis held in any esteem. So when they at last had enough capital to require and afford a security detail, a then-retired Barry Selmy was first on their list.

Daenerys felt the press of Jon’s anxious glances. Her misery deepened. Jon. Gods, what danger had she put him in? If Barry Selmy, a decorated war veteran and professional bodyguard couldn’t stay alive around her, then what would happen to Jon?

“We’re still about twenty minutes from the cabin. Maybe try and rest,” Jon said. A half dozen snarky comments rested on the tip of her tongue, but she bit them back. She was too anxious to sleep, too miserable to be any sort of companion.

“I don’t think I can sleep.” Her voice sounded weak and small. Daenerys studied his profile in the murky half-dark. A frown lingered on his brow, his generous mouth thinned into a hard line. Jon glanced over at her, his eyes as black as the sky beyond.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked. Daenerys blew out a steadying breath.

“Well, De—Detective Seaworth said that Rakharo is doing ok. Vis is safe; he’s staying at Dragon with his security detail. Missy and her husband Grey are ok. There haven’t been any more threats or leads. And . . . and Barry’s family are t—taking him home to Harvest Hall for burial.” Tears clogged her throat. Going over it in such bloodless detail made it sound so bleak. Her life was in fucking shambles. Jon reached for her hand. Daenerys wove her fingers through his, squeezing his hand gently.

“Hey, it’ll be ok. They’ll figure it out. It’s their job,” Jon said. They drove in silence for a time. The tires made a low whoosh against damp pavement.

“Did the detective say anything else? Do you know if anyone’s been by my apartment? Checked on Sam and Gilly?” Daenerys thumped her forehead against the window. What kind of self-centered ass was she? Jon had no less at stake than she did.

“I’m sorry, Jon. Yes, they’re fine. The detective has a Watchman stationed at your apartment complex just in case.” Jon tugged her captive hand up to drop a kiss on the back. His beard was a ticklish counterpoint to the softness of his lips. The casual intimacy of the gesture made her heart flutter.

“It’s ok. You’ve got a lot on your mind.” The silence that followed was a warmer one. Daenerys groped for conversation.

“How long has it been since you’ve been to the cabin?”

“I came north for Bran’s nameday, but that was at Winterfell. The cabin . . . hm, it’s been six, seven years? Since before my dad died.” Daenerys felt a pang. Orphans, the both of them. Ned Stark’s death had been all over the news, but Daenerys couldn’t remember the details.

“Was he ill?” she asked. A muscle fired in Jon’s jaw.

“Brain aneurysm. He died on route to hospital.” The suddenness of it was couched in the abrupt sentence. Much like her own father’s death by violence. Like Barry.

“I’m so sorry, Jon.” He gave an uncomfortable shrug and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

“It’s ok. It was a good trip. The last time we were all together. Sansa came home for the weekend, Arya had just graduated and was headed to uni, Robb brought Margaery and her brothers, Bran was finally finished with physical therapy and Rickon won a sailing medal on the lake.” Daenerys blinked in surprised pleasure.

“Rickon sails? What type?”

“Uh I’m not really sure. A fast one?” Daenerys giggled at Jon’s aggrieved expression.

“I sail too. Does she have a cabin? Is she designed to sail on open water?” In the greenish light of the dashboard, a trace of a bemused smile graced Jon’s face.

“I think Rickon’s boat is . . . sloopy?” Daenerys snorted.

“Sloopy?” Laughter embroidered her voice. Jon grinned and offered a one-shouldered shrug.

“I don’t know anything about boats.”

“Does he still sail?”

“Not as much. His mother has him enrolled in one of those prep schools for college.”

“Is this the same stepmother who denied you your inheritance?” Daenerys asked. Another uncomfortable shrug was her answer.

“The same,” he said. Daenerys kicked herself. The stepmother was a touchy subject. She couldn’t imagine what it had been like growing up as a motherless boy despised by the only female role model left in his life. Chewing on her lower lip, she offered a tepid apology.

“Don’t sweat it. I’m used to dealing with her,” Jon said, squeezing her hand. Daenerys stroked his knuckle with her thumb. Jon negotiated another turn.

“We’re here at last.”

The pitted concrete road gave way to a smooth asphalt drive. ‘Cabin’ was apparently a relative term. A two-story log structure lorded over neatly manicured grounds. A balcony wrapped around the second floor. Daenerys looked around slack-jawed as the two of them parked and walked up the drive. The lake was a sheet of black glass roughly a hundred yards from the house. Threads of mist clung to the ground. The air smelled of crisp pine and lake water. Insects chirped and far away, she heard the hoot of an owl. The cool peace of it soaked into her soul.

“So, the ‘cabin,’ huh?” she said, framing the operative word in air quotes. Jon cracked open the fake rock holding the spare key, side-eyeing her with a raised brow.

“Is there a problem, ‘Dany Steele?’”

Daenerys snorted.

“Fair point.”

The door creaked open and Jon flicked on the light. Daenerys trailed after Jon as he moved toward the kitchen, drinking it in. Warm blond wood floors, exposed beams overhead, soft lighting, gleaming granite countertops in the kitchen . . . the understated beauty soothed her ragged edges. She turned at the sound of Jon’s low curse.

“What is it?”

“Robb and Margaery. They stocked the place for us, and they uh . . . went a little overboard,” he said, riffling through the fridge, “filet mignon with truffle butter, roasted asparagus, lobster, turtle soup, chocolate covered strawberries--” The subtext was clear: decadent food for a romantic getaway. Daenerys bit back a rush of surprised pleasure. Even if it was meant in a teasing manner, it was a tacit approval from Jon’s brother.

