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caltropspress · 9 months

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RAPS + CRAFTS #15: Duncecap

1. Introduce yourself. Past projects? Current projects?

Hey, I’m Duncecap. I've been writing and producing hip hop music since I was 15. I've also been shooting and editing videos since I was a kid.

You may have heard some of my projects released via Backwoodz Studioz (miserable then, Go Climb a Tree). You may also know me from crazy performances in NYC with the group we are the karma kids. Some of my albums from that time are Human Error and Rapping is for Idiots.

In terms of upcoming music - exciting new stuff is coming! One forthcoming album is chiefly self-produced, one of them produced entirely by Steel Tipped Dove.

Also I have a “secret” side project - experimental ambient music under the name Depression Naps. That will probably come out this year. I need to figure the release out ASAP though.

2. Where do you write? Do you have a routine time you write? Do you discipline yourself, or just let the words come when they will? Do you typically write on a daily basis?

I usually write on the move; I’m listening to music, I have thoughts, and need something to do - it goes together perfectly. I write on walks, taking the subway, in a car. Physically moving is definitely not a rule though. I also write while procrastinating at home on the couch, or sitting with a coffee outside, in a diner is fun, etc.

No routine time per se - I’m ready to write on a moment's notice and usually do it that way randomly throughout the day, every day.

3. What’s your medium—pen and paper, laptop, on your phone? Or do you compose a verse in your head and keep it there until it’s time to record?

I used to write in a pocket-sized notebook all the time. Writing on paper really sets some immediate boundaries with space and even the speed which you can physically write. Lyrics get crossed out then circled or rewritten and crossed out again. Sometimes you can’t read what you wrote.

Now I write on my phone. It’s faster, more legible, and with infinite space - but it’s easier to get carried away with overwriting. I’ll drop anything to write an idea down. I’m somewhat of a compulsive idea hoarder, I don’t want to let a good idea pass.

I would love to be able to be the type of person that could fully write songs in my head but I got a lot of other things going on in there too and I get distracted easily. Freestyling is fun but I’m gonna need to write down anything I want to remember.

4. Do you write in bars, or is it more disorganized than that?

For most of my life I would write bars in long sentences, but in the past couple years I’ve noticed I’ve been breaking up my lines into halves or down to single words rather than bars. I call it my 'poetic style' on account of how it looks on the page but also how my delivery changes when I write this way. It helps me get more granular conceptually and with the rhymes too. I enjoy the end result and my voicing in that style. Projects I’ve written in this way are Genuinely Sad Songs and miserable then and the new stuff.

Writing can get pretty disorganized regardless of medium too, but I try to run a tight ship. Disorganized writing in a digital space might look like several versions of the same lyrics doc or alternative lyrics in the same space as the original one.

5. How long into writing a verse or a song do you know it’s not working out the way you had in mind? Do you trash the material forever, or do you keep the discarded material to be reworked later?

Depends on the strength of the original writing, the context, and how much time I want to spend editing it.

Sometimes it’s 4 bars in or less I might know. Sometimes, there’s one line in an otherwise great verse that I’m unsure about and everything past that one line feels off. Sometimes I write a whole verse and return to it thinking, “Maybe this isn’t the angle.”

Digitally, I never throw anything away. At this point I’ve embraced it, although it does weigh me down a little bit. I would love to cull the “good stuff” and start fresh in my notes app, but at this point it might take longer than it’s worth.

Occasionally, a verse gets lost in the ether or I cut a song and I can reuse the verse elsewhere or break it down for parts. Most of the time what I write is tailored to a special concept or nuanced emotional expression. It gets tricky to go back and plug old writing into those pieces and I tend to start over in that case.

That isn’t to say that I don’t find old verses I can match up to new songs - but it doesn’t always feel good. It shouldn’t matter honestly, but something in me says: start fresh.

Though looking through searchable results in my notes app can jog my brain and get the gears turning - it’s like a mood board but with elements I created.

6. Have you engaged with any other type of writing, whether presently or in the past? Fiction? Poetry? Playwriting? If so, how has that mode influenced your songwriting?

Poetry - yes. It very much influences it. This is where my writing started as a pre-teen and I still write poetry and infuse it into my music.

Screenwriting - yes (I want to write more scripts).

Fiction - as a child I did write stories pretty frequently and had a bunch of little one page stories with cover art and stuff. The last long form narrative prose I wrote was a kind of memoir in college while locked out of my dorm. I wrote it all on a Blackberry phone.

I journal too when things are rough and want to reexamine something I know I will want to reflect on in my life. A lot of times in the moment I’m experiencing it, most likely in a way to detach.

I’m trying to think how these different mediums might specifically affect my songwriting. Poetry and journaling, for sure. The only thing I can think about for screenwriting is sometimes I will write dialogue in my songs but I don’t really clarify it as such. It’s more like internal dialogue. Sometimes I dub or adlib those lines if it’s crucial to communicate that it's another character besides mine in a song. Those moments of pseudo dialogue reminds me of the flow you can enter when writing a scene in screenwriting software - so maybe that's the link.

7. How much editing do you do after initially writing a verse/song? Do you labor over verses, working on them over a long period of time, or do you start and finish a piece in a quick burst?

For me, it matters the song I’m writing.

Sometimes I will write a verse about literally where I’m writing or I will write a song as a way to work myself through an emotional event. These kinds of writings I try to preserve for the integrity of that moment in time and where I was physically and/or emotionally.

For more pre-conceived and intentional concepts I will painstakingly edit them until they feel right. “Did I structure this in the most elegant way possible?” “Am I communicating the concept clearly and cleverly?” Etc.

Those same kinds of quality controlling conditions happen regardless of how I’m writing, but there’s a bit more forgiveness in favor of earnestness when I get more personal on tracks.

8. Do you write to a beat, or do you adjust and tweak lyrics to fit a beat?

Both, it depends on the situation and how I’m feeling.

A lot of stuff on miserable then was written as poetry first and then fit to beats. Same goes for the Genuinely Sad Songs EP. I would also record freestyles to those beats and then decode the nonsense lyrics and tones or use the rhyme patterns I established.

Most other times I would say that I write to the beat while taking some breaks listening so it doesn’t get too repetitive.

9. What dictates the direction of your lyrics? Are you led by an idea or topic you have in mind beforehand? Is it stream-of-consciousness? Is what you come up with determined by the constraint of the rhymes?

Many times I write to sort myself out, so it’s stream of consciousness while I’m overanalyzing the very stream of consciousness I’m writing. This is where I get more introspective on songs. I’ll be led by trying to find an “answer” to what I’m feeling while making it structured and rhyme.

Sometimes I look around the notes app for thought starters and when navigating that labyrinth I’ll be reminded of concepts I meant to write about later. I'll match up themes to new production to see if I can make my life a little easier if a theme or lyric doesn’t come to mind inherently for a song. This ends up being very satisfying since the piece ends up being planned out a bit more but with minimal effort.

Rhyming does force some rules on your writing but you get used to navigating that. I wouldn’t say that rhyming would constrain a song from being made but it does make creating a song more of a puzzle - which is a lot of the fun.

10. Do you like to experiment with different forms and rhyme schemes, or do you keep your bars free and flexible?

I like to experiment with rhyming. I get bored with keeping the same rhyme scheme for a whole verse while other times it’s the thing that drives me. When you have the same scheme for a whole verse you get to play with the audience's expectations. If you're rhyming and the person you're with finishes the line for you - for me, it can be a sign that you're too predictable of a rhymer. But if you want to be optimistic, you can see that as a sign that you are a good songwriter. It really depends on what you are trying to accomplish at the time.

Sometimes rhyming doesn’t cross my mind at all and other times I’m trying to rhyme each word in a sentence to its parallel word in the subsequent line. Other times my lyrics are more melody driven and that takes a burden off of rhyme all together, or at least modifies expectation.

I have always been fascinated by rhyme and its predictability. I love hearing wild tongue twisters that I still can’t guess the ending rhymes for. Rhyming is such a unique tool that you can subvert expectations very easily with. I find myself using an A B A B rhyme pattern pretty frequently. It’s a nice way to balance the “shock value” of non-rhyming but also getting rewarded with a rhyme. It’s also a good fall back if you are freestyling and forget to rhyme.

11. What’s a verse you’re particularly proud of, one where you met the vision for what you desire to do with your lyrics?

Here’s a couple songs where the concepts were pre-determined and I’m proud of how the final product met that initial vision:

“Under the Hood” (feat. Fielded) || Go Climb a Tree

I had the title and knew I wanted to write about how things in life are many times antagonistically assembled or precariously produced - and then presented as clean, polished or well-thought out products. And how fragile it all is even after it’s released.

“Well oiled machine in the shippiest shape, / One domino is all the difference it takes.”

“Definitely” (feat. E L U C I D & Quelle Chris) || Rapping is for Idiots

I asked them to write as busy/unreachable rappers and I was supposed to be the desperate collaborator. Everybody nailed it and the video came out great as well. It’s extra gratifying to piece together a concept track with multiple folks on a record.

In terms of one verse to point to - there’s this verse I’m especially proud of from this upcoming Dove album. It hits hard but is also very on-point conceptually. It’s an example of one of those titles or concepts I’ve had floating around in my notes app for years and then it finally fell into place when I heard the right beat at the right time. The song is about the over-abundance of, well, everything and how overwhelming life can be in the current zeitgeist.

12. Can you pick a favorite bar of yours and describe the genesis of it?

I always used to have this question answered but the answer would change every year or so when I wrote a new project. I use writing as a means of self-discovery and the growth is never over. I don't think it'll ever be easy for me to settle on a favorite lyric because as soon as one is out of my system, I potentially don't relate to it anymore if it’s married to a specific emotional incident. Instead I go, “Oh, yeah I did a good job explaining how I felt at the time,” but it doesn’t feel as electric anymore to me in the present.

Despite that, I’ll answer the question. Here are some old standouts, I wouldn’t say I have a favorite though:

“Being self aware is not the same as trying to do something [about it]” (Bad Breath [’Toid Up])

The genesis being to have a way to remind myself and others that just because you know you are a little fucked up doesn’t mean you are actually being productive or healthy about it. Worst-case scenario it’s a negligible position to be enabling yourself but with a false sense of security.

The song “Rocks in Your Shoes” is mostly a free-write but has bars I’m proud of that satisfy both an introspective/punchy appetite:

“I talk like a parrot with a TV in the room”

“I like the way my mouth dances when I spit a tune, / My bars are choreography for my lips to move”

I dunno!

13. Do you feel strongly one way or another about punch-ins? Will you whittle a bar down in order to account for breath control, or are you comfortable punching-in so you don’t have to sacrifice any words?

Do I whittle a bar down for breath control? Yes. That usually comes in the initial writing phase but doesn’t stop there.

A lot of people, including myself, will practice their flows under their breath if they are in public or a room full of people. It’s a little odd to go full volume in those situations. Personally, I’ve found that practicing quietly like that can be misleading when it comes time to record.

Recording a demo is important. Most of the time I will face the reality of my breath control in these recordings then listen back and whittle down some more or change phrasings. Or I learn I hate a lyric the instant I’m forced to say it out loud or in front of people. The actual recording after the demo is always much more confident and polished. I either try to demo first or perform it live first before I record. Sometimes you write the verse and immediately record and land the first take, punching those always feels sacrilegious but you gotta do what you gotta do.

I usually try to deliver verses in one take when I record. In my head, if you are planning to perform your material live anyway, it makes sense to learn it as you will perform it live.

That being said - sometimes stylistically you might want to punch a lot or the take was perfect except for one moment. I’m more than happy to punch in those instances. I used to be more stubborn about not punching-in but when you are working with other people’s time it doesn't always make sense to deliver things in one take but it’s usually very satisfying.

14. What non-hiphop material do you turn to for inspiration? What non-music has influenced your work recently?

Musically - ambient music! I have always listened to “relaxing music” since I was a kid because I have always had anxiety. As I’ve gotten older that expanded to more experimental music, noisy music. Field recordings and ambient tones have been very inspiring to me the past couple of years.

I've been working towards bridging the gap of my “beats” and sonic experimentations for a little while and will be releasing a new ambient project this year (2023). I also recently produced an EP for someone while practicing this same type of experimental production processes.

Outside of music I would say film! I use a lot of filmmaking language in my writing because that's just how my brain works. It’s also a clinical way to describe things visually.

Also, I’m inspired a lot from my surroundings and experiences. I try to pull songs from my life and the characters I see or interact with. You can turn anything into poetry and I try to.

15. Writers are often saddled with self-doubt. Do you struggle to like your own shit, or does it all sound dope to you?

Dude. Self-doubt all day. Imposter syndrome all day. “I suck.” etc. I usually briefly fall in love with whatever new music I’m making and then get more distant to it when I begin something new. Recently, I was head over heels with a new song, then a day later my certainty of its quality was subverted by my silly brain.

As I get older I’m learning to appreciate my music more. I used to be the guy to delete music after publishing it but that isn’t sustainable nor fair to listeners. Combating self-doubt will always be a journey.

16. Who’s a rapper you listen to with such a distinguishable style that you need to resist the urge to imitate them?

All of them? Sometimes I hear a beat and think of people I know that could potentially feature on the track with me - or even famous rappers - but then I decide to have no features on the song. In those cases I worry that I might sound like whoever I thought of initially. When that happens I share a demo with friends and it’s usually just in my head.

I’m not sure this has happened to you, but there’s those moments where you strike gold while writing and realize, “Oh…this is just [famous song]”. I’m paranoid of that happening. Sometimes I won’t listen to new projects immediately if I'm already in the middle of writing something - that way it doesn’t rub off on me subconsciously.

Funny enough though, I think hip-hop is pretty forgiving of that kind of thing in the right context. So many artists pay tribute by flipping famous lines or flows and putting them in their own songs.You don't see nearly as many cover songs in the genre as in others but see more reworkings, references, and shout-outs.

I mean if you are biting someone's style completely that’s a no-no, but I’m not concerned about that happening.

17. Do you have an agenda as an artist? Are there overarching concerns you want to communicate to the listener?

My goal is to be financially stable off of video and music alone.

In terms of projects, collaborations, etc. - I will always want to work with talented people and especially ones that have vision or challenge me to think outside the box. Connecting with other artists will always be a big part of music for me.

Content-wise, I want to keep experimenting but also take myself more seriously and write less about emotional/personal issues as my default. Mental health issues are important for me and listeners tell me my words have helped them. That’s why I still do write this way and partly why I started writing that way too. If any of my experiences and learnings can help people in the same spot it’s a win and very rewarding. It’s just as validating for me to hear people relate to my writing as I’m sure it might be for a listener to hear someone describe how they feel.

I have always been an impulsive writer and I imagine that won’t change. I can say, though, that the more I work on myself the more my growth will reflect in my writing.

RAPS + CRAFTS is a series of questions posed to rappers about their craft and process. It is designed to give respect and credit to their engagement with the art of songwriting. The format is inspired, in part, by Rob McLennan’s 12 or 20 interview series.

Photo credit: P Squared

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youresupervalid · 6 months

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Hey tumbr i need some criticism

So ive been doing some writing and id like to know what yall think of it ^^

The clink of a cup rings throughout the restaurant as it hits the coaster. The one placing the cup is Jubilee. “BZZZZT” the piece in their ear rang throughout their head.

“Hey Juby baby!!!! Let me just say that you did an exquisite job on the last run”

You could hear the smirk he was wearing.

This dickweed really has lost the plot. A guttural groan escapes their throat.

“Oh what's wrong J-”

“Just tell me what you want from me… and don't call me Juby!”

“Oh come on hun you're no fun… Alright look there's this little place a little north of great Eiston,

It's the corpse of an ancient empire.'' He says this as if he's trying to sell them on the idea.

“Now supposedly all the history and value has been left untouched.” again the complexion in his voice is one of a door to door salesman.

“Heh. you talk about it as if you actually care about the history and you're not just gonna sell it off without a care in the world” as they say this he scoffs, and a ding plays in their head as the location is added to their database.

A low pitched hum plays as he hangs up. Jubilee quickly finishes their food and heads up to the counter. Almost slamming their hand against the wood”

Almost in a whisper they speak “Hey the food was great… Alright look i was sent here to kill the chef as payment for what she did to Aoron”

The cashier's eyes widened with fear. “Butttttt ill count the food as payment enough” they pull out a piece of paper and write down an address.

“Give her this” written was the address of someone who had helped Jubilee get away from their past life.

If you asked Jubilee why they did that, a consistent answer is not something you should expect, because truthfully they did not know. The chef was a bad person, yes, but so was the one who contracted jubilee. Both saving and killing her would be bad karma.

They turn around and leave the restaurant without even a single complaint from anyone inside.

Jubilee would be walking to Great Eiston as vehicles are for people with money, not someone who's just barely getting by.

They instantly set off. Bringing with them all that they had… which was not much but they cherished every item in their possession. And off they went searching for an ancient empire lost to time.

The scurrying of frogs can be heard as a boot hits the ground.

“Who builds their empire in a fucking swamp” they ask themself. Jubilee tends to talk, argue, and question themself, no clue why they do it, they're just like that.

Murky, grimy, salty, smelly, all things I did not want to be surrounded by today…

Every step produced a sludgy squelching sound from beneath their boots. Until eventually they stood upon a pathway leading towards Great Eiston.

As they step foot through the gate of Eiston, an almost…. Sultry smell hits their nose, it's a pleasant yet weird shift from the scent just outside the walls. A city of great magnitude, everything promised in tales of this place were present and yet…. It's so soulless and empty, not empty in the way of people, there were almost too many of those, and yet…. Just empty.

But they did not care, they were just thankful they had made it inside before the sun began to set.

They had never really ran into the creatures of the night, they were always a little too careful as to not be out that late, however they had heard tales and stories of the horrors after dark, and somehow they just knew to stay away from the darkness.

They had no idea where they would hold up for the night, they just hoped they'd find an all night bar or something and just wait out the night, and that's exactly what they found.

Walking in they spot a free seat next to an old bloke and a… interesting creature side by side. The creature was very pale in complexion, with semi long hair and a bow in it.

As they sit down the guy pipes up. “You got nowhere to stay?”

Jubilee's head basically locked onto him at that moment, with confusion in their eyes.

“You dont look like a local… we have no where to stay either heh” he said in an almost regretful voice

“The names Hansen” he smiles, staring at the beer on the counter “what's yours?” he holds out his hand for a hand shake as he asks

“J-jubilee” they say in a shaky voice shaking his hand.

A small squeak type sound escapes the creature's throat. “Oh it likes your name heh” he awkwardly scratches his head.

“Whats its na-” he cuts me off before i can finish “Dung Bung… or thats what i call it” he looks at Dung Bung “and it seems to like the name so it's kinda stuck”

“Here let me order you a drink” he says as he looks up at my face “o-oh….”

Jubilee had a screen where their face should be, some may simply mistake it for a mask but upon further investigation it would be clear that it was no mask.

“How did that…” he cut himself off nervously.

“I.. dont wanna talk about it.” they awkwardly say twiddling their thumbs with regret and sadness in their voice

“Fair enough!” he thinks for a minute…

Jubilee shows him their hand knowing what was on their mind, built into their arm was a capsule injector. Hansen instantly understood that that's how they ate and drank.

He picked up the beer he had ordered a while ago and took a long swig, as he clanked the cup upon the table once more he joked “I don't think they sell capsule beer here” he chuckles a little.

They snicker in response. “Alcohol doesn't work on me anyway” they say in response.

“Oh well thats shit” he says chuckling as he takes another swig

“So how did you two meet?” they ask gesturing towards dung bung

“Oh man that's a long long story man…. Hey tell you what, ill make you a copy of my diary if you really wanna know” he says half joking.

“Ill have to take you up on that!” they say as they start gasping and almost fall to the floor.

Hasen and Dung look over as jubilee as they fall to ground grasping at their chest as they try to pull something out of their pocket, soon they pull a capsule out and shove it into their arm and inject it. Once they do so their breathing slowly returns to normal.

Hansen helps them stand back up. “Hey dude are you alright?”

“Y-yeah… it's just…” they sigh “My body starts to reject all this” they gesture to their face and arm “if i don't take that medicine every now and then” they look down at their feet almost disappointed “i must have forgotten today…”

They look up at Hansen, as dung bung wraps its hands around Jubilee in a big hug. its big jumper is so soft. Jubilee started to cry… or whatever constitutes crying for them. They spent the night in that bar, talking with Hansen and Dung.

Eventually morning arose, and they felt something new… they almost didn't want to leave, they inquired with Hansen about their feelings.

“You made some friends,” he answers wearing an almost sad smile “oh here” he hands them a book “told ya i would” he chuckles.

They look down at the book, the front cover reads ‘The diary of a nobody’ seems a little too humble if you asked them but oh well. They look up at Hansen and go to hug him, he reciprocates with a big warm hug.