“I told them all we needed some food and clothes. Typical,” he said dryly. Daenerys chewed on her lower lip. In the heat of passion, he claimed her as his. In the cool of parting, he asked her on a date. Why is he so irritated now? Breaking the silence, she cleared her throat.

“Mm, clean clothes sound wonderful. I think I’ll take a shower,” she said. Jon took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. His expression softened.

“Of course. The master is on the second floor, last door on the left.”

The rest of the house was as rustically chic with polished hardwood floors, stained glass windows, and glass doors leading to the balcony garbed in room-darkening curtains. The large bed beckoned, smelling faintly of laundry detergent. How sweet, they thought to change the linens. Shopping bags on the dresser bore a post-it note with ‘Daenerys’ written in looping feminine script. Daenerys peered inside.

“‘Overboard’ is right,” she said under her breath. Inside was a heap of blouses, sweaters, jeans, socks, sneakers, heels, and a tangle of what could only be described as slutty lingerie. A flush washed over her. A note was pinned to a sheer black lace bra:

Daenerys,

I got you a couple different sizes. I hope our Jonno is treating you right. Robbie and I would be delighted to have you both out at Highgarden once all this mess is dealt with.

Warm Regards,

Margaery

Daenerys breathed a soft laugh, clutching the note and bra to her chest. A giddy rush burst in her chest. How surreal could things get? She was on the run for her life from a shadow human trafficking organization, she’d been swept up in the arms of her god-like masseur-turned-bodyguard Jon Snow, and now Margaery Tyrell—an award-winning actress—was buying her lingerie. Daenerys plucked her favorites from the bag of goodies and hurried to the bathroom.

Twin vanities in granite countertops, rustic sconces over the large oval mirror, a faint tang of cleaning chemicals. Robb and Margaery really had thought of everything. The shower boasted two shower heads, the walls made up of grey river rock. Blissfully hot water undid the knots in her muscles. The nature of her life and work made finding female friends difficult, she thought as she shampooed and scrubbed. Even Missy who she considered her closest friend was her masseur at first. So the thought that someone like Margaery Tyrell would be interested in her relationship with Jon was an odd one. Cherishing her crush on Jon, it was easy to spin a fantasy of making their leisurely way south. Stopping at charming bed and breakfasts on the way, taking a barge down the Mander, a wine tour of the Reach district . . .

She stepped out of the shower and toweled off, taking special care to comb and moisturize and primp with all the lovely products Margaery left for her. Ah, the silky glide of high-end moisturizer. It felt good to blow her hair dry until it fell in a fluffy silver cloud around her face. The lingerie was she chose was robin’s egg blue stretchy lace panties and matching bra. Daenerys smiled coyly at her reflection. In between all the madness of being on the run, they hadn’t discussed little things like Jon’s favorite color. Would he like it?

Belting the sash of a terry cloth robe, she saw the heap of her discarded clothes. A thrift store shirt and bloodstained jeans. Stained with Barry’s blood. The happy bubble popped with startling violence. The cost was too high. Already an innocent woman had been violated and killed, then Barry, not to mention the countless people—including Jon—put in harm’s way after the attack in King’s Landing.

“Am I really worth all this?” she asked her steam-blurred reflection. The shadows in her violet eyes held no answers. A soft rap on the door made her start.

“Come in,” Daenerys said, clutching the folds of the robe tight to her chest. Jon appeared in the doorway, his curly hair damp. His dark eyes were fathomless behind the lenses of his glasses. The plain grey t-shirt stretched taut over the bulk of his shoulders, athletic shorts showed off the length thigh and calf. He really was more beautiful than any man had a right to be.

“Do you uh, have everything you need?” he asked. Daenerys hid a rush of hurt. When he suggested the master, she assumed they would be sharing a bed. But maybe time to cool off is what they needed. After hearing about Barry, gods knew she felt depressed and clingy. Not a good look for her.

“Yes, thank you,” she said. Cool and polite, she thought, inwardly congratulating herself. Jon lingered in the doorway, cracking his knuckles one at a time. A nervous habit, she’d noticed.

“Are you hungry? It’s probably a crime in culinary circles, but I could nuke some of the steak.” Daenerys grinned at the weak joke.

“I’m fine, just tired.”

“Right. Me too.”

A short, uncomfortable silence.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.”

It wasn’t until he turned to leave that her thin bravado gave way. As inviting as the bed looked, the thought of the long hours until dawn with nothing but her thoughts to occupy her made her stomach clench. That, and she’d gotten far too used to the sound of Jon’s heartbeat lulling her to sleep.

“Jon,” she said. The naked hope in his face calmed her worries.

“Stay. Please,” she whispered. Jon exhaled a breath and gave her a relieved smile.

“Of course. I just didn’t want to impose . . .”

“Impose? Are you joking? We’re standing in your family’s cabin and I’m wearing clothes your brother’s girlfriend bought for me. If anyone is imposing, then it’s me,” she said. Jon closed the distance between them and cradled her cheek.

“You’re worth it,” Jon assured her. Daenerys felt a big, stupid smile stretch her face. She turned into his hand and kissed his palm, tasting salt. A shy silence fell between them as they turned down the bed and drew the curtains. Daenerys slid into the bed with a happy sigh. Cool sheets over a downy mattress and a heap of pillows. Better than simple creature comforts was the underlying release of tension. Here the two of them were safe. Safe and hidden in their own private paradise. Jon’s gaze wandered over her with a familiar sleepy heat.

“I like the clothes,” he whispered huskily, trailing a knuckle over the lacy strap of her bra. Daenerys gave him a coy smile.

“Really? Does it give you any ideas?” she said. Jon’s hand disappeared beneath the duvet.

“Lots of fun ideas,” he said with a wicked smile.

#fp37 fic #jonerys #snowstorm #the oasis #massuer!Jon #CEO!Daenerys

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