Jubilee would stay if they could… but they had to go and so did Hansen, their paths were in opposite directions. “Hey,” he piped up, passing them a paper. “Those are my digits, message when some time wont you?” they nod.

“Well… goodbye” they say, as they turn around and head north. They were never good with goodbyes.

Jubilee's whole character basically changed back there… they had never met someone who was so nice to them. They look down at the book and paper before slipping them into their bag.

The sludgy sounds as their boots hit the ground had returned as they set off out of the soulless city and back into the murky swamp.

“BZZZT” the sound of the piece in their ear startels them.

“Ayy lee, how are you going out there hun?”

Fucks sake he does not give up

“Hey atsou…. Please stop calling me hun” they say in a tone similar to the action of slamming your head against a wall.

“I’m almost at the ruins” they sigh.

“Oh good to hear…. Oh shit gotta go " a low humming “bzzt”’ plays as he hangs up.

The glimmering of a once great empire shines just within their vision, something that truly would have brought many to their knees back in its time. Such a glimmer fades the second the fullness of these ruins enters your view.

Old, decrepit, smelly, and dirty, are all descriptive words for this place. and yet not a single one fully encompasses the vast disgust this place entails.

He never told me this place was a waste dump, that dickweed.

And that it was, a waste dump, bags and bags of trash strewn about with no rhyme or reason. Slimy, sticky, gooey, none of these words can fully describe the vibe of that place.

If you thought that simply being in a swamp was bad enough, you truly were not ready for what awaited you just beyond the gate.

An all encompassing smell of rot, and god knows what else, attacks your nostrils the second you get even 10 metres within range of this ghastly place.

Jubilee notices two figures moving just beyond some rubble, they go to duck behind a bench beside the pavement, and observe the figures.

The one on the left had a tall muscular build with long messy red hair. She wore a maroon turtleneck jumper with armor and leather straps on top.

Whilst the one on the right had a shorter slightly less muscular build with short-ish parted hair with a light pink on one side and a light purple on the other. She wore a shirt with the sleeves ripped off and a sleek black long sleeved shirt underneath, and had armor on top also.

They were chatting whilst plucking at the rubble until they eventually pulled out an old book. Jubilee thought to themself how much they would get for bringing such a book back.

their thought was interrupted as one of them started approaching their location. They panic and decide to just stand up and deal with it.

The shorter one jumps back and screams a little “w-who are you…. Are you a raider???”

The talker one buts in “Tom… we’re raider you idiot”

The shorter one whose name seemed to be Tom was blushing, and so was the taller one although you couldn't really tell through their darker complexion.

Jubilee had run into other raiders in the past but those raiders were triggerhappy and not very talkative.

“Alright to business. What are you doing here?” The tall one asks this in a manner that seems like they are trying to be intimidating but she is very much failing.

“I could ask you the exact same thing” they say in a jokey tone whilst having their hand ready to grab the iron on their hip in case anything happens.

Everyone goes quiet until the short one just starts laughing. “Hah told you that wouldn't work Wof”

Wof begins to laugh as well “well stranger, we’re here looking for anything to sell off… and i assume you're here for the same thing?”

Jubilee nods their heads. “Well” Wof says with an energetic tone in their voice “I got dibs on that store over there” they say jokingly “Just don't go where we are going and we won't go where you're going” she says smiling.

The short one is already off into one of the buildings looking for value.

Jubilee once again nods and begins to head off to a building, and begins to scavenge through the trash, and filth.

#eepus #eepus writing

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xmint-conditionx · 3 years

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tongue tied | myg

pairing: yoongi x reader, f2l

w/c: 3.5k

summary: you've been best friends with yoongi for almost a decade, and you're hopelessly in love with him. he's the most important person in your life, and you don't want to mess that up, so you can never be anything more... right?

written as a response to a request from the old blog -- the requestor was @yoongi--enthusiast; thanks again for your request, i loved doing it!!! "I had an idea... something based off of the song “tongue tied” with yoongi. I feel like it would be super soft with soft smut... I just think it would be nice to read so can you please wright it 🥺👉👈"

tags/cw: 18+ please, smut, outdoor sex, overall a little angsty but super cute too

a/n: i did not know that there was a song called tongue tied by marshmello before i wrote this so... i hope the person who requested this didn’t mean that song because I wrote this drabble over the grouplove song lmaooo but anyway, here goes! thanks luv, enjoy! also reposted from the old blog!!

Yoongi’s laugh is so beautiful. It’s rare, so when you see it, you soak up everything you can about it. The way his eyes crinkle up into crescent moons, the way his lips curl back putting his gummy smile on bright display. You can swear you see his eyes sparkle.

You are in love with him. You are in love with your best friend.

He makes loving him such an easy thing to do; bringing you into his inner world, showing you the sweet and warm center he conceals from everyone else. The way he looks at you, the way he says your name, the way he pouts when he wants a back scratch, all of those little things that make him who he is only deepen your infatuation with him.

You’re with him again this Friday night, making the drive to Bom’s house. It’s been a long week for the both of you; he’s been wrapped up in producing a track and you’ve been nose deep in college textbooks. His track is completed, and your exams are over. It’s safe to say that you both could use a good break.

It’s the end of the spring semester and the weather is going to be gorgeous tonight. The racing summer breeze coming through the open car windows is exhilarating. The sun is setting, and the warm evening light on Yoongi’s dewy skin makes him appear absolutely radiant as he navigates the highway.

You’re just listening to fun little summer jams as you speed off toward the city’s suburbs. Ones with funky little basslines that are easy to groove and sing along to. Ones that make you shout and laugh into the rushing wind. Ones that make you drink in the moment you’re having with Yoongi; ones that make you soak up all of his joy.

And when he steals a sly look your way, one hand still on the top of the steering wheel, you can swear your heart stops.

You’ve loved him as long as you can remember really knowing him. Since you were both 12, bonding over games of tag and basketball and the spilling of secrets to each other. You’d sit beneath the big tree in his backyard and share the snacks you’d bought at the corner store. He’d always let you have the last chocolate.

The only secret you’ve ever kept from Yoongi is the matter of your infatuation, and you are pretty resolute in keeping it that way.

He is the single most important person in your life. He had been there with you through it all; when your parents split up at 13, when your dad got you your first car at 15, when your long time boyfriend cheated on you at 16, when your dream college denied you at 17, when you got a full ride scholarship to a smaller university outside of the city right after that, when you were drugged at a house party at 20, when you were diagnosed with depression at 21, and when you were accepted into your masters program at 22.

You needed him, and because of that, you could never tell him.

You pull into the gates that surround Bom’s neighborhood. Her parents are pretty wealthy, so they live on a golf course. As you pull up into the driveway, you see some other students milling about, catching Frisbee. There’s Eunha, Ireum, Ji-Ah, and Miyeun that you recognize from some of your classes, but there are a few more that you’ve never met.

After a few rounds of drinks and a few lost games of flip cup, you all head outside to the back patio with all of your schoolwork from the year. Bom turns on the bluetooth speaker and sets it on the railing. You take in the night air and gaze up at the sky, wishing there was a shooting star to wish upon.

“Alright, everyone,” Bom begins, “essays and lab reports first, then tests, then miscellaneous homework.” Yoongi helps you dig through your stack to fish out the cursed papers. You all toss the stapled packages into the fire pit, one by one, each hitting with a soft thud. Once everyone has thrown their woes into the pit, Bom tops it with actual firewood and unceremoniously sets the whole lot of it on fire. You gaze into the center of the flame, watching your entire year catch fire. All the hours you spent doing that research project, all the disappointment when your group members wouldn’t follow through. Gone, like it never existed.

Yoongi’s holding your hand in his, and he’s busy drawing little circles with his thumb on your palm. Your head rests soundly on his shoulder, and you sigh into him, comfortable in where you are. The whole group piles in more papers, as you lament about the shitty professors and the shitty group projects and the shitty caf’ food and the shitty grades. Yoongi turns into you and nuzzles gently on your forehead. You feel his soft lips graze your temple, breath warm on your skin, tingles rising through your body, and you’re right where you want to be. Under the moon’s gaze with the person you love.

Before long, the breeze sends a chill through you that even the fire won’t remedy. Yoongi feels your shiver and unceremoniously removes his hoodie and puts it on over you, pulling up the hood and kissing your forehead. You always love when you wear his jackets; they surround you in his warmth, his smell. A smile plays across your lips until you notice Yoongi’s goosebumps.

“Hey,” you pout, “I don't wanna wear this if you’re gonna be cold.”

“I don’t wanna wear it if you’re gonna be cold,” he snaps back, smiling.

“Here,” you say, standing up from your deck chair. You take the step to get you to Yoongi’s chair, and sit in his lap. “This way we can both be warm, yeah?”

It takes him a second, but he wraps his arms firmly around you again, mumbling a “yeah, that’s fine” when you glance at him over your shoulder.

Your attention is called back to the group with Bom asks if you’re going to the Summer Romance Festival by the river next weekend. She’s been pushing you to get yourself out there more. The last time you were in a real relationship was high school, after all.

“I’d love to go; I hear they have the most beautiful fireworks display,” you start, “but I don’t think I will this year.”

“Well,” Bom says, “Why not?!”

“Because I don’t have a date, Bom!” you say, covering your face in the sweater paws you’ve made from Yoongi’s hoodie. “I don’t think I could find one in enough time.”

“Ya, just get Yoongi to go with you! You already do everything together anyway,” Eunha quips.

You notice that the steady rise and fall of Yoongi’s chest has stopped.

“Hey, you know we’re just friends, right Yoongi?” you look to him for backup.

The man nods, looking down and to the left.

“Okay,” Ireum speaks up, “In that case, do you want to go with me?”

“Wait, what?” you say.

“Do you want to go to the Summer Romance Festival with me? As a date?”

Yoongi tenses beneath you.

“Oh, I don’t know…” you breathe, “Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent. We can even get dinner before we go. Not too much, though. I’ll want to get us a treat from one of the dessert stalls.” Ireum says with a soft smile.

“Yeah,” you say, smiling back at him, “Okay. We’ll go together.”

Yoongi stirs beneath you. “Hey, can you get off of me?”

“What, why?” you pout.

“I said get off.”

“Yoongi, wh--”

He doesn’t wait for you to finish before he abruptly stands up, forcing you to catch yourself. When you look back at him, he’s walking toward the French doors that lead back into the house.

“Ya! What was that about?”

He keeps walking. You storm after him and slam the door, trapping you both inside.

“Yoongi, I’m talking to you! What’s your fucking problem?”

He whirs around.

“Oh, I have a problem?”

“Well, it sure seems like it.” you spit back, hands on your hips.

“Why don’t you go talk about it with your date, huh?” he says, gesturing out the window to Ireum. “Don’t you have some details to work out? He gonna pick you up? You gonna let him hold your hand? On your nice little extra special romantic date? I guess I’ll just fuck right off and leave you two alone, yeah? That’s what you want, cause we’re just friends and all.”

“Yoongi, we… are friends! You’re my best friend!”

“Did you ever for a second think that I could want more?”

“What?!”

“I fucking love you, Y/N! Isn’t it obvious?! I’ve loved you since the 7th grade. You remember when we played spin the bottle at Ha-joon’s house? Do you remember when you kissed me?”

“Yoongi…”

“No, let me finish. Do you remember the frat party we crashed junior year? Remember when we got up onto the roof and made out until we fell asleep? And then you weren't there when I woke up so I walked back to my dorm and then we just pretended it never happened? What the fuck was that, Y/N?!”

You reach for his arm, but he backs up, flinching away from you.

“I am so in love with you it hurts!”

“Yoongi.”

“But I guess if that guy can make you happy, then whatever,” he sighs.

“Yoongi.”

“Go on your little date and have fun and I’ll just go write some more goddamn songs about you--”

“Yoongi!”

He stills, pain flashing through his eyes.

“Yoongi,” you say quietly, easing toward him, “I had no idea. I left the roof to go inside and get you some water. When I came back, you were gone. You had been drinking a lot that night… and I felt really bad because… I thought I had taken advantage of you… Ever since I first kissed you at Ha-joon’s house, I wanted to do it again. And again. And, you looked so good that night and up on the roof when you were laughing about the quarterback I just… I couldn't hold myself back anymore. I thought surely you didn’t want to actually be kissing me.”

“Why the fuck would I have kissed you back, then?”

“You were drunk, and I--” you’re cut off when he grabs your wrist.“I have wanted to kiss you every time I’ve seen you since you first kissed me,” he says, glancing down at your lips. ”I want to kiss you right now.”

You take no time in closing the distance between the two of you, your lips crashing desperately. You’ve tasted his kiss before, but this time feels different. His hands are winding through your hair, pulling you deeper into his kiss. You moan against his mouth, and he responds with his tongue teasing your lips, asking for entry. You grant it, and he explores. One of his hands holds your jaw, the other still intertwined with your hair. His tongue runs along your bottom lip before he sucks it in, drawing out a small whimper from you. Taking his hand from your jaw, he runs it down your neck and décolleté and then down over your stomach and latches it on your hip, sinking his fingers into your skin. He gives your hair a small tug, just enough to break the kiss and expose your neck. He breaks off and trails kisses up your jawline and then onto your neck, speaking in between kisses.

“You have… no idea how… much I’ve… wanted to tell… you everything,” he breathes onto your neck, and you feel a heat pooling in your panties.

“Please, Yoongi…” you say as you begin to run one hand under his shirt. He stops kissing and looks up at you with the softest expression.

“What is it?” he asks as he grabs both of your hands in his, bringing one of them up to his mouth to sprinkle kisses along your fingers.

“You…” you begin and sigh, “you have no idea how much I want you.”

He stills.

“Are you sure? We don’t have to, I’m sorry, I just…” he trails off, eyes getting lost in the way his jacket is draped on your figure.

Him eyeing you up doesn’t make it any better.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” you say, eyes pleading up at him. “I’m tired of waiting.”

After a beat, he sighs.

“Neither of us are waiting another minute,” he says, landing a quick peck on your lips and going across the room to the couch, grabbing the throw blanket that rests on the arm.

“Come on, I have an idea,” he says, grabbing your arm and leading you out of the front door, across the street, through someone’s back yard until you reach the top of a hill on the side of a fairway. You watch as he scans the area, holding the blanket tight. His gaze lingers on two hills near the green of whatever hole this is, where there are a few more trees and hills to block you from the sightline of those second story windows. He looks at you, eyes asking the question. You smile and nod, and that’s all he needs.

He tugs your hand and you both go running down the fairway, laughing along the way. Once you reach your spot, he quickly puts down the blanket and lays on it. You’re still standing at his feet, hands fiddling with the ends of the jacket sleeves.

He smiles up at you and holds his arms up in your direction and says, “come here, beautiful,” while doing little grabby hands.

You slowly walk up to where he’s laying and sit on top of his hips, feeling how hard he already is. His hand rests on your hip underneath the fabric of his jacket, the other holding the side of your face.

“Let me see you,” he says with a tinge of whine in his voice, and that gives you an idea.

You reach under the still zipped jacket and fiddle around. Yoongi looks up at you befuddled, the corners of his lips turning down slightly as he tries to figure out what’s going on. When your hands emerge, one is holding your strapless bra and the other is holding the halter top you had been wearing. You can’t believe you managed to unzip the back by yourself.

You throw the garments to the side, and watch as understanding hits his face. His eyes glaze over and he licks his lips, clearly shaken up by your little trick.

He carefully dips his fingers below the waistband of your shorts and eases them down. You put your weight on him and give him a few kisses as he continues to move them down your legs. Once they too have been tossed to the side, you sit back up, lips red and swollen from the kiss.

He gently reaches up to the zipper of the jacket and begins to slowly pull it down, letting the cool night air in. You feel your nipples harden at the exposure to both the night air and Yoongi’s hungry eyes. He swallows and licks his lips as he runs his eyes over every new inch of you that is revealed. Memorizing your form, your perked nipples, the way your chest rises with each anxious breath.

He reaches back up to the collar and eases one shoulder of fabric off. You move to take the rest off despite the cold, but he stills your hand with his.

“Keep it on, please. I love seeing you wear my clothes,” Yoongi says, intertwining his fingers with yours.

You bring his hand up to your lips, pressing them against his knuckles as you slowly grind your still covered core on his length. He groans in frustration, his pants getting tighter. You let go of his hand and run your fingers up beneath his white cotton v-neck, his ab muscles flinching under your touch. You help him remove his shirt, taking in the way his pale skin shines under the moonlight.

Seeing you look at him makes his cock twitch in his pants, and you think it’s time to provide him some relief.

You scoot back and start to undo his belt, getting low and staring up at him through your lashes. His breath hitches when you make eye contact with him, and then it starts to pick up as you undo the button and zipper. You shimmy down the denim, but leave his black boxer-briefs where they are.

You come back up to the waistband after releasing his jeans, and you take the elastic in between your teeth. You tug them down with your teeth while your hands pull them on the sides. His erection springs free, and he sucks in a fast breath when his cock meets the cool air. You take the opportunity to let your warm breath ghost over his throbbing cock, coaxing a deep groan from Yoongi. He puts his hand to your cheek, and you look up to meet his gaze.

“I don’t think I can last if you put me in your mouth, baby girl. We can do head next time,” Yoongi says, and your heart soars at the pet name. You ease back up so that you’re straddling him once more, and reflexively start to grind on him again.

“Please let me take care of you. Look how wet you are,” he says, running his fingers over your clothed slit, dipping one finger in to collect a bit of slick. He tastes his finger and says. “Yeah, we’re definitely going to need to do head next time.”

You blush at the thought of him buried between your thighs, vulgarly slurping up everything you have to give him. You clench just thinking about it, and Yoongi notices. He pulls your panties to the side, takes the head of his cock and presses it to your clit, teasing your entrance. His precum mixes with your wetness, and you can’t resist him any more. You’ve resisted him for years, and you’re done.

You slowly ease yourself down on his cock, only making it halfway down before you have to wait for you to adjust. You both look at each other; Yoongi’s jaw is set and his eyebrows are furrowed together. Your mouth drops open as you raise and lower yourself again, feeling the delicious stretch that accompanies it. You bottom out and begin setting a slow and gentle pace.

Your body is rolling steadily, moonlight creating beautiful shadows on your body as you take him in over and over. As many times as you’ve dreamed of this, you still didn’t fathom it being this good or it feeling this right.

Yoongi is everything you had imagined he would be and then some. The way he is looking up at you, the way his soft little moans escape every time you bottom out, the way his eyebrows furrow together at the sight of your dripping heat enveloping him. Perfection.

He takes his hands and trails them up the curve of your waist, stopping just below your breasts. He runs his thumbs over your nipples, making you shudder and arch your back, pushing your chest into his hands. He palms them, kneading little circles around your areolas.

You lean forward, putting your weight on him again, and he meets you eagerly with another kiss. He wraps his arms around your back, keeping himself under the jacket, and you pick up the rhythm. Yoongi scratches his nails all the way down your back. Once he gets to your ass, he cups it, squeezing gently. You place your forehead against his, and your eyes meet.

“Y/N,” he whispers, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “you look so beautiful on top of me like this. Please let me see this sight for the rest of my life.” You whimper at the praise, and pick up the pace.

“Please,” he continues, small grunts mixing in with his words, “Don’t wake up tomorrow and pretend like this never happened. Please... don’t break my heart,” he pleads.

“Not a chance, Yoon. I can never let you go. You’re everything to me. You’ve always been.”

“Baby, I am so close. Can I--”

“Come with me, Yoongi. Let’s do it together,” you say. Yoongi’s hands are on your hips and he’s thrusting up into you with an unrelenting pace. At this angle, you can feel his head graze against your cervix with each thrust, sending white spots in your vision.

You both reach your end at the same time, breaths mingling as you come down from your highs. You lay your head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat gradually slow. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head and sighs into your hair.

“So…” he begins, “do you wanna go to the festival with me?” Yoongi asks.

“Are you gonna pick me up? Let me hold your hand? Have a nice little special romantic date?” you fire back, trying your best to sound like him. You sit up on your arm, letting your hair hang over to one side, and watch the light dance in his eyes as he laughs.

“Yeah,” he laughs, “I might even get us a little snack from one of the desert vendors.”

#bts smut #bts smut reactions #bts smut one shot #bts fanfiction #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #min yoongi #yoongi x you #yoongi smut one shot #soft!yoongi #yoongi--enthusiast #send me requests

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downywrites · 3 years

Text

bird took request and wrote it. bird hope’s its oke. It’s late here I will die thanks

Ask here

Aww, thanks mate. I really appreciate it! Let’s get on with the writing, shall we?

It was a known fact that Schlatt was not the nicest of people. The ram constantly pissed people off, made rules that made the others spiteful, and, to put it simply, enraged his subjects. And, boy, did they love to voice it. Quackity groaned loudly, slamming his face into the desk of papers he had. The worst part? It didn’t even hurt. The paperwork stacks were big enough that his face never made contact with the table. The vice president’s wings flapped slightly in their work binds. “Why is there so fucking much?!?”

Tubbo sighed, ears flicking downwards even more, scuffing his hoof on the floor dejectedly. “I dunno, man. Is this just the same letter, mailed like 17 different times?” A tired puff of air escaped his mouth as he glared tiredly at a veritable pile of angrily sign letters, each with the same to and from. The duo’s tempers were building to a breaking point. Tubbo ground his hoof into the unpolished floors as he grit his teeth. “Shouldn’t Schlatt be here to at least see what they are saying? He really doesn’t understand his people…”

Quackity scoffed at the goat hybrid’s words, hands itching to yank the old, musty books from the presidents that had preceded the fool that currently controlled the country. The duck pulled off his work restraints that he wore, unloosening the leather straps and letting them fall on the floor. “I’m done with this shit. It’s time to make him pay.” Tubbo shied away from the idea. “I don’t think that’s a good idea...he might kill us if we do anything bad to him.” The other turned around, eyes gleaming with the man’s old playfulness. “Nah, we’ll do something bad that he can’t prove. Something so devious, that stupid grass-grazer wouldn’t see it coming.” He rubbed his hands together, chuckling like a madman while ignoring the protest of the other herbivore in the room. “Hey, I’m also a-” “Tubbo.”

The smaller of the two stepped back into a small pile of letters, nervousness spiking at the change of tone. “I- uh, sorry?” Quackity clapped his hands together. “We strike at dawn.” Sighing with relief, Tubbo nodded, ears flopping slightly as he did so. He headbutted the other carefully, tail wagging when the other pat his head a little. “You really don’t give a fuck what Schlatt says about your butting tendencies, do ya?” Tubbo giggled, a light, reedy sound that echoed slightly in the absence of the person who usually occupied the place. “Yeah, nah. I don’t think Schlatt cares about me enough to worry about that.”

Quackity wanted to say otherwise, eyes glancing to his desks and back to the minor. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words refused to come out, jamming and freezing up right before he could say anything. Shutting his mouth so he didn’t look like a fool, the gambler watched as the land-dwelling hybrid sorted through some of the piles with careful hands. A sense of warmth and fondness grew in his heart before he could put it out. He shook his head vigorously at the thought. ‘No, I can’t bond with him. A gambler never shows his cards.’

Another voice in his head disagreed with his words, slamming their cards down on the table. “Well, are we a gambler right now, or are we a vice president? It's a change, Quackity. You need to understand. Tubbo loves you. Are you going to love him back, or make him sad?’ One of his hands came to rub at his temple. ‘Damn, I didn’t think that taking such a random spot in the cabinet would make me have to change so many of my habits.’ Ironically enough, Tubbo piped up at that very moment.

“Hey, as the vice president of the whole of the country, I think you could answer a few of these ourselves!”” His ears perked up in excitement, his little puffy tail wagging behind him as he sorted out some of the lesser complaints and twirled a fountain pen in between his fingers. Sitting down on one of the couches, his eyes scanned over one of the letters, wincing at the harshness of the words on the weak parchment. The sound of the pen nib scratching against the back of the paper cut through the silence in the room adjoining the office. Wings flapped slightly as he moved. Sitting down carefully next to the younger, he crossed his legs over each other, eyes glancing at the squid ink on the paper.

After a while of silent writing, his voice, croaky from smoke and yelling and all that which is bad, escaped him. “Hey, you know, I never really got to tell you my plan.” A small, little breezy laugh from the other. His voice rang out, all sweet and flowery, like a bee that had just landed on a flower, yet sharp underneath, like the stinger nestled deep in the insect’s body. “Go on, tell me big man. I’d like to hear it.” Their voices intertwined as the rain poured outside, drumming melodically on the old shingles of the presidential house.

The calm never lasted long enough for anyone’s liking. The lights of the sun’s first rays slipped through the room, casting a dancing shimmer onto Tubbo and Quackity’s resting faces. The duck hybrid blinked himself awake, wincing at the light drilling into his eyes from the stained glass window. “Ugh..” Rubbing his eyes and sitting up, he winced at the pop and crunch of his joints shifting. “Ouch. Bad sleeping positions can suck my dick.”

The duck hybrid craned his neck to look at the other sleeping figure, unsurprised at the sight of the much heavier sleeper still passed out on the couch where he was working last night. The boy looked so calm, his face a shade of yellow and gold from the morning light. Quackity couldn’t help but smile at him. The peaceful scene would be adorable in any place, in any setting.

But he knew that the peace wouldn’t stay for long. Once the day began, there would be lots of work to do. All of the papers that he and his ally had not finished would be a problem to solve, that was for sure. It didn’t help that Tubbo tried to make each letter he answered thoughtful and carefully worded, making it even longer to answer a single thing. All in all, if he didn’t try to finish it or try to hide the extra stuff that hadn’t been finished, the silence and calm that pervaded the room wouldn’t be around long enough to give the goat a good night’s sleep.

Walking over to the side of the room that Tubbo resided in, he poked him slightly, reluctant to wake the resting boy. “..Tubbo? You there, buddy?” No response from him. His chest rose and fell in a calming pattern, like the tides just barely kissing the beach. “Tubbo? Schlatt might be mad if he thinks we fell asleep on the job…” The boy’s ears twitched slightly. His eyes slowly opened a crack, just barely. A yawn, then, loud and almost violent compared to the gentle, restful sleep he seemed to have been in. “Hmm.” His half-open eyes came to rest on Quackity, a small smile gracing his face. “Hello there. Wha’ did I miss?”

The slur in his voice only accentuated the cuteness behind his words. “Nothing much, just need you to be away before the ‘big boss’ shows up.” The duck added a little roll of his eyes and some air quotes to spice up his words, wings fluttering up and out in a show of agitation. A sleepy giggle got rid of any regrowing hostility towards the irritating president. “Is our plan still the same? No hurting him, right?” A quack and a sigh. “Fine, no hurting him. I hope your little plan is just as good as my original one, you tiny goat.” He shuffled towards the coffee machine in the corner of the room, cursing lightly when he bumped into the blunted edge of the table as he did so. Tubbo began to stretch out himself, muscles cramped from being on the couch for so long. “When d’you think he’s comin’ in?” He shrugged, holding out two coffee cups in his hands. “Who knows. The man’s got a schedule that could make even XD weep.”

The room filled with the scent of fresh brew, making Tubbo wrinkle his nose in slight distaste. He never quite liked the scent of coffee, but he refused to tell Quackity that. Moving back towards the table in front of Tubbo, the elder of the two placed down the two mugs, now full of the dark, deep brown liquid. “Want creamer or sugar or something, little bud? Didn’t put any in, just in case I fucked up your morning joe. Couldn’t have that, could we?” “No, we couldn’t, big man. Would be a mighty shame.” Tubbo put it to his lips anyways, wincing at the acrid taste that cursed his sensitive taste buds. And the burning sensation. That too. He put it down quickly, hissing slightly. “Owie.” Quackity chuckled, a twinge of concern lacing his laugh. “You good, Tubbo? That was some scalding stuff you just chugged. Might want to blow on that first.” The sound of a door creaking open made them both tense slightly. ‘Here comes the sun, doo doo doo doo!’ supplied his mind, rather unhelpfully. ‘Here comes the sun!’ He couldn’t even trust his brain to play the right song. Classic Quackers.

The man of the hour walked into the room, scuffed and scratched hooves raking on the floor and producing a nasty noise as he walked. Not even bothering to hand his coat up, the man tossed it onto the floor, the unironed, probably unwashed jacket making the soft sound of fabric crumpling onto the wood as he went. “What’s up, fuckers?” A loud slam made Tubbo flinch significantly more, prompting the duck to instinctively shield him with his wing. “Hello, Schlatt.” Tubbo looked at the man through his friend’s wings, half in awe of how fast his tone changed and half in fear. It was obvious that the two of them hadn’t finished the work they were told they were to do yesterday. He pinned his ears back, already whimpering in fear.

A shit eating grin grew on the ram’s face at the sight of the room. “So, it seems you two idiots haven’t finished the work I gave you yesterday.” He walked more into the room, towering over the two seated people with a look of condescension clearly saturated on his face. “Looks like you two need a punishment.” Quackity’s face hardened. Tubbo’s face contorted into an expression of fear. “Just a little punishment…”

Quackity really, really wanted to slam his face into the desk again. “He gave us MORE paperwork?!? And then he left his office? AGAIN? UGH!” The secretary whined a little as well. “I mean, at the very least, he could have told us just to finish a little bit less...he kind of, uh, showed us an entire mountain of work he had been failing to work on for, like, a month!” Quackity trilled loudly in agreement, startling him into dropping the wad of papers he had in his hand. “Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about! Stand up to the Schlass!” Tubbo couldn’t help the resulting snort. “The Schlass?” “Yeah! Schlatt and ass together equals Schlass!” The boy couldn’t help but stare at him.

“...Yeah, okay, not the best name ever. But!” Quackity perked up, eyes still grealming with mischief. “We can still enact our plan tonight!” The goat hybrid’s tail wiggled happily behind him, a small puff of forest brown and mocha with extra cream making a blur where his pants met his shirt. “Yess!” Quackity’s sorting got a little faster, energy restored by the reaction he got from the younger. “All we have to do is wait…”

When Schlatt said that he was into bondage, he did not mean this. Not in the slightest. Schlatt struggled in the ropes, eyes a mix of confused and sleepy. The afternoon light was still visible through the slits in his presidential bedroom, so he presumed he hadn’t been kidnapped or been knocked out for more than a day or two. “What the fuck is going on?” The sound of a familiar gait made him simultaneously relax and tense up. “Quackity? Get me out of this shit, you fucking weak excuse of a vice president!” The duck hybrid stepped into his range of vision, face fitted with a look of indifference and condescension, something he was familiar with seeing in the mirror every morning. “You know, you’ve been rude to us all week. Actually, all month. Maybe even the last few months?” Schlatt had the nerve to look sheepish. “You didn’t like it? Then why didn’t you tell me-”

Quackity cut him off with a loud huff. “Why didn’t I tell you? I wonder why, dipshit!” He threw his hands up in the air, his silhouette at the door looking more menacing than the real deal. “Really, Schlatt! For someone who struts his stuff every four seconds, you really don’t know when we need you or when you need to stop acting!” His ears pulled back a little in his anger. And, all of a sudden, his anger vanished into something else. “But, Tubbo told me to use my anger for something else. Tubbo..” He trailed off, eyes unfocusing for a moment. “He helped center me a little more. And, yes, you’re an asshole, but all it takes to make you realize the problems we have is just a little nudge. And look!” Black eyes bored into nervous rectangular. “This is more than just a nudge at this point.” The ram tensed while he processed. Within a few seconds, he calmed down, relaxing a bit more. “So you’re not gonna stab me. Great. Is that all?”

He got an eyebrow raise for the effort. “Oh, that’s not all, buster. Since I didn’t want you to get off scot free, I decided Tubbo and I would be able to mess with you while you’re still down for the count!” With that, he moved closer to the man, tasering his sides roughly to get a quick reaction out of him. The ram bucked and laughed, eyes widening from the sudden jolts of tickling lighting arcing down his spine. “AHAHA! DUhuckie?!?” The sound of hoofsteps rapidly approached the door, slowing only to reveal a small, fluffy bed of hair peeking out to the side of the rectangle of light. “Can I help now? Or do you still want to finish your epic monologue?” Quackity nodded. “Yeah, let’s wreck this cocky bastard’s shit. You know, just a little punishment.” If Schlatt’s fur could pale, it would have.

“No, no, no..Let’s t-talk this out, here..” He shook his head vehemently at the two devious pairs of eyes closing in on him. A pair of hands gently scratched at his ribs, working their way down. They carefully rubbed between the bones, trying to be soft and gentle. The president burst into soft laughter, squirming in his bonds. “Does that tickle, Mr. President? I sure hope so!” Prime, Tubbo’s voice was just so cute. Schlatt didn’t have the heart to be mad at the sweet thing tickling him so kindly. On the other hand...where was Quackity? As if he was summoned by the very thought, the vice president latched onto his hips, kneading them quickly and frenetically. The sudden change made him arch his back with a loud (and rather girly) shriek. A small patch of red bloomed under his fur.

“Was that a shriek? Damn, Ram! Didn’t know you could go falsetto!” Tubbo seemed more impressed than teasy, little stars glimmering in his eyes and a small ‘o’ on his face. The tickling started up again, this time with both of them going a little slower so the ram didn’t just deflate from the sudden sensations. Schlatt decided that this was infinitely worse. The light, almost nonexistent sensations were near unbearable to him. “Cuhuhuhut ihihit ohohut!” The smaller herbivore was quick to answer him. “Cut what out? If you want, I can go faster-”

“Nope! This is a punishment, not a chill session!...Is that what you kids call one of these?” The goat shook his head no.

“Well, fuck. I need a return on that stupid book.” The banter that was occuring was making his ears burn.

“Juhuhust shuhuh-hut thehe fuhuhuck uhuhup!” Quackity didn’t like that. Another round to his hips made him cackle and buck. “You really should shut your mouth for once, Rammy. Maybe you wouldn't have gotten yourself into so much trouble with us in the first place.” He trilled quietly into his ear, breath ghosting on it just enough for it to tickle. Tubbo giggled again, tail wagging with the knowledge (read:interrogation benefits) from one of his cabinet members fresh in his head. “Hey Quackity? According to the nice deer man, Mr. President here has ticklish hooves! He also, uh, can’t stand the light stuff.”

The ram’s eyes bugged out, hot blood rushing to his face. “W-where- what? How? You fucker, who did you bribe-” “No bribes! Just some really, really good convincing~” Quackity purred, feathers ruffling with a sense of pride and a hint of mischief. “Really, really good…” Schlatt shook his head, muttering little ‘no’s under his breath. “Dohohon’t yohohou fuhuhucking dahahare.” Flicking his ears back to ignore the little coos that came from the duck, he focused on Tubbo, eyes pleading for help silently. Tubbo pinned his ears in empathy, but he didn’t move to help him. Instead, the boy pulled out a small, pitch black feather, healthy sheen obvious in the doorway’s light. Positioning himself at the struggling president’s hooves, he made a thumb’s up gesture, avoiding the slightly heated glare of the elder herbivore.

“Sorry, sir. I have to help the one who’s in charge right now.” Feathers puffed up even more, making the duck hybrid look more fluffy and pettable by the second (not that the ram would pet him after this shit. No way). “That’s right, bitch. I’m in charge right now. And I say that we get revenge on this little shit right here.” Quackity took the man’s other ankle into his clutches, placing his finger directly on the squishy, sensitive part of his hoof. It trembled underneath his touch, a small whimper escaping the ram at the extra warmth of anticipation flooded his system.

“Dohon’t fuhucking tehease….”

“Or what, big guy? Kill me? Fire me? You don’t have the balls.”

The finger slowly wiggled its way down his hoof, the owner delighting in the giggles and squirming that it caused. “And, besides, you like this, don’tcha?” He glanced at the man’s tail, the little puff wiggling where it was on the pillows. “I can see your tail, Rammy.” Schlatt turned away from them, trying in vain to shield his red face from view. “S-shuhuhut thehehe fuhuhuck uhuhup!” Tubbo decided to join in on the fun, dragging the feather over the outer parts of his hooves. The resulting flinch and squeal was worth it.

Quackity took it slow, circling the smooth pad on the inside of the hoof and using his nails ever so slightly. It was absolute torture, but Schlatt lived for that type of stuff. His tail thumped violently against the bed as they teased him, giving away his feelings to the duo wrecking him.

“Aww, is Rammy liking this? That’s so cute…~”

“Quackity, his face is so pink! It’s cute!”

Ah, well. There goes his dignity. Another finger traced on his hoof, making his giggles hike up in pitch and volume. The ticklish feeling suffused throughout his whole body, arcing like electricity at his extremities. Nails scratched at his hoof, this time a little faster and aiming to make it as ticklish as physically possible. The feather on his other hoof began to swipe within the more sensitive inner areas. “AHA! IHAhaHA’M SAHAreheHEHEE! PleHEHeaSE!” “are you though?~” He nodded his head frantically through his laughter, tears pricking at his eyes. “MEHEHERCY!” Tubbo and Quackity exchanged a glance. “Think he’s had enough, Tubbo?” “Yeah, I think he has.” He relaxed his shoulders a little in relief. “For now.” Nevermind.

The tickling slowed down, rubbing away the sparking feeling left behind. His giggles subsided slowly as they cooed at him. Schlatt’s tail, however, never stopped wagging, beating the mattress in a steady beat. Quackity untied the knots slowly, smiling at the panting ram. “Had fun, Schlatt?” A glare, then. “Just get me down from here, vice.” “Yes, sir.” And if the deer cabinet member found himself in a sticky situation a very miffed president set up for him, no-one was the wiser. Except for his right-hand men, of course. Who would he be without them?

#Lee!schlatt #ler!quackity #ler!tubbo #mcyt tickle #dsmp tickle #my writing #tickle fic #i need to find the link for this tmrw morning #sfw tickling

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sheep-and-lykos · 3 years

Text

In A Week’s Time: Elliot x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

VERY long Stardew Valley fic and I have fallen back in love with the game and Elliot.

Really just plain vanilla lovings below!

Song Choice: Not Just A Girl - She Wants Revenge

Summer. A scorching summer season had settled amongst the valley. Where others saw a reason to just flock to the beach and wade in the oceans or to take advantage of the museum's better quality air conditioner, you had been excited for this season to make profits. Sure, you had made a good profit off of spring's fresh crops what of strawberries and parsnips and bulbs of garlic all in a row; it was summer you were waiting for as well as many other farmers around. You could just imagine your crop fields full of patches of blueberries and of melons, peach and orange trees in full bloom as well as stalks of hops to keep the kegs full of aging beer (and let's not get started about the starfruit patches to which you'll be turning into wine by the end of their respected harvest).

You were out of bed before Elliott - which was rare as he's used to waking with the gulls cawing horribly before the sun even rises over the ocean's shore. The writer's eyes prying open to see you already out the door, flowing auburn hair a mess against the soft pillow covers, sticking to his chiseled face as he watched on in confusion as you bolted out of the front door. He squinted, grumbling something under his breath about how eager you were and quickly followed behind you.

The early summer morning breeze was cool, crisp, inviting as you overlooked the expanse of your farm from your porch. The sun barely peeking over the trees of the forest bordering the outskirts of the farm, bits of orange rays poking through, and twinkling off of the iridium sprinklers littered around, scarecrows still standing tall, protecting the now empty fields of dead spring crops.

The front door opened behind you, you peered over your shoulder to see your beloved husband standing there, squinting as the sun slowly rises over the horizon and spill into the farm. You always loved how squinty-eyed he was when he wakes, hair tied back. He was always so handsome, even when he had just woken up. You giggled, remembering how he had woken up when the spring had started and you had woken early to start planting the usual plots of strawberries, parsnips, and beans. The poor man had his shirt on backwards and nearly had his shoes on the wrong feet before you helped correct him. It was always so sweet of him to wake up early with you every crop season to help you clear and plant and water with you.

"My darling?" he mumbled behind you.

"It's summer, Elliott! Time for the biggest harvests of the year!" you proclaimed, puffing your chest out proudly.

"I'll make coffee," he nodded, leaving the front door open to allow your cat to slip outside and happily trot towards the barn and coop towards the south exit of your farm that leads to Marnie's ranch.

You smiled, watching him leave to the kitchen slowly, you snagged your trusty hoe that sat right by the front door and set off.

Around midday, you had retired back to the house where Elliott was waiting, radiating with excitement. He had just come back two hours ago from Pierre's store with many bags of seeds roped around his hands and wrists for you to start sowing. You climbed the stairs and overlooked the expanse of your farm with your husband. You both took in the tilled dirt ready to be watered after lunch. You were both excited to slowly be able to see the dull beige and browns and ochres of the farm's soil to slowly bloom vibrant greens and pinks and blues and yellows of fresh vegetation by the end of the season.

"Tired, my darling?" he stepped inside, allowing you to pass into your home.

"Not yet," you hummed.

"Good! I have wonderful news I'd love for you to hear," he chimed.

"Oh? And what would that be, Elliott?"

Leading you towards the kitchen, you noticed a large, square vanilla envelope bent in a slight curve. A glass mixing bowl sat a little ways away, most likely used to press out the envelope. It was opened, the obvious tear towards the top of the envelope, the contents gently pushed back inside. What looked to be a single sheet of paper was inside.

"Do you remember the genre of book you've inspired me to write, my love?" Elliott hummed.

You could remember that day clearly. Nearly two seasons had passed, the end of the scorching summer was settled on the land, the valley preparing for fall. The weather had cooled just a tad, but it was enough to warrant you a trip down to the beach for a dip in the ocean. Your crops were all done for the season, every last bundle of blueberries plucked, every melon uprooted, hot peppers and tomatoes picked from every patch you had planted. You were done for the rest of the season when it had come to the farm.

But as soon as you arrived at the beach, you had immediately lost all focus upon seeing Elliott's cabin. You had been meaning to visit, and before you could even realize it, you were knocking at his front door. The poet was surprised to see you, emerald green eyes widening in pure delight at the sight of a new visitor.

Auburn hair tied back by a vibrant green ribbon, delicate locks not long enough framed his face nicely. Sharp jawline freshly shaved, not a single hair missed nor a single blemish on his healthy tanned skin. A loose white button-up long sleeve shirt sat unbuttoned a bit on the top. His shirt had been tucked into a pair of loose black slacks. If you hadn't been blushing at the sight of a man as handsome as Elliott, you would've questioned him on why he decided to dress like a pirate.

Instead, he had roped you into an elegant conversation, allowing you to step into his cabin. Enchanted with his delicate words, you soon found yourself staring at him as he looked at you, groomed dark brows pulled up slightly as he waited for your answer.

He smirked as you shook your head slightly, clearing the fog from your mind as you suddenly found yourself in an embarrassing position.

"Sorry, excuse me," you stuttered, feeling your cheeks heat up.

Elliott simply chuckled softly. His silky voice filled your ears before he glanced back at you, a smile still tugging on his chiseled lips. Yoba, they looked so soft.

"It's this awful heat. I find myself losing my words too. I was asking you your favorite genre to read." "Oh!" You felt your stomach tighten into even tighter knots. "I... Romance I guess. I haven't really had a lot of time to sit down and read something proper like an actual book. Maybe a news article on my phone or something but..." "Romance? Ah, a classic form of literature! I find myself sinking into romantic novels myself, especially during a storm."

"Romance," you hummed.

He pulled the single piece of thick paper from the envelope, still a little curved from its time spent in the mailbox since early this morning.

"It's a very short notice for such big news, but I've been invited to do a reading tour for the book you've inspired me to write."

He handed you the piece of paper.

It was from his publisher, a full schedule on the bottom of the short notice. Every day was packed with readings to signings and meetups, all scheduled for one week.

Next week.

"You're leaving Saturday," you noted the date stamped at the very bottom, the following Sunday being his return.

"I am. But only for one week, my radiance." He paused for a moment, you looked up at him with wide eyes full of excitement. "Will you be alright? I'll be gone for one week and it's already the start of a new crop season for us-"

"Go on it! This is what you've wanted, yeah? I'll be fine!"

Elliott stared at you with slight shock, soon melting into a warm smile full of absolute love.

"I'll be here for the rest of the week, though. I'll still be here to help water what is not covered, help with your animals."

You nodded and looked back down at the paper in your hands. You noticed the time to leave on Saturday is missing.

"When do you leave Saturday?"

"I believe before noon."

Elliott produced one round-trip bus ticket from the envelope. The same company that brought you here to Pelican Town a little over two years ago.

Lo and behold, he would be leaving at ten o'clock in the morning.

Elliott plucked the schedule and ticket from your hands and placed them back on the counter. He quickly replaced the empty space between your hands, he filled them with his own. Grasping them tightly with his own, he pulled you closer to him.

His hands were strong, skin soft, fingertips scarred slightly from countless papercuts he's given himself from binge-reading new and old books on rainy days as well as spending countless and stressful days writing, editing, and rereading his work that he'll now read to many people out there in the world. You loved how nice his hands felt, warm, but not too warm to make your hands overheat. His hands were bigger than yours, enveloping them with their strong warmth as he pulled you closer until you both were pressed flush up against each other.

You caught whiffs of him. You always loved how Elliott smelled, from his shampoo and conditioner to the subtle hints of his aftershave and cologne. Pomegranate was the main node you would get (it was really the fruit that had started your acquaintance with him when he asked if you grew them on the farm) but he would also always smell somewhat like the sea. Sea salt in the ocean breeze, fresh and alive, and inviting like the ocean on a hot summer's day.

And looking at your husband before you, you could feel your body heat up even more. His hands slowly rising in temperature, slowly roasting your fingers and palms still a little cool from handling your iridium hoe. You swore you could feel little tingles sparking between the minute gaps between your fingers and palms, fireworks, explosions of nerves edging you both further and further closer to the end of the cliff until-

You both suddenly found yourselves suddenly tangled in each other's limbs. Bodies pressed flush up against each other, no room between your persons. Your breasts pressed firmly against his chest, stomachs with no gaps between, legs struggling to stand up properly and support each other.

Your hands snatched at the collar of Elliott's button-up, crisp and clean with no wrinkles in sight now sat crumbled in your grasping hands. Your fingers flexing, suddenly releasing the collar to claw and crawl to his broad shoulders, snatching at the thin, soft material by the handful, pulling him closer if that was any more possible.

Elliott's passion placed into his display of affections always seemed to catch you off guard. You knew Elliott was a passionate man the moment you met him, but as you grew to knew him and quickly fell for him, you learned that Elliott and romance went together like Gus and any event where he's able to serve the town. Elliott always made you feel loved, always made you feel beautiful. He may look like he belongs on the front of a romance novel cover with his god-like appearance, but damn it all if he doesn't know how to absolutely ravish you as the books would suggest.

One of Elliott's strong hands had come to the back of your head, agile fingers gently grasping at the back of your head, fingers wrapped around your locks, locking your heads together. The other went around to behind your shoulders. He grabbed at the back of your shirt, a fistful of cloth fabric teasing him whereas he teased you with a few tugs, threatening to rip your shirt right off of your body without another thought.

It wouldn't have been the first time he would have done that.

Elliott's lips seemed to be made for yours. Every kiss was perfect.

Elliott softly moaned into the kiss, the swaying weight between you two nearly had your legs fumbling, nearly allowing the two of you to fall over yourselves. Elliott pulled away for just a moment, emerald green eyes gazing into yours for a brief moment, lust filling his gorgeous hues the more he looked at you, a faint pink blush dashing over his chiseled cheeks. You could feel your face heating up as well, the apples of your cheeks suddenly scorching just looking at him right here, nose to nose with your loving husband.

He had quickly pulled you into another kiss, lips tenderly pressing against yours in a passionate embrace, lulling your legs to finally be able to move towards the bedroom.

It was sloppy, your backs pressing against the walls of the short hallway connecting the living room to your shared bedroom. Elliott had you pinned to the wall at one point, your head pushed to the side, mouth open as soft mewls and moans escaping from your slick lips as Elliott sucked at the nape of your neck. His large, strong hands were squeezing your wrists, your fingers limp yet curling as you felt him pressed his clothed erection brush against your person.

You both had managed to tear yourselves from the wall, suddenly another mess of tangled arms, hands grasping in hair and snatching at clothing until Elliott's nimble fingers had finally dipped under the bottom hem of your shirt, carefully peeling the hem up into a small curl of fabric until he could firmly grab at it with both hands. With a swift and sudden pull of his hands, you had suddenly found yourself topless in the sights of your beloved.

Flushing under his emerald gaze, Elliott had paused for a brief moment to look over your body, eyes scanning your form, lust slowly consuming his features the more he gazed at your form with fluttering eyes. Elliott hummed deep within his throat, hands coming up to cup at your shoulders. Hooking his thumbs under the straps of your bra, he delicately slid them off of the curve of your shoulders and crawled his fingers to the hooks behind your back. Your bra quickly came undone in his hands, the delicate lingerie now sliding off of your body with a tug of his agile hands and carelessly tossed over his shoulder.

The sight of your naked breasts alone was enough for Elliott to start to unravel more and more.

A coy little smirk fell upon your lips as you saw out of the corner of your eye the tenting in his pants, noting how the fabric was tightening more and more as the seconds ticked by.

"I hardly think it's fair for you to still be dressed while you're stripping off all of my clothes," you pointed out.

"My dearest, I believe you're right. How rude of me."

Elliott had complied with your statement, but he was a little shit. Nimble fingers that had just ravaged your top and bra off of your person within just a few seconds, had plucked the top two buttons of his shirt apart at a snail's pace; All with a devilish look in his eye as looked directly at you.

You flung yourself at him, hands grabbing the collar of his button-up and pulling his close to connect your lips once more. Elliott's hands moved from his shirt to grip at the sides of your head firmly, sinking his fingers into the locks of your hair. Your hands fumbled down to the rest of the buttons, fingers struggling to pluck them apart one by one until you had no more to unbutton. Your fingers brushed against his bare chest and abdomen, lightly sun-kissed skin, toned generously as the lean muscle under your fingertips flexed softly at your bare touch.

Elliott shrugged his button-up off of his shoulders and tossed it aside, the hunk of material sliding against the hardwood floors.

Elliott advanced towards you, pushing you backwards until the back of your knees bumped into the lip of the bed. You stumbled back a bit, losing your balance and falling back into the mattress, your body bouncing a bit as you landed on the springy mattress. Elliott smirked, enjoying as your breasts bounced with you.

Elliott's graceful fingers moved from your shoulders downward, fingers dancing down your body, past the curve of your breasts, and digging gently into the soft skin of your stomach until his fingers danced along the waistband of your pants. The button had suddenly slipped free and the zipper had been pulled down.

Elliott had leaned forward, you softly gasped when you felt his warm lips press gentle kisses down the center of your torso in a straight line, going from the bottom of your neck to in between the space of your breasts down to your belly button all while he had wrestled your pants out from under your rear. He worked your trousers down the length of your legs, eventually hitching them off from where they bunched up at your ankles and allowed the trousers to flop onto the floor, all while he was still trailing kisses right down your center.

He briefly looked up at you under a near curtain of auburn locks, emerald green hues amused at your heated face, wonderful lips smirking as you softly begged him to keep going.

His index fingers hooked around the delicate upper hemline of your underwear. Twisting his fingers just a bit to secure the hemline, he slowly pulled downwards, peeling your panties away from your pussy and down the length of your legs, soon joining your pants on the floor. The sight of you dripping wet, heat blooming from between your legs stirred Elliott onwards, but he remained collected; no matter how much he wished to absolutely ravage your body.

Elliott had stood up, you whined a bit as you immediately missed the feeling of his lips trailing up and down your torso, worshipping you, ravishing you with his soft kisses.

Your loving husband gripped the waistband of his own trousers and fiddled with the buckle of his leather belt. Shiny brass clicking a little at him fiddling and soon the long strip of punched leather slid out from the belt loops of his black slacks and was tossed onto your trousers pooling at his feet. You watched on in awe as he slowly dipped his hands under the waistband for just a brief second before plucking apart the button of his own pants and pulling the zipper down, revealing straining boxer-briefs.

You flushed at the outline hidden inside the confinements of his underwear. Cock straining, erect, yet tortured to be stuck into tightening underwear.

The black slacks dropped to the floor, Elliott nudging both his trousers and yours off to the side of the bed just out of the way. The matching black boxer-briefs looked awfully tight, you could only imagine the struggle Elliott was going through as he looked over your delightful form.

A few locks of auburn hair drifted out of place, some sticking to his slightly sweaty forehead while the others hung loose in his face, covering his eyes slightly. A faint blush still settled on his cheeks as he looked down at you with half-lidded eyes full of lust and desire.

"Elliott," you cooed, your body heating up.

Your gut was coiling, heat pooling more around your pussy, your stomach feeling full of butterflies. You could hear your heart pounding in your ears, feel your blood roaring with life.

You needed him inside of you now.

"My dear (Y/n), what do you need?" he purred, still eyeing you as if you were nothing else but prey.

"You," you whimpered.

"And what do you want me to do?" he teased, the corners of his lips twitching upwards into a coy smile.

"I want you to fuck me into this mattress."

You swore you could see something snap inside of Elliott. The once calm and collected writer you called a husband seemingly snapped. You could no longer see the emerald in his eyes. The sea of lovely green now consumed by his pupils blown wide.

It was a good thing you both live on a farm, a good walking distance away from the rest of Pelican Town, otherwise, you and Elliott would be looking at many noise complaints from the rest of the town.

You watched as he snatched off his boxer-briefs, the poor man-handled fabric flung away, no longer in your line of sight.

What was in your line of sight, however, was your husband's cock springing outwards, now free of its confinements.

You only had mere seconds to gaze at it before Elliott had pinned you to the mattress, the man hovering over you, hands pinning your shoulders to the mattress, impaling you with his cock.

A moan lodged in your throat, choking slightly as you cried out in pleasure at the tightness. Elliott gave a satisfied groan as well, broad shoulders sagging for just a mere moment to lose himself in the sea of pleasure he found himself in.

You loved how Elliott's cock fit inside of you so perfectly, it was like to was made for you. His cock was large, thick, always stretching your tight pussy just right. Just the feeling of being stretched had you whining, clawing at the sheets by the handful. Your head rocked back into the mattress, cradled by the bunched up sheets under your head and neck. Your eyes screwed shut at the painful stretch.

Elliott moaning softly, panting against your chest. His long auburn locks had spilled across your sweaty chest, thick strands clinging to your breasts, pooling on your person for a brief moment as Elliott had dipped his head to revel in the feeling of his cock in your tight pussy.

He craned his head back up, looking down at your sweaty face, mouth wide open as you cried and mewled under him. A wild smirk spread across his lips.

He was generous enough to give you a quick second to adjust to the tight stretch before he had started to slowly piston his hips.

The back of your head curled into the sheets piled underneath you more, your throat stretching, baring more skin to him. Elliott had leaned back down again, still pistoning his hips at a slow rate to enjoy the tight feeling of your slick walls around his cock.

Your guts were knotted with lust, only wanting you to raise your hips and match him with his thrusts, meet his cock thrusting inwards with you lifting your hips up, wanting your sexes to slap together, to rock the bed and make it groan like you normally do together. You loved how wild and powerful Elliott could be in bed.

Elliott's hands snatched at your hips, nails digging into the soft skin. You whimpered at the bite of crescent moons, loving the pain adding on to the pleasure bubbling inside of your person. Each thrust seemed to make your organs knot closer together, made the coils heat up, and tighten. Your moans only spurred him to speed up once he had given you ample time to adjust to the tightness inside of you.

Elliott had let go of your hips, favoring to trap the sides of your head by placing his hands out flat against the ruffles and rumples of the sheets now bunched under the back of your skull, careful not to snag at any of your locks. His grip on the sheets tightened, supporting him better as he rocked his hips back and forth at a great pace, pounding into you like a machine powered by pistons.

He had dipped his head down to meet your parted lips. He groaned into the cavity of your mouth, wincing and tightening his grip on the sheets as your walls had clamped down on his cock. You could hear the sheets creaking, the soft fabric stretching and compressing under the intense grip Elliott was putting it through until he had released it just a touch.

He pressed hot, open-mouth kisses all around your face. He trailed kisses along the curve of your jaw all the way back to your earlobes where he would nip and gently tug at them. He would trail a sloppy line down the curve of your neck, grazing the columns of your throat with his teeth. He definitely had produced a good amount of hickies along your neck and upper chest, so much to possibly warrant a turtleneck at the beginning of summer if you were to have made any plans of going out in public. He had even gently sunk his teeth into the soft plush of one of your breasts, enjoying the little squeaks you produced as your clawed at Elliott's back and grabbed at his broad shoulders.

Once he had deemed he had marked you up enough, he had only continued to ramp up his pace until you suddenly choke at the speed. You gasped, feeling your passageway clamp down on him once more, your husband crying out in pleasure and tossing his head back to revel in the feelings spiking through him.

You cried out, feeling the coils inside of you tighten even more, now white-hot as the seed about to enter your womb pretty soon as your climax was fast approaching.

You caught sight of Elliott's eyes, emerald hues still missing, lost in a sea of black. His pupils dilated, still-full blown with lust, looking as though he had captured a starless sky in his eyes.

It was hypnotic, and the thundering of your blood in your ear like war drums had only added on to the pressure building up in your core. The splitting pressure inside of you had you squeezing your eyes closed, wincing, a soft moan passing through grit teeth as a wave of painful pleasure rattled through you, only tightening the coils inside of you even more.

Elliott was unraveling as well, auburn locks falling in his face, hiding his reddened and sweaty rugged face behind the curtain of his groomed mane. His shoulders tensed, lean muscle flexing in his shoulders and biceps, veins poking against his lightly tanned skin. His thrusts had gone from fast and passionate to sporadic and sloppy, longing and yearning to finally release inside of you.

A sudden eruption of heat spilled from between your legs, a massive release of pent up pain and turned to pleasure. A lewd moan had spilled from your open mouth, eyes rolling to the back of your head as Elliott groaned above you, riding and thrusting into your slickening pussy, only allowing him to lose himself to his gaining lust.

Your limbs suddenly felt heavy, weighed down by bones seemingly made of lead and iridium, allowing you to sink into the plush comfort of the mattress as Elliott continuously pounded into your pussy without fail. The man of many elegant words had crippled down to only guttural moans and heavy groans. He could barely make any other noises, he was too busy chasing his won climax. He huffed and puffed in your ears, shoulders shaking as he pistoned his hips back and forth like a well-oiled machine.

It had nearly been another full minute before you felt the slight twitch inside of your passageway, his cock stiffening ever so slowly in between the rushed thrusts of his hips. His thrusts were growing sloppier by the thrust, the bed groaning under the two of you as it rocked with each thrust. The two of you were a flurry of moans and lingering kisses, Elliott occasionally kissing down your jaw or sucking at your neck. Your pussy still slick with your sweet only allowed him to seemingly thrust faster inside of you, you could feel his cock twitch a bit more.

He was going to cum quickly.

His hands on either side of your head snatched at more of the rumpled bedsheets, twisting as his back arched downwards. With each thrust, there was no room left between your two persons, no air gaps between your sexes, drawing his cock nearly out of you only to slam right back into you without mercy. You swore you were drooling, trapped in the starry bliss clouding your mind, still chasing the joys of your climax as he only ravaged your pussy more and more.

The stiffer he got, the sloppier he got with his thrusts until hot milky white suddenly erupted from Elliott's cock, the man coming with a choked shout. His shoulders curled up into his neck, head shooting back, auburn locks spilling over his broad shoulders and you milked every last drop of semen out of his cock still buried inside of you.

You cried, mewled as you felt the fullness inside of you, only to exhale as Elliott's cock had slid right out of your passageway, his semen following quickly after to spill onto the bed.

Elliott nearly collapsed on top of your worn person, the man of elegance managing to roll himself to land right next to you. He draped one of his tanned arms over your body, the meat of his arm over your breasts so his hand could reach under your armpit, dragging you closer to his sweaty chest. You both laid there panting, hearts racing as moments ticked by, the thrill of your orgasms slowly riding down as you both looked at each other in the eye. Sweaty faces, blushed at the cheeks and noses, you both couldn't help the small and loving smiles spreading across your faces. You both looked at each other through the messy, frizzy locks clinging to your sweaty faces. A good shower was to be put in order now, but it would have to wait.

You shivered, still feeling his hot seed spilling slowly out between your nether lips, tangling with the sheets under your person, a mess you would both clean in just a moment.

But for now, you both laid there side by side, looking lovingly into the eyes of each other, enjoying the euphoria and riding it until it ends in his loving embrace, tangled in the sheets in the farmhouse far away from the world.

You stood there by the bus stop, waiting for the bus to arrive with your husband right by your side. You could tell he was nervous, he would always toy with his long locks when he was. He had even pulled his hair back and tied it to try and stop himself from fiddling with his luscious auburn locks, but he couldn't help himself.

He was nervous, and rightfully so!

He was going to be gone for a week, reading for his adoring fans, signing autographs, meeting new and important people.

You took his hand, startling the man out of his daydream. Wide emerald eyes looking at you for a mere second before he seemingly calmed down... just a bit.

"You'll do great out there. I promise," you smiled. "Just breathe, remember to stay calm and you'll do great."

Elliott smiled warmly at you. He only wished you could come along with him, join him on this adventure he was going to have, but you had a farm to take care of, animals to raise and crops to tend to so you can help feed the town.

You had your responsibilities, and now, he did too. This would open up a lot of doors, a lot of opportunities to expand his craft, make good relationships and business partners, spread the word about his writing more and more.

He only wished he could have you by his side. After all, you were his biggest inspiration for finishing his book. This was all because of you; Because you had introduced yourself to him your first day of arriving at Pelican Town, because you took up his many requests on the wanted board in front of Pierre's, because you had taken the time to get to know him, to give him many wonderful gifts, to give him the mermaid's pendant... You had spoken to him nearly every day, no matter if you were covered in dirt from the farm or covered in slime and bits of dead bugs and whatever horrors you had slain in the mines, you made it your goal to befriend him, to stick your muddy boot through his cabin door and get to know him. Even now, the mermaid's pendant sat heavily against his throat, the polished silver chain choking him with suspense as he started to worry.

What if something happened and he wasn't here to help? What if something happened to the farm? It's summer, storms would surely come to try and wreck the farm. What if you were caught outside? What if you were caught in the barns? What if you got hurt and he wasn't there to help you? To protect you?

The bus had rolled down the street and stopped right in front of you both. You both eyed each other one last time before you fully turned to him, Elliott doing the same.

Now face to face with your husband, you reached out and pulled him into a tight embrace. You could feel your throat tightening up just a tad as he wrapped his strong arms around your person, a quick press of his lips against your cheekbone.

"I promise to write to you every day, my radiance," he murmured into your ear.

"Every day?"

"Every day without fail."

"I love you, Elliott."

"And I love you, (Y/n)."

The doors to the bus swung open, the bus driver not even looking in your direction at first.

Elliott pulled away only to press his lips to yours. The kiss was so full of passion for how brief it had to be without keeping the bus driver and the other bus occupants waiting.

You pulled away to look him in the eyes. You could see the yearning for him to stay with you, but you both knew this was coming sooner or later.

"Be careful, yeah?"

"Of course, my dearest."

And with that, Elliott picked up his (overstuffed) suitcase and carry-on bag and set off into the bus.

You watched on with a reassuring smile as Elliott sat down at the window facing you. You followed the bus as far down the sidewalk as you could until there was no walkway left. You watched from your spot on the sidewalk as the bus was slowly swallowed by the darkness of the tunnel, heading towards the city.

With a soft sigh, you glanced down at the mermaid pendant sitting around your neck. You gently grasped the shimmering blue twisted shell and gazed back at the tunnel.

You ignored the biting, bitter feeling bubbling in your gut, wrinkling your nose at the sensation of dread wafting around your mind, and turned to follow the trail back to your farm.

Maybe if you busied yourself with farm work and the mines and whatever foraging you could find, the week would fly by quickly and Elliott would return to you sooner than you would think.

Upon arriving at the farm, you sighed. You knew the farm felt emptier the moment you stepped foot on the land. Even as your cat brushed around your leg and trotted towards the barn and coop, you hoped time would fly by quickly.

Picking up the milking bucket and shears from the chest by your house, you followed behind your faithful kitty, attempting to busy your lonely mind with work until your beloved author returned to you.

#stardew valley elliot #elliot x farmer #elliot x reader #stardew #stardew valley #stardew valley fic

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coldmilkcreamery · 3 years

Text

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐨𝐟𝐟

~ 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 ~

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: xiao dejun x male reader 💋

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 2965

𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻: following a heart-wrenching break up with xiaojun, you leave the country—and reunite with him 8 years later at the grand opening of a friend's restaurant.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴/𝘀: smut hahah lmao

𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝗯𝘆 ⭐️

𝗮/𝗻: this might be my favorite (and longest 😅😅) story out of all the ones i’ve written, like idk if it’s because xiaojun’s my bias in wayv but i really enjoyed writing it and am really proud of how it turned out hahaha, i put my blood sweat and tears into this story so i hope you guys enjoy 🥺🥺and happy valentines to you all and hbd to who is also my first bias, jaehyun haha have a great day and a great valentines <3

> 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 <

Outside, the sun has dipped below the horizon and behind wisps of clouds and falling snow, the sky has turned dark. Compounds of snow and bits of ice lie on the streets and dress stoplights as you wait at the entrance of a newly opened restaurant in town.

A miniature landscape greets you at the entrance. Artificial river water ricochets off of artificial rocks, onto the chiseled marble paths that you step over on your way to the dining area.

You make glances around the restaurant. Crowds of people are cobbled together, flowing like river water around tables and floral displays. Looking around, a familiar face emerges from the congested crowd.

“You seem to have gotten quite popular.” You tap on the hem of Doyoung’s blazer, looking around the crowded facade of the restaurant.

“You made it!” Doyoung says. Like a jack-in-the-box, he springs out of the crowd, jumping onto you and engulfing you in a tight embrace.

“I am very much here.” You reply, muffled by the confines of his arms.

“My god, I haven’t seen you in years!” He squeals, tightening his grip around your torso. “You’ve aged. A lot.” He snickers, crimping his face into a faux scowl.

“You're not looking any younger yourself.” You spit back with squinted eyes.

“Still bitchy as ever.” Doyoung pats your head, lips forming a snarky grin. “Come in.”

“How did you get here so early? Weren’t you set to fly in about a week later from now?” He eagerly questions, excitement very much visible through his puffing chest and eye-squinting smile.

“Simple, I booked an earlier flight.”

“And lost my first class seat.” You seethe, holding up your economy class boarding pass.

“You’re the best.” Doyoung giggles.

“I really am.” You gripe, narrowing your eyes. “New York is one far place.”

“You’re one to hold grudges aren’t you.” He pats your back with one hand, prying the boarding pass from your finger’s grasp with the other before tossing it into a nearby trash bin.

“Follow me.” Doyoung grabs your wrist and he escorts you into one of the private rooms, briefly passing by the reception desk. “This is Karina, one of my staff.”

“Hi!” She waves.

“Where are we going?” You question as he pulls you towards the first sliding door from the right of the reception desk.

“Those rooms over there are the rooms for the VIP reservations.” Karina says.

“VIP?” You ask, shooting them an amused expression.

“I have a heart my guy, I didn’t cost you your business class upgrade for nothing.” He ruffles your hair.

“First class.” You scornfully correct Doyoung, squinting your eyes at him, pushing his hands off of your head.

“Have a seat.” He reaches his palm out to point to the cushions resting on the floor and the recessed floor in front of it.

You slip your legs into the recession, eyeing a few floral vases and intricately patterned stems of miniature cherry blossom trees.

“Seems like you really went all out on decors.” You slip your phone out of the pocket at the sides of your chinos that are in the light’s path, which shine olive green against the moonlight. “Selfie?”

“My dining area should look just as good as my food tastes.” Doyoung obnoxiously chuckles before smiling into your camera.

“1, 2, 3.” You say in unison.

“Aren’t those at least a hundred dollars each?” You raise a brow at him, resting your phone beside your plate after a click sounds from it. “Is that not expensive for you?”

“Not if they look this good.” Doyoung winks.

“Good lord.”

“Oh, uhh, by the way.” He whispers, sounding much more subdued than he had been the minutes before, his voice now softer than swinging doors and the sprinting servers.

“What is it?”

“I’ve told you the restaurant is offering discounts if—” He pauses intermittently in between words.

“For the last time, I did not and will not be bringing a date.” You groan, cutting him off, well aware of what you were going to hear next.

Doyoung breathes out a shaky sigh. He parades a look of pity, brows furrowed and head tilted at an angle with a frown.

“Hyung.” You slur your words. “I’m fine.”

“And hey it’s 2021, being single is the trend.” You object.

“I’m just looking out for you.”

“I know you are.” You try to reassure him with a smile. “But if you don’t mind, I want to continue eating the dinner that my friend prepared for me because he cost me a 12 hour business class flight.”

“Didn’t you say first class?”

“Either way, I had to sleep sitting down because of you.” You scoff.

“Alright, I’m going to check up on the other tables.” Doyoung nods, pressing his lips into a toothless smile. “Let’s catch up more over coffee after we close?”

“Sure.” You hum as he turns his back to tend to more customers. Going seat to seat, he greets them with a smile, shaking hands with the occasional occupant.

You rub your temples and look down slightly, resting your chin on the collar of the honey brown crew neck wrapped around your torso. The loosely tucked out hems of your denim shirt hang under it, fluttering in the air.

Behind the strands of hair being blown into your eyes from the air conditioning, your eyelids drop. You’re tired, exhausted, fatigued and everything else you can think of. Conversations around you seem to morph into buzzes of static.

Eyelids your field of vision as your upper body rests on the table top. Footsteps tap against the floor adding to the sound of clinking cutlery, sizzling meats and conversations muffled by the sleeves of your sweater.

A man waves in front of the reception desk as he struts into the restaurant. “Excuse me.”

“Good evening sir.” Karina greets, with a smile. “How may I help you?”

“I have a reservation.”

“May I have your name please.” Karina looks down on a monitor, tapping on a keyboard with one hand, brushing hair behind the shoulders of her blazer with the other.

“Xiao Dejun.”

“Ahh Mr. Xiao, you have a VIP reservation am I right?” She beams, looking back up at the man who briskly nods back.

“Your seat is in the first room to my right.” Karina reaches her palm out and points to the door.

Xiaojun utters a soft ‘thank you’ and looks over his shoulder to give Karina a small wave as he walks towards the room.

A restaurant attendant opens the door for him. Inside, it slides open, rustling like paper as its bottom grinds against the glistening wooden floor. Producing an exhale, you let your breath get sucked out through the openings of your nostrils and lips.

Behind your forearms, the big tsunami-like waves and tangerine colored koi painted on the door disappear into the wall. You squint your eyes close one last time, sprawling your limbs to stretch, terminating the sleep left in your system.

Your eyes flutter open, catching a man in its path, the figure becomes clearer the wider they open.

“X-Xiaojun.” You quiver in place, saying his name for the first time in eight years.

“Y-Y/n.” Behind the auburn strands of hair in his face, his gaze meets yours. He timidly waves at you through a nervous smile. “H-hi.”

Was he good looking? Definitely.

Was he a good person? Oh god yes, and your breakup didn’t change your opinion on that.

Though not your first relationship, Xiaojun was definitely your first true love. But as some people say, life just happens. Months after your break up, you left for New York for a job opportunity.

It had been a considerable while since you had last seen or heard from him. Nothing aside from the occasional mention in phone calls with Doyoung and appearance in pictures with your other friends.

But here you were, back in Korea, the commandeer of your late night thoughts, seated beside you at the grand opening of Doyoung’s restaurant almost a decade later.

“It’s been a while.” You sheepishly smile.

“It really has.” Xiaojun agrees, reciprocating the smile. “You look great.”

“Thanks.” You sit up straight. “You do too.”

Outside, Doyoung continues to hop from table to table, tending to customers.

“Here is your order for extra noodles and a pot of tea.” Doyoung smiles at a woman. “Enjoy your meal ma’am.”

“Boss, you told me to inform you of the arrival of someone named Xiao Dejun was it?” Karina calls out for Doyoung, as he carries an emptied tray onto a free tray stand.

“Yes.” Doyoung breathily replies. “What about it?”

“He came just a few minutes ago, I’ve been looking for you to tell you.” She says with heavy and speedy breaths, resting her palms on her knees.

Doyoung’s eyes widen. “Which private room did you tell him to go to?”

“The first one to my right.”

“No-n-no oh no.” Doyoung strings his fingers into his hair.

“What’s the matter?”

“I needed you to tell me because I wanted to ask you to make sure they wouldn’t end up in the same room.” He rambles, vigorously rubbing his temples.

“Why?” Karina blankly questions. “Is there anything between them?”

“Xiaojun is his ex from 8 years ago.”

“Oh no.” She bows her head, covering her face with both of her palms. “Did it end badly or something?”

“You really ask a lot of questions don’t you.” Doyoung snickers. “Well, not exactly.”

“They broke up on good terms actually, the only problem was that it was so obvious that they still loved each other.” He says, sighs ballooning out of his lips.

“Wait,” Karina interrupts. “And yet, they hadn’t gotten back together since then?”

“Y/n left for New York before they could say anything to each other.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not like you knew.” Doyoung sees Karina frown and pats her head. “I just hope they can at least talk.”

And that you did.

Alcohol clouds your minds as you sit beside each other splitting sides at exchanged stories. The sting of the drinks fry the back of your throats and hiccups intermittently shoot up from you, cutting your sentences.

"It’s 12:30 A.M.'' You wheeze, making glances around the pretty much empty room.

"No way." Xiaojun spits out raspily, taking another sip of his cocktail, peering forward to get a glimpse of the watch on your wrist.

“Speaking of which, remember that time, about 11 years ago.” You playfully nudge his shoulder. “It was around this time when we went to get groceries and you attacked someone over a cut of steak.”

“I did not!” Xiaojun manages to speak up amidst the laughter drowning out proper communication from you two.

“Xiaojun, you pushed her so hard that she fell.” Your hand flops onto Xiaojun’s shoulder to prevent yourself from rolling over, letting out a prominent wheeze.

“She pushed me first!” He sternly objects. “Plus, if I didn’t, we wouldn’t have had those amazing fajitas.”

“That was a good early morning snack.” You agree.

“A good date too.” Xiaojun smiles back at you.

“Our first actually.” You add, looking down as a smile creeps into your lips. “That was such a long time ago.”

Which it was.

“Time just flies so fast doesn’t it?” Xiaojun replies as his palm slides up your fingers before settling on the knuckles at the back of your hand.

A rosy flush burns on your cheeks and your eyes go from your linked fingers and eventually trail up to him. You two momentarily lock eyes. He promptly jerks his away, withdrawing his hand from yours.

“S-so, wait, a-are you back here for good?” Xiaojun says.

“I guess so, things are getting pretty crazy over there.” You shrug, shooting him a crooked smile. “And the food’s too greasy, can’t eat any of it.”

“That’s good.” Xiaojun chuckles weakly. “You always hated greasy foods.”

“I’ve missed you.” You look into his eyes again and gently stroke his shoulder before going down to his arm and producing a sharp exhale. “A lot.”

“I-I have too.” He stutters, shivering slightly, his posture stiff under your touch.

“You know, every time I think about it,” You look down, and fiddle with your fingers. “I wondered why you never tried chasing me down the airport the day I left.”

“Y-Y/n.”

Deep down, part of me was actually hoping that you’d come after me and convince me to stay.

“So many times, I’ve wanted to fly out there to just try and pick up where we left off and—” He rambles, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists on his sides.

“What stopped you then?” You mumble. A frown stemming from your lips.

“I-I don’t know.” He voices out softly, with a furrowed expression.

“I do like someone Xiaojun.” You sigh.

“I figured.” Xiaojun stands up from the seat, slipping his shoes on and making his way out of the room.

“They’d be lucky to have you.” Xiaojun chokes on his words, his sentence growing weak.

“It was nice meeting you again.” His voice echoes into the empty room, his words ricocheting off of the walls and the soy sauce stained bowls before coming back to you.

You frantically jump up from the recessed floor. As his fingers cling onto the door’s handle, you grip him by his shoulders as he slides it open. “I never said it wasn’t you.” You call out to him, stopping him in his tracks.

Xiaojun turns his head, looking over his shoulder, slivers of tears in his eyes twinkling against the lights.

“So tell me then,” You whisper huskily, staring back into Xiaojun’s eyes. “Where were we?”

Tonight felt familiar.

The laughs, the fond glances, the touching. Being able to talk to each other and having good laughs while doing so. Being able to hit it off just like you had 11 years ago when Doyoung introduced you two to each other.

Being with Xiaojun just felt right even after a decade.

Enough was enough, you thought.

You dash towards Xiaojun, gripping the sides of his neck with both hands, pulling him closer to you. The tip of your thumbs slide over the tears sitting at the sides of his irises. Your eyes mirror his lidded gaze before wandering to the lips that you’ve longed for the past eight years.

Before your mind could even begin to process, your lips were on Xiaojun’s. Your eyes shut close as his palms land on your chest and slide up to tug at your shoulders.

You push him back against a wall, bruising the tips of some fingers between it and the back of his head. It dips to the side, as you press your face even deeper into his.

Slowly opening your eyes, your puckered lips hover over Xiaojun’s as you gasp for air. You tenderly stare into each other’s eyes for a second, bringing a hand away from the side of his neck to brush strands of hair away from his glittering eyes.

Soft moans escape from between your adhered lips as you reconnect them, further muffled by the contact of your tongues. Xiaojun’s forearms cross over your nape as you burrow your lips down to his neck. He lets out a breathy gasp that tickles your ears as his chin falls onto your shoulder as his mouth goes agape.

You bring your arms up as Xiaojun hastily pulls your sweater over your head and catapults it over the table of food. Your fingers scramble for the collar of his shirt as he undoes the top buttons of yours.

“Good work today, I’ll just make one last check around the place and I’ll get going.” Doyoung says, wiping sweat off of his forehead as he sprawls onto a couch in the waiting area. “See you tomorrow.”

“Thanks boss! Bye!” Karina waves as she exits the restaurant.

Doyoung walks over to the reception desk to see a patch of light coming from the opened door to the private room you were in.

“Is he not done eating?” Doyoung raises a brow, looking at his watch. “Was my food that good?”

“Hey Y/n, we’re closed for tonight, let’s go get some—” Doyoung’s eyes widen upon peeping through the opened door. “—coffee.” He continues his sentence weakly.

In a pushup position over Xiaojun, your hands are on either side of his neck, head buried under his chin, disheveled hair laying over his chest like a puddle. His fingers digging into the wrinkled back of your shirt as his knees wrap around your hips.

“You little—” Doyoung croaks amidst the pants, moans and heavy breathing. His eyebrows dipped as the lids of his twitching eyes vigorously vibrate.

“Th-that wasn’t on the menu!” He softly yells. But ease seems to wash over him however, his agitated expression quickly morphs into one of relief. His mind wanders to the memory of the last time walked in on you two in the compromising position you were in.

Though not a pleasant sight to see, a second time at that, it does offer him the same kind of closure that it did for you. He didn't exactly like the thought of you two doing what you were doing, more so in his restaurant’s VIP room, but he’s happy for you. All those years of pent up regret and brooding, finally over.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he walks the other direction, pulling out a chair and taking a seat at one of the tables in the dining area.

“You’re still not getting that discount.” Doyoung closes his eyes and breathily mumbles.

“And you’re paying for coffee.” He grunts, glaring at the door. One thing he knew for sure was that you two were going to one really expensive café.

𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙚𝙙: 02.04.21

𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙙: 02.14.21

#xiaojun x male reader #wayv x male reader #nct x male reader #xiao dejun x male reader #kpop x male reader #nct male reader #kpop male reader #male reader #nct #nct 2020 #karina #aespa #doyoung #wayv male reader

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libraford · 3 years

Text

We interrupt the feral celebration of ousting an oligarch to bring you a story about Yeehaw and his Branch of Mystery.

It has been a while since we last had some co-worker drama, but man- has it been a weird summer. I mean... we all had a weird summer in 2020, but I don't think I was really expecting this particular... flavor of weird?

This is a story about Yeehaw, but it starts off with a story about Aggie.

Aggie was someone we were excited to hire and part of our excitement was that it's rare to find someone with prior floral experience and we'd concluded at this point that it does no one any good to be picky about new hires in the middle of a pandemic. So finding someone who knew the difference between a carnation and a rose was a big deal for us.

I say that in jest, but saying that we do 'on-the-job training' means that we've had to explain that yes- the flower in my hand that looks like a carnation is a carnation and not some other flower that looks like carnation but is not a carnation. Floristry is a very straightforward practice and for the most part a rose is a rose and a daisy is a daisy and if someone asks for those things, you give it to them.

The hard part is, as always, making them look good together.

Which is why we were pleased with Aggie- who previously did weddings for her friends and seemed to have a basic understanding of how to do things with her hands. We were happy to have her aboard.

... until you gave her criticism.

She made her vases embarrassingly short, and if you tried to tell her how to fix it, she'd snap back with "I'm not DONE yet."

She was done until you said something.

If you gave her an order for two dozen white roses, she would take it upon herself to mix white and yellow roses together 'because it looks better.'

It did not.

Hashtag: #selftaught

When a client asks for all white roses, there is likely a reason they asked for all white. Given that 90% of our work is funerals, it stands to reason that they are asking for all white because that is a traditional color for mourning. Working with a client means doing exactly what they asked for. Doing a wedding for your friends may get you high praise from people who trust you to work in the same aesthetic as them, but in a shop setting you are being paid to follow things to the letter. Doing so shows that you can follow directions, and they may come back next time.

You don't know customer entitlement until you've been torn another asshole for leaving out a single rose.

This seemed to never occur to her, and so criticism was a painful realization that perhaps she wasn't perfect at an art that was exceptionally susceptible to criticism. There were plenty of opportunities to make something in her own aesthetic, it wasn't like she was being stifled. There was a considerable amount of downtime where she filled the front cooler with her own creations- enigmatically giving each of them their own names like "Autumn Walk" or "First Snowfall." (This is not something that we do, on the whole.)

Not very many of those sold.

But I think what bugged me the most is that she only ever designed. She didn't take out the trash, she didn't answer phones, she never helped customers. She just... did flowers. Nothing else.

Oh... and the chatter.

"Do you travel? Oh, you simply MUST go to Bali sometime! You've never been to Asia? Well, there's nothing like achieving inner peace at a Buddhist temple on a mountaintop in Nepal. They have temples here in Ohio, but it's nothing like the real thing! You say you've never even been off the continent? Well, what are you waiting for? You only live once, you know!"

Ma'am... we're in the middle of a pandemic. Ma'am... I only get paid so much...

While trying to relate, I talked about my summer in Montana and she gave me the BIGGEST stank-face. "Montana? Ew, WHY?"

Look, lady- I lived on a mountaintop next to an active, world-destroying volcano system. If that's not cool, I don't know what is.

But thankfully, she only worked on weekends. See, this was her fun job. The job she does to stay social during a pandemic and flex her creative muscles while she makes money at her much more lucrative,but boring,HR job. So I only had to see her twice a month when I was manager on duty.

Then she got fired from her weekday job and went full-time at the flower shop. Poor thing wasn't used to waking up at 7am every day. She was full of suggestions.

"I think it would be easier for me if we only opened at like... 11am."

"Don't you think we should be taking proper photos of our work? All we would need is a nice camera and a soft lighting setup. Couldn't be much more than $1000."

"Oh I know! We should be doing inventory on tablets instead of writing things down!"

Okay, you go buy those things then. It took her about a week of making those suggestions to realize that she wasn't real clear on how things worked around here and stopped. She became quiet, less enthusiastic about her 'fun' job now that she wasn't immediately the star of the show.

Enter Yeehaw.

We were excited about Yeehaw, too. He didn't just have experience with flowers- he had experience with a flower shop. He gave a good interview, he seemed like he knew what he was doing and was very passionate about flowers. He was definitely an entire hippie, but about 1/3 of all plant people are. Most importantly, we still had like three spots to fill left from our pre-Covid staff.

Hired.

There was an overlap of about a week where Aggie and Yeehaw worked at the same time. His work was... immaculate. Just... astonishingly beautiful work. You didn't even have to show him how to make anything. He just... knew.

Well, Aggie didn't like that much- we had only nice things to say about this new guy but all she ever got was criticism. And if we complimented him on something he made, he would give a little 'namaste' bow. And I could see her fuming with rage each time he did this.

One day, she rushed into the back to take a phone call and any time someone went back there for a vase she would lower her voice as if keeping a deep secret. Twenty minutes later, she called Grandpa into the back as well to discuss something. Ten minutes later, Aggie left the building with her Live, Laugh, Love bag, looking pissed.

"Where did Aggie go," I asked Grandpa.

"She got a new job," she said. "Doing HR somewhere."

"She didn't even say good-bye," Blue said, appearing unsurprised.

And so we went on with out lives without really putting much further thought into Aggie, apart from the occasional 'you simply MUST visit Bali' line thrown in for bougie emphasis.

Which brings us to the next part of the story, and that is Yeehaw.

There are some details to know about Yeehaw that are kind of difficult to fit into a story neatly. Here is a brief list that may come in handy to know later.

-He lives with his mother.

-He drives a Tesla.

-He can afford the Tesla because he was in a terrible wreck that had him hospitalized, and a lawsuit was won.

-Because of this, he has two screws in his head at the temples.

-Unrelated, he has hair that goes all the way down to his back.

- And...

"Grandpa, we need to tell you something," Blue said. "In private."

Blue and Kali pulled Grandpa aside while Yeehaw slowly put together a funeral order. "Grandpa, there's no polite way to put this: Yeehaw is drunk as fuck."

"He smells like whiskey," Kali said.

"He's stumbling everywhere."

"And he won't stop... burping."

Grandpa paused. "There's something I need to tell you," she said, and she reached for a manila folder. "Yeehaw has something called... what's it called..." She leafed through the file and produced a paper, reading from it. "Auto-brewery Syndrome. His body actually produces alcohol anytime he eats bread or sugar. If he's drunk, it's because he can't help it."

We each had a chance to go over the doctor's note, verifying that yes- that sure does look official. Everyone had questions, but it did answer the one I had about why he was sitting in the break room literally drinking peanut butter from the jar.

So that was incredibly interesting and we no longer asked about the burping or why he was so slow.

However, the fact that he was so slow was extremely frustrating. Our average number of orders runs approximately 100 per-day. This can be eased somewhat when we have a full-staff with five designers- an average of 20 designs per person in an 8-hour day, 3 per hour.

But it's a fine line some days, and if one person cannot keep up it turns into a struggle for all of us.

We did our best to accommodate. We gave him all the day-ahead orders so that we wouldn't be behind and he'd have all the time he'd need to make his gorgeous pieces.

We were willing to make it work.

A number of factors came into play one day, but most notably: Yeehaw's Tesla wouldn't start and he had to take the bus. So he was late.

I think I saw him make one entire item in the two hours that we were in the same room. He went to lunch around 12:30, I took mine around 1:00. I saw him stumble back in from lunch, looking... out of it. Just... absolutely incomprehensible- mumbling, barely upright, his hair out of the bun, quite possibly sleepwalking- who knows?

I saw him for that brief Sasquatch moment... and that was the last that I saw him that day. It was around 4:00 that Grandpa asked the question:

"Where's Yeehaw?"

And no one had an answer. We all had places that we thought we'd seen him: cleaning the cooler, in the break room, heading to the bathroom... but no one had really... seen him since he stumbled back in around 1:30.

We checked all these places.

None of them.

The person who actually managed to find him was Sarge, who noticed his feet sticking out from behind the bushes behind the building.

"Huh," he said, presumably. He gave the feet a light kick and Yeehaw slowly sat back up. "Hey dude. You... okay, there? They're lookin' for you inside."

Yeehaw mumbled something to Sarge and got to his feet, stumbling back into the shop without further interaction. He appeared into the workspace, holding a branch in front of his face for mysterious reasons. There were still twigs entangled in his long hair.

"Where were you at," Grandpa asked, concerned.

"Oh, I was in the bathroom," he lied from behind the branch of mystery. "I'm pretty tired. Is it okay if I go home?"

Bewildered, Grandpa gave him permission to leave. It was soon after he left that Scout found his phone in the empty sink. "Who's trying to wash their phone," he asked in the loud manner that is characteristic of old white men. It rang while in his hand and one of our designers snatched it from him. It was his mother.

"Hello," said the designer. "Yeehaw went home early, but he left his phone behind. Can you bring it home to him?" Mom agreed, she was just over at Trader Joe's anyhow.

We thought, of course, that we were doing something smart and nice. Yeehaw's mom looks just about what you would expect the mother of a 30-year-old hippie that drives a Tesla to look. Grandpa, in a polite way, explained that he'd fallen asleep in a bush. To which Mom seemed neither surprised nor concerned about his behavior.

"Okay. I'll be at Hallmark."

Somewhere between the bus stop and Bexley, Yeehaw must have realized that his phone was not with him and so he came back looking for it. Despite his mother being literally in the same strip mall as we were, he seemed irritated that we'd taken the initiative to make sure his phone got to him.

"Well, I bet if you just went down to Hallmark she'd give you your phone and probably give you a ride home."

He mumbled something and then left.

This seems like a decent place to pause, because him leaving the second time in the day should be the end of the story. However... at 5:00 in the evening there was still two hours left in the work day and from past experience... that is plenty of time for a lot of things to happen.

The thing to happen was a phone call.

"Hi, this is Jade from the main store. We've gotten... some... interesting phone calls. Is there... a... hmm... is there a dead body out in front of your store?"

Pause.

"We'll take care of it, bye."

Who wants to be the one to poke the cadaver on the sidewalk? A volunteer from the audience! Ms Crowe: won't you come down?!

I have had it planted firmly in my mind that Crowe certainly understands the concept of fear but does not recognize it. Apart from being one of our most reliable drivers, she is also a performer, a street medic, an activist, and most notably... a fire-breather.

You have your hobbies.

Point is- she's brave enough to check to see if the person laying on the sidewalk was dead or simply overdosed.

As it turns out, it was Yeehaw- curled up in the fetal position with his arm covering his face.

"Hey," Crowe said, poking him with her foot. "Heeeeeeey," she said again but more firmly this time. He moved, blinking in the evening the sun. "Buddy, you can't be laying around on the sidewalk. You gotta move on."

Again, he slowly got to his feet. At this time, his mother emerged from Hallmark to see him talking with Crowe. A group of four people escorted him into Mom's car while he stopped every few feet to perform another 'namaste' bow.

You think this is the end. But what have we learned?

There's always more.

He came in the next day as if none of this had happened. Conversation was difficult because we both desperately needed to know what the fuck happened and also did not want to trigger something. So we didn't bring it up. He apologized for leaving early: chronic fatigue syndrome, you know.

Other places would have fired him, but we're a very forgiving workplace. Falling asleep on company time is not, in any way, the worst thing that someone has done at this location while still keeping their job. There was Sugar and her drugs, there was the dude that used the company van to pick up prostitutes (this was before my time), there was the guy that screamed at customers over the phone... it's a long list.

The primary concern of our employers is whether or not you are a reliable person. If you routinely show up for your job and do the work, you're going to be okay at least for a little bit. And Yeehaw, for all his impeccable fuckery, at least showed up every day.

We kept this at the back of our minds.

One day, after the Day We Found Him In a Bush was behind us, one of the designers mentioned that they'd seen where Aggie works now. It was not in HR.

It was our major competitor.

Now, Grandpa knows this competitor well. She knows all her competition. It is the nature of a lot of florists to, once they've gotten sick of one place, move on to the next one and spill the beans on their operations there. So Grandpa gets the dirt on everyone.

This particular shop was very regimented. You don't wing it- you follow the recipe as listed. He's been known to pick discarded flowers up off the floor and tell you exactly how much money you're costing the company by letting it fall, to the cent. If you get so far as to make casket sprays, he will take your first one and chuck it across the room if it even looks like the stems are in there too loosely.

This is what I mean about us being an easy place to work.

Hashtag: #ohfuck.

People come in and out of your life like that, in little ways. Sometimes you just have to have a little laugh at it. But what I thought was funny was that she felt the need to keep her new employer a secret, as though we would get jealous or tattle. Curious thing.

Now that the glamour of Yeehaw's arrangements had worn off, we were starting to see more and more odd behaviors that didn't seem completely related to drunkenness.

"Did you just fart?"

"No, that was a spider barking."

Amazing.

Conversation with him was becoming... difficult. As I sat in the break room with my quick lunch and he drank soup out of a mayonnaise jar, he mentioned his area of study in college.

"Cognitive Psychology and Hindu Philosophy, huh? That's an interesting combination."

"Yeah," he said, funneling an amount of squash soup down his throat. "It'll take the rest of the world about 100 years before they catch up to where I am."

I sat, posed in front of my beef and broccoli which I was eating with a fork, trying to process a logical reason why the rest of the world will be sleeping in a bush in one hundred years. "Uh... huh."

This was followed by another thirty minutes of silence where I desperately wanted to know what he meant by that but didn't want to be the one to ask him.

People will tell you that a hippie is generally an ineffective, benign kind of person who chants 'love love, peace peace' in a circle and consider that to be an action for change. But I can say with absolute certainty that I have met some downright egotistical hippies in my life. Those were lessons in bias- which I will have to save for other times.

Eventually, Grandpa became frustrated with his slowness. We presumed that his speed of choice was a combination of his meticulous nature and his various ailments, but with the Christmas season coming upon us it was becoming much more than a series of symptoms.

Previous persons who lacked speed were chatty, would play on their phone, or get distracted. But Yeehaw... Yeehaw simply moved like a tranquilized sloth. He slowly picked off each leaf, each thorn, each guard petal and took a minute for each action. He would put in his greens and then contemplate it powerfully for ten minutes before putting any flowers in... slowly.

In the time spent doing this, I had already made something of a similar size and was starting on the second one.

It was during one of these times that Grandpa finally said something.

"Yeehaw, that spray is due in thirty minutes. Is there a way you can go any faster?"

He looked up from his greens, held one carnation to his face, and said:

"If you wanted me to move faster, you would pay me better."

Let me start by saying that we do not get paid well. We don't. Compared to other flower shops in our city, we are probably the lowest-paid. This is something that the company is starting to work on with benefits and raises, but any amount of change takes time. (And its still better paying than when I worked in retail. But that's another book.)

Yeehaw had been here for exactly one month. I don't know a single workplace that gives you a raise after one month and still lets you sleep on the clock without firing you. He knew what he was getting paid when we hired him.

So anyways, he slowly grinds down our nerves to a very fine dust- burping, farting, falling asleep on his feet, staring intensely into space, talking about how much he should be making but isn't, bragging about his enlightenment, and generally just slowing down production.

And then Grandpa had her well-earned vacation week. Blue was in charge for the most part and the week leading up to Halloween is generally pretty slow, so it was a good week for her to have a break with few mishaps.

Eh... hehe. Yeah.

Yeehaw... disappeared again. We checked the cooler, we checked the break room, we checked the bushes out back, we checked the sidewalk out front.

He was in the bathroom.

So we left it.

He was still in the bathroom an hour later.

We had one of the male drivers pound on the door to check on him. When Yeehaw opened the door to the men's room, there was a wad of toilet paper on the floor that he'd been using as a pillow.

If I may pause here to explain- our men's room is disgusting. I have deep cleaned it several times only for it to become a germ-fest once more in a matter of hours. I don't ask who is peeing all over the floor because, honestly, I have no desire to know what grown man can't aim his willy in the right direction.

So in order to fall asleep in the bathroom, you have to be willing to sleep in pee. During a pandemic.

He reappeared in the workroom, put his apron back on, looked around at all of us still working and said: "Wow, it must be really hard to get fired here."

It was at this point that Blue informed Grandpa.

"Tell him that he's fired," Grandpa said, clearly 1001% done with this.

"I'm not going to fire him," Blue said. "I don't think I can fire anyone."

So she had the driver that found him do it, which was confusing for all of us. He ended up calling Grandpa to clarify. And by 'clarify,' I definitely mean 'beg for his job back.' A synopsis of the 20 minute phone call went like this:

"What do you mean, I'm fired?"

"Just that. You're fired. I'm tired of it, Yeehaw. You don't work here anymore."

"Why?"

"What do you mean 'why?' You spend all day making a total of three arrangements and then you wander off somewhere and fall asleep."

"I can't help it if I have chronic fatigue syndrome!"

"This is a physical job. If your body can't handle an 8-hour shift without falling asleep for two hours, this isn't the job for you. Tell me: where is that fair to the girls that you do 3% of the work while they pick up the slack and you wander off to sleep on the clock?"

"I simply do not care about them."

"You don't care that you're shoving all the work on your coworkers, and that's why you're fired."

"I wish you'd given me a warning."

"Tell me, Yeehaw: how many employers can you find that will allow you to sleep on the clock for two hours and let you off with a warning?"

End of discussion.

Now, you're probably wondering where Aggie comes back into this. Just hold tight, I'll get there.

The Sunday after he was fired, he came in to pick up his paycheck. I was busy handling a minor emergency where one of our funeral homes forgot to order a spray and I had to make one as fast as I could. We held a brief conversation while I made the spray in a hurry.

"I'm here to pick up my check," he said while I greened the spray and leafed through the paychecks simultaneously.

"Here you go," I said, handing it to him without much fanfare. I presumed that he was looking for sympathy or some kind of followup or... I don't know. Sorry you suddenly care about your job?

"So what are your next plans," one of the designers asked, trying to coax more information out of him while I did the work of three people.

"It's kind of funny," he said slowly... as he did all things. "I've only ever been fired from flower shops." He paused, thoughtfully. "I think I'm going to go apply to the shop in Bexley that Aggie went to."

#as the world turnips

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uomo-accattivante · 3 years

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Great article about Paul Schrader’s The Card Counter - a poker movie that’s not really a poker movie...

Some filmmakers write a hit movie and spend the ensuing years trying to escape its shadow. Paul Schrader never flinched. Forty-five years after his “Taxi Driver” script put him on the map, the writer-director has developed a body of work loaded with alienated anti-heroes compelled to violent and reckless extremes for the sake of a higher calling.

That includes “The Card Counter,” in which Oscar Isaac plays guilt-stricken Abu Ghraib vet William Tell, a man with a gambling addiction compelled to help the revenge-seeking son (Tye Sheridan) of a former colleague. Taking justice into his own hands, Isaac’s William Tell slithers through the Vegas strip in search of questionable salvation, not unlike a certain Vietnam vet named Travis Bickle did from the driver’s seat. As if to cement the comparisons, “The Card Counter” features Martin Scorsese as an executive producer, marking the first time the two men share a credit since 1999’s “Bringing Out the Dead.”

For Schrader, “Taxi Driver” comparisons are inevitable in all his work. “My tendency is to look for interesting occupational metaphors,” Schrader said in a recent interview. “‘Taxi Driver’ hit the bull’s eye of the zeitgeist and it doesn’t die. There’s no way I could’ve planned for that, but it does inform the stories I tell.”

At 75, Schrader continues to churn out movies much like his compatriot Scorsese, albeit on a much smaller scale. “The Card Counter” is the latest illustration of the secularized Christian dogma percolating through his work. “Our society doesn’t like to take responsibility for anything,” he said. “But I come from a culture where you’re responsible for everything. You come into the world soaked with guilt and you just get guiltier.” In his own prickly fashion, Schrader makes movies steeped in empathy for lost souls in search of redemption despite the daunting odds. “We’re all certainly capable of forgiveness,” he said, and chuckled. “Anyone who says otherwise is wrong.”

The “Taxi Driver” dilemma looms large in nearly all of Schrader’s work, from the dazzling high-stakes activism of “Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters” all the way through Ethan Hawke’s eco-conscious priest in “First Reformed.” While the latter, Oscar-nominated effort brought Schrader new fans, “The Card Counter” is an even more precise distillation of his aesthetic — a moody, philosophical drama about the vanity of the personal crusade.

Schrader, who has labeled his homegrown character studies as “man in the room” dramas, embraces the parallels as usual. “There is this kind of myth that the taxi driver was this friendly, joking kind of guy who was a character actor in movies,” he said. “But the reality is that it’s a very lonely job, and you’re trapped in a box for 60 hours a week.” He saw the same logic with gambling, a wayward profession generally depicted in the movies in the context of escapist romps, rather than the somber rituals that afflict most players. “I thought about the essence of playing cards every day, or sitting in front of a slot machine. It’s kind of zombie-like,” Schrader said. “You see commercials of people in casinos laughing. But it’s a pretty glum place. Today with slots you don’t even have to pull the lever. You just sit there and let the numbers roll.”

The gambling figure led Schrader to the bigger picture of his character’s conundrum. “I was wondering why someone would choose to live in that sort of purgatory,” he said. “He doesn’t want to be alive, but he can’t really be dead, either. What could cause that? It can’t be a simple crime, murder, or a family dispute. It has to be something unforgivable. And that was Abu Ghraib.”

After the fallout of that debacle, William did time in a military prison, and reenters society before the movie begins. That was a world the filmmaker wanted to understand in clearer terms. Though Schrader has received blowback for his controversial Facebook posts in the past, in this case, the platform was an asset: He used it to track down soldiers who had done time in the United States Penitentiary in Leavenworth, the only military prison in the U.S., to better understand the initial claustrophobic world that Tell endures, as well as the conflict between the justice he’s received and what he deserves. “This man has been punished by his government, set free, and paid his due, but he doesn’t feel that,” Schrader said. “What does he do then? How does he fill his time? That’s how it all began.”

Schrader himself toyed with gambling when he lived in Los Angeles early in his career, but soon gave it up. “I very quickly realized I was only interested in gambling if it was really dangerous and I didn’t want to expose myself to that kind of danger,” he said. Years later, though, the experience helped inform his story. “There is this whole fantasy of gambling movies from ‘The Cincinnati Kid’ to ‘California Split,’” Schrader said. “But poker is all about waiting. People will play 10 to 12 hours a day and two to three times a day, a hand will happen where two players both have chips. Now you’ve got a face-off. But that doesn’t happen very often. Most guys who are there are running the numbers, the probability.”

He envisioned “The Card Counter” as a repudiation of the traditional poker movie, which builds to the giddy release of a final tournament. When that moment arrives in the movie, Schrader takes the movie in a bleak, shocking new direction. “It’s not really a poker movie — that’s a red herring,” he said.

William is immersed in his casino journey when he encounters Cirk (Sheridan), the crazy-eyed son of another Abu Ghraib soldier who committed suicide. Cirk blames the soldiers’ former commander (Willem Dafoe), and hopes to loop William into the plan. Instead, the older man decides to take Cirk under his wing to talk him out of the act, which doesn’t prove so easy. In the process, the gambler forms a curious bond with La Linda (Tiffany Haddish), a gambling agent and pimp whose icy, relentless drive to make the most out of the poker circuit brings William some measure of companionship on his wayward journey.

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It should come as no surprise that the “Girls Trip” breakout is nearly unrecognizable in the role of the calculated La Linda, which is also a distinctly Schraderish touch: From his work with Richard Pryor in 1978’s “Blue Collar” all the way through Cedric the Entertainer’s supporting turn in “First Reformed,” Schrader has made a habit of seeking out comedic actors willing to play against type. That’s partly opportunistic on his part. “They’re eager to do it because they want to expand their palette, so you can get them for a price,” Schrader said, chuckling again. “That’s necessary, given the kind of films I make.” But that’s not all: “They will always find a way to be interesting, even when they’re not getting a laugh.”

Which is not to say that the process comes easily to them. Haddish recently told the New York Times that Schrader had to coach her out of speaking in a comedic sing-song. The filmmaker put it in blunter terms. “On the first reading of the script we had, frankly, she wasn’t very good,” he said. “I told her to go back and read every single line without emotion. Then I said, ‘You’re not going to do that in front of the camera, but you can’t hit every line either. So let’s pick five or six lines you can hit where you get a smile or reaction.’ Quickly she got that it was a different rhythm.”

As for Isaac, whose disquieting turn suggests a maniac lingering just beneath the surface, Schrader once again turned to metaphor. “I told him to imagine himself on a rocky coast in the ocean,” Schrader said. “Waves are going to come up and get you all day every day. They’re going to try to batter you. Let them. The waves will go away. You’ll still be there. Don’t compete. In the end, the rocks will win. You have to learn to trust that the way these things are put together has more power than the individual movement.”

William’s routine includes an odd ritual in which he covers all the furniture in his various Vegas hotel rooms with white paper. While the motivation is never explained, Schrader said it stemmed from an experience with production designer Ferdinando Scarfiotti on the set of 1982’s “Cat People,” when Schrader realized the man was doing the same thing. “He said, quite simply, ‘I have to live here surrounded by these ugly hotel furnishings,’” Schrader recalled. The concept inspired the new movie’s most compelling visual motif. “Casinos are very ugly places. There are no exceptions,” Schrader said. “Often you aspire to finding pockets of beauty and there weren’t really any here except the only place he could control, which was his hotel rooms, where he could privatize his visions. I came up with this ritual for him to control those visuals.”

At a certain point, Schrader himself couldn’t control the visuals of “The Card Counter” for more prosaic reasons: After an extra tested positive for COVID-19, the production shut down last March, with five days of shooting left, and couldn’t resume until July. Though Schrader initially took to Facebook to fume at his producers, the pause eventually opened up an opportunity to tweak his vision. “I edited the film and put in placeholders for the five or six scenes of consequence that I hadn’t shot,” he said. “I didn’t have a fully finished film but I could screen it for people. Normally you only get that privilege if you have a big-budget film and you’re allowed reshoots.” The early audience included Scorsese, who provided a crucial note. “I asked Marty, ‘What am I missing?’ He said to me that the relationship with Tiffany and Oscar was too thin. So I rewrote those scenes.”

Schrader asked Scorsese to take on the executive producer credit as a favor. “I said, ‘Marty, wouldn’t it be nice to share a card again? I thought it would help sell the film but it would also be a cool thing to do after all these years,’” Schrader said. “Then a couple of weeks later his agent called wanting to work out a deal. What deal? I asked Marty and he said yes. That’s the deal!” Now, the pair are trying to collaborate on a new long-form TV series based on the Bible, though the timing has been delayed by production on Scorsese’s upcoming “Killers of the Flower Moon.”

In the meantime, Schrader has been mulling over the way “Taxi Driver” not only continues to inform his storytelling but the world at large. “Hardly a week goes by that I don’t notice or hear some reference to it,” he said. “But I don’t know how you’d tell such a story today. A number of writers have tried and I don’t think they’ve succeeded because it has to come out of a certain place and time. We have plenty of these incels around, but they’re not as original or revealing as they were 45 years ago when that character came on the scene. I wouldn’t know how to write about it.”

Instead, his next project is a love triangle called “Master Gardener,” which he hopes to shoot in Louisiana before the end of the year. He has several other potential scripts ready to go after that. And while he has expressed trepidation about the future of cinema in the past, he’s not convinced that audiences have given up on it yet. He recalled a conversation he had with Cedric the Entertainer when “First Reformed” made the rounds. “He said off-handedly to me, ‘You know, I didn’t realize there were so many people who liked serious movies,’” Schrader said, and chuckled once more. “Well, yeah, there are.”

“The Card Counter” premieres next week at the Venice Film Festival. Focus Features releases on September 10, 2021.

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#oscar isaac #the card counter #paul schrader #martin scorsese #tiffany haddish #tye sheridan #willem dafoe #taxi driver #master gardener #indiewire

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

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76. it’s my birthday and you just fucking ruined my party and I don’t even know you

Danbrey, sfw or nsfw, please!

Here you go! I went SFW on this one

“Wow, dude, this is so fancy.” Jake takes in the dining room of Yosemite Lodge, “look, napkins!”

“Jake, we have cloth napkins back home.” Dani smiles fondly; while she’s more interested in the location and the decor, she agrees with her brothers overall enthusiasm.

The rest of Amnesty Lodge, where Dani lives and works, pooled their resources to surprise her with a weekend trip to Yosemite for her twenty-fifth birthday. She would have been happy camping, but they even went to the trouble of booking rooms in the main lodge and scheduling her a birthday dinner in the restaurant that looks out onto the valley.

Mama whistles at the menu from her seat at the head of the table, “damn, this is a good lookin dinner.”

Dani picks up the single sheet of paper, the silver writing informing her the meal with consist of a summer salad, shrimp scampie, and a strawberry rhubarb tart for dessert. When she glances across the table, Barclay is smiling down into his water glass.

“Oh my god, did you request a specific menu just for me?”

Her friend nods, blushing a little, “Head chef is an old friend from my line cook days.”

“Aw, you guys.” She sips the fancy cider Barclay ordered for the table, “you didn’t have to do all this.”

“You ain’t had a real party in years; seemed time to fix that.” Mama’s about to say something else when the fire alarm blares through the room and a server asks that everyone please exit through the side doors into the courtyard.

“Probably just a false alarm.” Barclay leans against a decorative rock.

“Uh, dudes? I smell smoke.”

Dani cranes her neck, tracks the path of the curling smoke through the lights from the windows to the main meeting room on the bottom floor of the hotel. A woman about her age, dressed entirely in red and black with, “The Lady Flame” emblazoned on her sparkly jacket, is talking and gesturing rapidly with disgruntled staff.

Two minutes later, the same woman steps onto the lawn with a sheepish smile.

“Hi everyone! It’s safe to go back in now. I, um, there was a tiny accident with some flashpaper. I think. Anyway, point is, I’m super sorry and there’s no more fire so please come enjoy my show. Oh, but, um, we have to move to the dining room due to some, um, ash.”

Just as she says this, one of the servers whispers in Barclays ear.

“Fuck. Sorry gang, sounds like we gotta postpone until tomorrow; whatever party booked ms fireball over there is gonna take up the whole restaurant.”

Dani sighs, resigning herself to a night of vending machine dinner as they head back inside. Then a hand settles on her arm and she’s locking eyes with the person who just ruined her evening.

“Hey, I always ask the cutest girl in the audience to be my assistant for the next bit. Do you want to-”

She pulls her arm away, “Yeah, hard pass, I’m not in whatever group decided to book you. I’m the person who’s birthday is getting turfed for your party.”

The magician cringes, “EEsh, I’m so sorry, I’ll, um, I’ll just.” She steps back, eyes glued to her black boots. As Dani continues into the lodge, she swears she hears the same voice go, “aw beans.”

---------------------------------------------------------

The spring sunshine feels perfect, the breeze is gentle, and there are literal bluebirds calling around her. Dani feels like a dang disney princess as she naps on a rock near one of the meadows.

Something--a chipmunk, she assumes--munches the grass below her.

“Dr Harris Bonkers, no! This is a national park and I’m not letting my only son go to jail for vandalism.”

Dani rolls onto her side in time to see the magician from last night scooping a massive, orange rabbit from the ground. When she straightens enough to notice she’s not alone, the woman freezes.

“Um. Hi. Again.”

“Hi.” Not feeling like rehashing last night, she studies the rabbit, “should he really be running around out here?”

“Not even remotely. He was supposed to stay in my room, but he gnawed his way out of his carrier, hopped onto the windowsill, and decided to bounce when he saw all the plants out here.” She cautiously sits on the edge of the rock, rabbit in her lap, “I really am sorry about last night. I never used to have problems during my shows, but lately it’s like my flashpaper has a freaking mind of its own. I was kinda hoping it wouldn’t screw with anybody’s plans but mine.”

“It’s fine.” Dani shrugs, “we’re just going to do a dinner re-do tonight.”

The woman bites a matte black lip, “Could I, um, make it up to you?”

“How?”

“Well, it’s your birthday, right? You’re supposed to spend your birthday doing things you like, so I could, like, keep you company while you do them?”

It would be nice to have a hiking buddy. Mama is taking a well-deserved nap, Barclay is off for a swim, and Jake found some rock climbers to hang with. And while the Lady Flame looked good last night, today she’s downright gorgeous. The dyed-red streaks in her curly, black hair, the freckles, black shorts that make her butt look incredible, all of it adds up to someone Dani wouldn’t mind spending the day with.

“Do you have shoes you can hike in?”

She kicks up one leg, showing off her Doc Martens, “I once walked five miles in these with no problems.”

“Great. Let’s get the doctor” she rubs the rabbit’s ears, “somewhere safe and get on the trail.”

--------------------------------------------

The hike’s only three and a half miles, but it’s taking them a long time to complete it. Not because they’re slow, but because Aubrey (as the Lady Flame calls herself) keeps stopping to look at or point out any interesting thing that catches her eye. It’s adorable.

Dani likes when she points out plants, because then she can show off a little.

“Dang, you really know your plants.” Aubrey stoops to take a picture of some Scarlet Monkeyflower.

“I run the teaching garden out back of the Lodge. Uh, Amnesty Lodge, where I live, not this one.”

“Coooool. I keep thinking about making Dr. Harris Boners a little garden when I finally find a place to stay put for awhile, but everything is always about how to keep bunnies out of your garden.”

“I mean, they can really trash it if you’re not careful.”

“I believe it, Dr. Harris Bonkers can take out a whole patch of rug in, like, ten minutes.”

“Herbs would probably be okay, clover too. I guess it depends on how much space you have.”

“Probably not much” Aubrey holds out a hand to help her across a creek, “traveling magicians don’t make much.”

Their talk turns to Aubrey’s life on the road, and her various misadventures trying to transport a fifteen pound rabbit on public transit. When they reach the waterfall that marks the trails end, they slip off their shoes and socks to dip their feet in the nearby pond, shoulders touching as they compare notes on growing up in sometimes stressful family situations.

It’s well after lunchtime when they get back, so they sit in the meadow and split a bag of chips, shooing away several overly ambitious squirrels. Mama joins them for a bit, and Dani smiles when she notices how quickly the older woman takes to Aubrey. Mama can never turn down a stray.

Dani’s already scheming for how to spend the last day of her vacation with Aubrey when the magician turns down her invitation to dinner. She’s a little disappointed, but Aubrey promises she’ll see her later.

Her birthday dinner redux is halfway into its second course when the lights at the front of the room brighten and the ones above her dim.

“And now, as an added, surprise treat for this evening's meal, the magnificent Lady Flame is here to dazzle you all with her astounding feats of magic!” The server at the edge of the room gives a thumbs up and Aubrey bounds into view, smile glittering brighter than her outfit.

To Dani’s delight, Aubrey is an amazing magician; her tricks are interesting, her patter is the same funny, energetic pace that their conversations were this afternoon, and her assistant is adorable. When she declares she needs a volunteer for her next trick, she’s holding her hand out to Dani before anyone else can raise theirs.

The trick turns out to be picking cards and showing them to the audience, though Dani notices Aubrey devotes as much sleight of hand to brushing their fingers together as she does to her act.

“And now, esteemed audience, I will produce a flower from my lovely assistant's hair!”

Dani smiles, then claps along with everyone else as Aubrey produces a spring of Larkspur from thin air. Literally, Dani cannot for the life of her tell where she was hiding it. Or how she was able to get what Dani said was her favorite flower on such short notice.

Aubrey finishes up her act (and doesn’t set anything on fire) to thunderous applause, and Dani spots Mama leaning over to whisper something to Barclay, who nods thoughtfully. It’s only after the magician has taken her last bow that Dani has a horrible realization; Aubrey went to all that trouble to make her birthday dinner memorable, and she didn’t get to eat any of it.

Her white sandals sink into the carpet as she carries a plate down to Aubrey’s room. When her new friend opens the door, she’s between worlds; sparkly jacket on top, red pajama pants on the bottom.

“I brought you some cake. Or, uh, I guess it’s a tart.” She holds out the plate and Aubrey takes it, cheeks going pink, “since you didn’t get the rest of the dinner.”

“Thanks” Aubrey steps back so Dani can join her in the room, “it’s chill that I didn’t get to join you all; I wanted to make up for ruining your dinner last night.”

“You already did way more than that. Aubrey, this was the nicest day I’ve had in months, and most of that is because I got to spend it with you.”

“I dunno, feel weird getting cake from a thing I crashed.” Aubrey is fidgeting with her bracelets, blushing harder every time she looks up and finds Dani still smiling at her.

“Can I give you something else instead?” Dani takes a half-step forward.

“Sure! What-” Aubrey’s words fade into a little sigh as Dani wraps her arms over her shoulders. Then her back bumps into the nightstand as Aubrey throws herself into a kiss.

“Hey” Dani teases, nibbling her ear as Aubrey holds her tighter, “you messed up my big reveal.”

“Aw dang, guess I’ll have to make it up to you.” Aubrey slips her hands down to the small of her back, “how does even more making out sound?”

Dani pulls her towards the bed, heart buzzing with warmth at the sight of her smile and the touch of her hands, “like the best birthday gift ever.”

#danbrey #aubrey little/dani #taz amnesty #meet ugly

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pollenat · 3 years

Text

“An empty lighter” | ljh.

➛ SEVENTEEN’s Indie drummer!Woozi. We’re back to Jihoon smoking, but this time after a bottle of beer, so you’ve been warned about the usage of cigarettes and alcohol.

➛ Word count: 1472.

➛ This short follows the events of “Readings done in smoke”.

The night you is a different type of person. At least so says Mingyu, someone who has had many chances to observe you in different surroundings. The night you is apparently surrounded by a dark cloak of mystery, as if your breath belonged to late hours.

“You emanate with power. I wouldn’t mind writing a song about that.” You know what he means by sweet words and longing looks. Though anyone else would find it impossible to deny Kim Mingyu, you’re an oddity. His fluttering lashes, attractive features, lower pitches – you cannot say you don’t find him beautiful. Just not in I’m-in-love type of beautiful.

“Sure thing, Mingyu.” Though you look away, his falling shoulders are visible in your peripheral vision. Disappointment, you bring him nothing but it.

Your gaze meets Jihoon’s. A second passes and he looks away, too shy to admit his curiosity. Despite a whole sea of moving people between the two of you, he still found and observed you. His act goes on for a moment, but then he turns to Jun and tells him something. Presumably asks about you and Mingyu. Your position – his silhouette leaning towards you, hand resting above your shoulder, eyes still set on you and your indifferent lack of movement – cannot be taken out of context. Jun looks at you as soon as Jihoon is finished talking, then turns to stare at him and laughs. Yeah, everybody knows, but nobody understands. It’s the case of poor Mingyu and cold-hearted you.

“I need to get myself a drink.”

He perks up instantly. “Oh, I can go get it-“

“No. Thank you.” Mingyu freezes in place as if struck by a cold breath down his neck. “I’m perfectly capable of getting it myself.”

His following gaze accompanies you until the crowd takes over. When under the influence, Mingyu can be a bit… intense. He doesn’t mean wrong, he’s just helpless when it comes to love. Your rejection gave him a lot of pain, then you didn’t handle things well and it isn’t wrong to say the guy still has some hope.

“Thanks.” The beer may not be the best anesthetic, but you’re lost on what to do with your free time. The club is full of strangers. Aside from your bandmates, nobody can charm you with company.

“You guys don’t mind the loud music?” Jihoon and Jun look up at you.

“Do we look like the library type?” The latter laughs at his own joke, turning to check whether his friend is just as amused. Jihoon just smiles and nods.

“From the distance you sure do.” A third beer bottle is placed on the small table. “Entertain me, please?”

“Mingyu looked pretty eager to entertain you over there.” Jun’s snickering has your eyes rolling. No need to make you feel even shittier.

“Save it. He’s just drunk. Give him a minute and he’ll be entertaining someone else.”

Nobody responds to that. You’re sitting in perfect silence, though your surroundings are anything but silent. People move around, twisting, jumping, licking each other’s faces off and among them sits a somber you. Mingyu’s disappointment haunts your memories. You want the thoughts gone. Swig after swig, you meticulously complete a circle of taking and putting away your beer. Next to you Jihoon nods to Jun’s comments. How nice would it be to enjoy yourself? Maybe if you’ve just done what Mingyu wanted of you – fallen for him – clubs would be a drama-free experience? Maybe-

“Want to go for a smoke?” Jihoon offers you the sight of his lighter. It surprises you – firstly, just a moment ago you were lost in thoughts. Secondly, of course, Jihoon knows you do not enjoy nicotine. You’ve told him yourself. The thing is, something about his asking gaze lets you know that the smoke isn’t about smoking.

“Yeah, why the hell not.”

“Huh?” Jun looks back at you, surprised, meanwhile Jihoon doesn’t comment on the sudden change of heart. It’s a wordless understanding between the two of you. “You’re smoking now? Since when?” Both you and Jihoon ignore the third party. “Hello?”

Outside is nice. Though the city air is polluted, it’s a mare of freshness – a change from the overused breath of sweaty partygoers.

You inhale a big swig in and watch as the smoke-like creation escapes your lips. Jihoon is silent for a longer moment, until he realizes he doesn’t have a cigarette out. He takes a moment to search pockets, slapping every single one loudly, before he sighs in victory. A paper pack is produced out of his jeans, along with a lighter he hid before leaving.

“Shit. Empty.” You offer a sympathetic smile to the discovery. “I don’t suppose… Of course not.”

“Haven’t considered keeping an emergency lighter.”

“Maybe you should start.” He answers, staring dejectedly at his untouched cigarettes. “Be a step ahead of me.”

It’s a fun thought to imagine – offering Jihoon a lighter before he can even find his. Watching surprise bloom on his cold features. Stopping yourself from smiling in answer. Feeling useful to someone. Doesn’t mean you’ll make it happen. You don’t plan on encouraging his smoking habits. Also, the possibility feels too intimate. Like a comforting kiss shared between lovers, with an exception being that you do not plan on kissing Jihoon’s lips.

It makes you wonder how desperate to escape Mingyu’s affection you must’ve looked back then, so that Jihoon, someone you aren’t in any way close to, took it upon himself to cheer you up.

“Are you alright?” He asks, fingers still gripping the sad pack of cigarettes.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

For a moment you lack proper words, so you wave hands around, doing your best to confine the meaning in your gestures. “The whole… consoling thing. Why are you consoling me?”

“Well,” Jihoon looks embarrassed. “I saw you and Mingyu and- Ekhm, you looked uncomfortable. Or bored? I’m not nosy, or anything. I just felt like you may need someone to help you get your mind off of it.”

Through his hard features and bored eyes, you can take a glimpse at a man who’s interested in people in his close surroundings. Feels nice to be taken care of.

“I’m used to it. You can’t really control your feelings, so I don’t hold it against Mingyu.”

Jihoon stands quiet for a moment, his eyes staring at your feet. You aren’t sure what’s so interesting to him in your boots. A group of drunks passes the two of you, laughing at something you lack the context of. Neither of you acknowledge the disruption.

“Here’s the thing – you shouldn’t get used to it. He needs to learn boundaries.” His words irritate you. After all, they’re an accusatory finger directed at someone who’s your close friend.

“You’re talking about him like he’s some predator.” He does nothing to correct you. “Mingyu’s just lovestruck, doesn’t mean me any hurt. I don’t need your protection, Jihoon. I’m capable of dealing with this myself.”

“I know you can deal with it, but… You need to stop yourself from putting it away. It won’t do any of you good.”

His confidence in a diagnosis that’s nothing but wrong has you fuming. If you weren’t under the influence, you’d have the strength to explain your situation. But in the current context? With alcohol buzzing, embarrassment plaguing and coldness biting? Your exterior is a fragile egg shell, about to be dropped on a hard surface.

“Fuck you.”

“(y/n)-“

“You know nothing about Mingyu and I, so- Fuck you, really.”

“I didn’t mean-“ but you’re already marching back inside. “Where are you going?” Hot tears stream down your cheeks. Why are you so mad? “(y/n)!”

The truth is, you don’t understand what does Mingyu see in the night you. They’re just clad in darkness, hoping to keep the nocturnal thoughts away. But the night brings you nothing but sadness. The power is a mask for contradictory powerlessness. You’re so lost on what to do, how to feel, you depend on wordless passiveness, along with the hope that someday the hardships will pass.

“(y/n)!” Strong arms hang on your neck. Mingyu reminds you of a small child and that’s why you know the feelings you’d want to push yourself into feeling won’t happen. “Where did you go?”

“Let’s go, you’re too drunk.”

“Too drunk on my love for you?” You choose to ignore Jihoon’s presence. He followed you all the way back. Fuck his caring nature. Fuck his stubbornness. Fuck the night and its consequences.

“Yeah, yeah.” Two pairs of eyes stare intensely at your face. “You’re suffocating me.”

Mingyu weakens his grip, but laughs. One of his hands lets go and is instantly grabbed by Jihoon who pulls it over his shoulder. Together, you lead the man out, both avoiding Jun’s confused stare.

Fuck the night.

➛ To be continued.

➛ pollenat’s list of headcanons

➛ pollenat’s list of shorts

➛ pollenat’s list of scenarios

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depressing-debbie · 3 years

Text

A Latte For Erwin Pt 3

Summary: Erwin and Levi wait out the storm together, 1.7k words

Here I am with yet ANOTHER chapter :)

This is like SO different from what I usually write, I’m a teensy bit worried but I’m trying to remind myself that you can’t get better at writing without just getting started and allowing yourself to produce some shitty writing at first, so uhh yeah on that note, enjoy

Part 1 Part 2

Levi set the stack of papers down on a coffee table, flicking on a lamp, and Erwin was finally able to get a good look at the house. Even from their few interactions so far, he could tell that the house was so very fitting for Levi. It was somewhat small, barely decorated yet very cozy, and impeccably clean. There wasn’t a single item that seemed out of place, and the few decorations that could be seen were sophisticated and neat: clearly, he put care into his home.

“Sorry, I know it’s a bit of a mess. I was planning on taking my day off to clean the carpets, they’re filthy.” Levi frowned as they walked towards the kitchen, and Erwin had to hold in a laugh.

“Levi, this is the opposite of messy, it’s completely- wait, you were going to deep clean your house on your day off?” Erwin stared in a sort of impressed shock, and Levi shot him a look of confusion.

“... yes? I already said, the carpets are filthy, and I never have the time to clean them properly. Except for a day like today.” They reached the kitchen, and Levi gestured for Erwin to sit at the small wooden table in the corner. He then began opening cabinets and gathering what Erwin quickly assumed were coffee ingredients. Fitting.

“I suppose that’s fair. I just can’t imagine it being very relaxing.” Levi rolled his eyes in response.

“I’d rather relax once I know my house is taken care of. Besides, what else would you suggest I do with a day off?”

Erwin smiled slightly. “I mean, I had a nice evening planned out for the two of us before I knew your coworker was messing with us. Doesn’t that sound like more fun than cleaning?” Levi froze for a moment, thankful to be facing the wall so Erwin couldn’t see the slight panic in his expression.

“I don’t know, when’s the last time you cleaned carpets? Kind of hard to beat.” Erwin laughed at the sarcasm and Levi relaxed a bit, finishing up with the drinks and sitting down at the table. Erwin accepted the cup and went to take a sip, but he noticed something off. It didn’t quite smell like coffee, more like-

“Tea?” Erwin looked up at Levi in surprise, and once again, Levi stared blankly back.

“Do you not like tea?”

“No, no, I do! I guess I just figured you would make coffee at home, considering you have such skills with coffee.”

Levi felt his face burning once again and lifted the cup to cover it. “I don’t really like coffee. I like tea.” Erwin leaned back in his chair and flashed a confused grin.

“You- you don’t like coffee? You work at a coffee shop!”

“I know, I know, but that doesn’t mean I have to drink it.” Levi caught himself smiling, partially at the irony being pointed, but also at Erwin’s expression of awe. Against his will, he noticed the beginnings of butterflies in his stomach, and quickly shoved the feeling away.

Erwin finally took a sip of the tea, and his eyes went wide, making Levi laugh quietly. “THAT’S AMAZING, LEVI. How do you manage to be this good at making coffee AND tea?”

“I’m glad you like it.” Levi’s eyes wandered away and he stared out the window, unsure of why he couldn’t make eye contact. He cleared his throat and hastily redirected the conversation. “The weather doesn’t seem to be clearing up at all.”

“You’re right. I guess I won’t need to cancel the reservations I made for tonight, they wouldn’t be open in a storm like this anyway.” Both men fell silent, reminded of the awkward situation. “Levi, I’m sorry if this is uncomfortable, but I think I should at least ask. Were you planning on calling? Should I find new reservations for another day? Because if not, then that’s fine, not a problem at all, but, you know, it’s better to know, and I just want to clear it up-” Erwin started out calmly, but it quickly became a nervous ramble, one which Levi had to note was endearing.

Levi sighed and composed himself before responding. “If I’m being honest, Erwin, no. I wasn’t going to call.” He saw the embarrassed expression on Erwin’s face and quickly elaborated. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t want to!” It came out a bit louder than he had meant, and he blushed. “I just mean... well, that’s not me. That’s not my role, it never really has been, and that’s fine with me.” Erwin watched as Levi shrunk into his chair, unused to having actual discussions with anyone but Hange.

“What role? I don’t understand.”

“You know, I’m just a coffee guy. I make coffee, and I clean my house, and I try to stop Hange from letting the shop explode. That’s me, that’s what I do. I don’t do... this.” Levi gestured in between the two of them, and Erwin did his best to connect the dots.

“I see. So, you’re saying... you don’t date?”

“I don’t date.” Levi crossed his arms in front of him and did his best to maintain his unbothered expression, but screaming internally for allowing himself to share personal information with essentially a stranger.

“But, you want to? I mean, you wanted to call me?”

“It’s complicated... but, yes. I just can’t.” This time it was Erwin who rolled his eyes, and Levi was taken aback.

“I’m sorry, Levi, but that’s bullshit. I like you! I think you’re a really interesting person, and I would love to get to know you. And from what I’m hearing, it sounds like you feel the same way. So if there really is something stopping you here, then of course I respect that. But don’t limit yourself for no reason.”

At this point, Levi could no longer control the redness crawling across his face, but he finally forced himself to look up and make eye contact. Erwin’s expression was genuine and concerned, and Levi hated to admit how comforting it was.

He sighed again and ran a hand through his hair. “You’re right. You’re right, I know! I just don’t know where to go from here.”

Erwin grinned. “Well, luckily, that I can help you with. Levi. Do you want to go on a date with me?” Levi didn’t even bother concealing his smile this time.

“Yes. Yes, I would like that.” He glanced out the window, and his face fell a bit. “If this weather ever clears up, that is.” Erwin shrugged, still smiling.

“I don’t think that’s an issue. I mean, we went for a walk together, we’re sitting in your kitchen having tea... why can’t we consider this our first date?” Levi really thought about it for a moment, and agreed.

“We should do something. You know, like watch a movie or something, that’s what people do on dates, right?” Levi asked, and Erwin tried not to laugh. “What? What’s so funny?” He grinned, blushing.

“You really don’t date, do you?” Erwin gave in and laughed, and Levi shot him a look of fake hurt, still smiling.

“We already knew that, jerk. You didn’t answer the question, what do people do on dates?”

“Whatever they want! Here, do you have any puzzles? We could do a puzzle.” This time it was Levi’s turn to hold in a laugh, trying not to spit out his tea.

“A puzzle? Alright, old man. Or is this just part of the Sophisticated Professor thing?” He teased.

“Oh, I’m old? Do you want to count the number of antique lamps in here?” Erwin teased right back, and Levi gave in.

“Alright, alright, that’s fair. I do have some puzzles, actually. Hange got them for me last year, said I needed a new hobby. Apparently they don’t think coffee should be someone’s entire personality.” Levi went into the adjacent room and rummaged around in the cabinet.

“Oh yeah, and how’d that new hobby go?”

He returned with two puzzle boxes, both still wrapped in plastic. “I decided to stick with the coffee afterall.” Levi was just about to sit down when his phone rang, back with the pile of paperwork by the door, so he set down the puzzles and went after it.

He snorted when he saw Hange’s name as the caller. Of all people to interrupt, of course it was them.

“What do you need Hange?”

“Geez Levi, you don’t have to be so aggressive, I just wanted to make sure you got home alright. I feel bad, tricking you guys like that, it was a dirty move, I just couldn’t watch you miss out on an opportunity, and I know you wouldn’t have gotten in contact if I didn’t take initiative, so I just decided-” Levi was getting restless listening to them ramble.

“Stop, you don’t need to explain, listen, it’s fine.”

“Really? Because I figured you’d be pissed! I know how serious you are about your privacy and not wanting to talk to other people, and I know I messed up-”

“HANGE. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still mad, but you don’t have to explain, not right now. I have to go.”

“Oh... oh? Go where? Are you still planning to clean the carpets? I’ll come over after we close and help, it’s the least I can do, do you think we could close early? I could be there in an hour-”

“No, no, don’t come here.” Levi could feel Hange’s intrigue, especially since he’d never stopped them from coming to visit him randomly before. It would probably be easier to just come clean... “I mean, unless you want to interrupt and ruin my first date. Goodbye, Hange.” Levi hung up just as he heard them start to freak out. He would have to deal with that later, but as he hurried back to Erwin in the kitchen, he couldn’t care less.

First date... sounded nice.

#attack on titan headcanons #attack on titan #aot headcanons #aot #shingeki no kyojin headcanons #shingeki no kyojin #snk headcanons #snk #snk eruri #eruri headcanons #eruri drabble #eruri fluff #eruri #eruri feels #levi ackerman #erwin smith

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btssmutficslovingfan01 · 3 years

Text

Seducing Suga - Part 2

⮱ Summary: You were happy to find out that Yoongi likes your rap skills, and your original plan involved him, but then the unexpected happened.

Back to 🌼 PART 1 🌼 ⇖

⮱ Words: 2k

⮱ Pairing(s): Yoongi x Reader, t i n y Jungkook x reader

⮱ Genre: Smut, Angst

⮱ Warnings: Cheating, graphic depictions of sex, swearing

_______________________

“I’m just moving forward, no matter what happens behind me,

Even with the tears running down my cheeks I, I, I am a survivor.” You finish recording the demo as the girl group looks at you with curious wide eyes. You weren’t just singing, you were crying. The leader of your girl group, Nadi, made sure to give you a tight squeeze before patting you on the back and sending you out. It was official, you were the biggest loser of an artist the company had produced.

You’ve been crying a lot lately, and everyone knows it’s because of your idol boyfriend. Because of certain obligations, you had to come clean about your relationship to Yoongi, so that your company could take measures to help you come up with a cover story. You weren’t in a good place with him at the moment, since you hadn’t texted each other in a little over a month and you expected him to text you first.

Your company had declared you their new solo artist and you just had to work on a collaboration with BTS. This one wouldn’t feature a rapper though, you were to record vocals with Jungkook and they wanted you both there to get a sense of your sounds together. Old fashioned producers prefer it that way.

You know you’ll have to meet Yoongi, Namjoon, or Hoseok but most likely Yoongi since he was on the list of producers for the song. You already released your first album and you were planning on dropping two singles. The first one would be the finished version of “Survivor,” the song which you just recorded a demo for, and the second one will be the song you’re working on with Jungkook.

“There you are! The girls told me you were crying? Come on honey, look over the lyrics for your new song. Jungkook himself wrote it after sitting down for five minutes. This boy has a knack for writing about feelings.” Confused, you take the sheet of lyrics from her hand and you see them handwritten in cursive english. You could tell the song was meant to be sung in Korean but for whatever reason, Jungkook decided to translate them to English.

“If there’s a love that must be true,

That would be the love I have for you.

No matter what may pull us apart,

In the end you have my heart.

P.S I hope this collab makes you feel better, I know you’ve been hurting just as bad as my brother has been.” You sigh at the note, smiling and feeling my spirits lifted higher after reading Jungkook’s neat handwriting. You thought it was sweet that he still believed in old pen and paper as his main form of communication. Obviously, he has a phone and he could’ve texted you, but he opted for the letter.

You open up your phone and send him a picture of the paper. A few minutes later he replies back, and you talk more about the collab. Then you stop talking after he tells you he has to practice. It has been a while since you sat down and talked about your life with anyone. Normally you stay away from talking about work when it comes to Yoongi, but it’s so natural with Jungkook.

You decide to sit down and start writing. “Dear Jungkook,” You start.

Your POV

The day for our first collaborative project has arrived. After sending each other letters back and forth for the past month or so, me and Jungkook were joined at the hip. So much so that Jimin pulled me aside to tell me off about my closeness with Jungkook and how it was like I was forgetting about Yoongi.

“How is it any of your business, Jimin? Me and Jungkook are friends. If Yoongi thinks there’s something more, that’s his problem. Did you know that I was heartbroken after he decided not to text me after telling me he needed a break? We haven��t even talked to each other since then. Things aren’t the same between us. I didn’t realize how much I had in common with Jungkook until after that happened. So in a way, I’m glad that me and Yoongi are no more,” As soon as I say those words, Yoongi steps out of the shadows. “Gah! Where did you come from?”

“I was having my coffee in the other room. I heard about what you said. It sounds like you and Jungkook really hit it off. I’m happy for you, really,” He sets down his mug on a coaster nearby. “So that’s why I wanted to tell you that we should break up.” I feel a pang of sadness inside but it’s nothing compared to the immense longing in my heart I have for Jungkook. The positive feelings took over the negative ones, and for the environment and mood in the studio to be good, I needed to concentrate on that.

“Okay. I agree with you. Shall we start?” I ask him as an artist would to a producer, and he nods, sitting down with a blank look on his face. This time, it really does look blank. I can’t read him as well as I used to, I suppose.

Me and Jungkook ended up spending four hours together, and after a lot of time holed up in the studio, we were a lot closer than before. Enough for him to kiss me during our 30 minute break. I returned the kiss gingerly, savoring the taste of his strawberry lip balm. This boy smells and tastes good.

“Will you please go on a date with me?” He asks after recovering from the long-winded kiss.

“Yes.” I smile in response, happy to jump back into recording with Jungkook. We even filmed a Bangtan Bomb, and it was so obvious that there was a spark between us. But the closer I got to Jungkook, the more gloomier Yoongi got.

“And it’s time for Yoongi to hop in the booth with you. It’s the rap verse.” I check the paper quickly, noticing that Jungkook hadn’t written a prior note about Yoongi.

“There’s a rap verse?” I ask in disbelief.

“Yeah, I added it after hearing you guys together. It didn’t sound like enough…” He dissed my singing skills right in front of me! We sit through two grueling hours of that before we’re dismissed for the day.

I grab Yoongi’s collar and I drag him towards the janitor’s closet. “How romantic. Isn’t it sweet that we have candles already here to set the mood?” I raise an eyebrow, pinning him against the wall.

“Shut up. I just wanted to be happy and I was starting to really like Jungkook. Why do you always have to ruin everything?” Seeing his blank expression soften, my heart started to race. What’s wrong with me now?

“Your lips say one thing, but your eyes say another,” He shushes me as he suddenly has me pinned to the wall, reversing our predicament so that I was in his trap again. “Maybe we should see what your body says.” Before he puts a hand on me, I stop him.

“Yoongi…” He stops midway, making sure he has my full consent before proceeding. “...Kiss me.”

We start off slow, with kisses so fiery they could melt my heart into a puddle. Yet my heart was encased again, as my body was telling me to act on impulse. The lust takes over each of us, pushing us into the wall-literally, as Yoongi’s tongue slipped into my mouth and I parted my lips so that he didn’t have to force his way in. Our tongues danced together as our lips collided in a sad, forbidden way, and we pulled apart for air after the anticipation had died down.

“You didn’t think we were stopping just there, did you?” I feel his hand circle my thigh and I warm heat shoots up my core.

“I don’t know. Depends on what you want.” He lets his hands linger for a bit, groping me in ways that should make me feel dirty but instead I feel excited. The thrill of the moment makes me feel good.

We kiss again as he pulls off his shirt and I lose my own, our bodies filled with lust for only each other again. I haven’t felt this way about anyone in a long time.

“Shit, I’m hard. You feel that? You make me so hard, princess.” I roll my eyes at the cliche line.

“Don’t call me “princess.” I ain’t royalty. Call me by my name, kitty cat.” I allude to his nicknames from the fanbase, mostly cat-based since he resembles a cat with how tired he is whenever a camera is in his face. Little do they know that behind the scenes, Yoongi is a hard worker and that is why he is tired all the time. He barely had time for me when I was his girlfriend.

“Don’t call me kitty cat. It’s bad enough I gotta deal with crazies on a daily basis who baby me and call me lil meow meow.” I suck in a deep breath when he drops to his knees, his fingers hooking on the sides of my panties before he pulls them down. I shudder at the feeling of the cool air hitting my sensitive region at first, and I practically melt when Yoongi puts his lips on me.

I groan and buck my hips as he savors my juices, making me climax with just his lips and tongue. He smirks, burying his head further between my legs as I smother him with my clit, stroking his smooth tufts of grey locks as he kisses me to my orgasm.

“Yoongi, Oh it feels too good. Fuck yes.” I moan as he drives me over the edge, slapping my clit with his fingers before lapping up my juices.

“That felt good, didn’t it sweetheart?” I nod, unable to speak as the aftershocks of my orgasm leave me unable to stand straight for a minute. He helps me up, lifting me to my feet since my legs forgot how to function from the crazy orgasm that Yoongi administered. “Well you’re in for a treat. Don’t worry, I’ll do all the work. Now, sit back and relax.” I nod as he makes me sit with my legs wide open in a chair and he strips down completely so that I have a great view of his giant dick and cute butt. “I’m gonna fuck you now, is that okay?” He asks as I gulp, feeling thirsty as he lowers his cock into me slowly.

“That hurts.” I groan, earning an apology from him before he turned me around and unclasped my bra so that I was fully naked as well.

“Shit, such a nice ass.” He spanks me as I bounce on his dick, moving involuntarily since he was the one slamming into me in the first place. I feel his warm hands on my ass, taking in the pleasurable feeling of his cock sliding into me with ease, as he was hard and dripping. I realize somewhere in the middle of riding his dick that we forgot to use protection.

“Yoongi, are you cumming yet?” He shakes his head, his pale cheeks flushed red as sweat drips down his forehead and our bodies cling together from the extra sweat. He looks a bit more exhausted than usual, but that’s probably because he was tasked with fucking my brains out for over an hour now.

“Shit, I’m close now. Y/N, hold me.”

“But I-” He kisses my neck, holding my hips in place as I attempt to bounce off his lap, and before I can say anything his hot white semen has painted my inner walls. Cream drips down my inner thighs, leaking onto his stomach as I pop off his dick with an evident look of fear on my face.

“That was amazing, babe. I haven’t cum like that since—”

“I’m not on birth control, Yoongi,” And with those words he freezes, his look of pleasure replaced with fear. “That’s not all. I just cheated on Jungkook. Oh my god.” I feel my heart beating out of my chest, blood rushing to my head all at once before I pass out.

#yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi imagine #yoongi smut #mature #cheating #jungkook #bts #btsff #hyunglinenetwork

48 notes · View notes

7wanderingpaws · 4 years

Text

Simply, your (14)

Pairing: Baekhyun x reader

Genre: family AU, hapkido teacher AU, PhD AU

Word count: 7K

Warnings: language

A/N: Wow. This one was a small rollercoaster. Please let me know what you thought! I have been staring at my screen for too long today, sorry for any mistakes. ^^

tags: @milky-baek @itsbaekhyunsbutt @luvhtears @shesdreaminginoverdose @cynthbee @jummyjammy @junmyeonnoona @littleflowercrown13 @sebootyforlife (if you want to be tagged/untagged please let me know!)

MASTERLIST

1 . 2 . 3 . 4 . 5 . 6 . 7 . 8 . 9 . 10 . 11 . 12 . 13

Everything felt like a dream. A very painful, unrealistic, maybe even bizarre dream that pulled you into an abyss of deep sleep. Levitating between reality and dream, you weren’t sure if the pain in your body was also something your mind brilliantly produced, but it was a small emergency bell, nonetheless. A bell that was supposed to tell you that everything that happened in the past 24 hours was very much real.

When you were brought back to consciousness, a mop of hair was what welcomed you, the owner’s forehead pressed to the mattress while his hands were cradling yours, sitting on a chair next to your bed. Was he sleeping? He seemed uncomfortable, you thought.

Looking up at the ceiling of the room, you started to feel all the discomfort your body was quickly catching up to. The tiredness as if you got run over by a truck instead of quality rest. Your head was a bit light, and the pain, especially between your legs, was slowly growing in intensity, starting with gentle throbbing.

When you finally understood why you were in the hospital, your eyes widened and looked around the room in hopes to see some small carrier that would have three babies. But there were none.

You moved around a little more before Baekhyun snapped his head up, his eyes on alert as he saw you looking at him with big, but tired eyes.

“Honey,” he whispered and stood up, leaning over you. “You’re up.” He cradled your face and you closed your eyes for a second before opening them.

“Wh-where are our babies?” you asked in a whisper as well, not trusting your voice just yet. “Why aren’t they here? How long have I been out?”

“Shh,” he let out gently, combing your hair out of your face. “The doctor told us they have to be in incubation for the time being. Don’t you remember?”

You felt tears in your eyes because the only real thing you remembered was pushing out a human. And then another one. And another one. Everything after that seemed to be a blur. “I want to see them.”

He looked worried at your words and he sat back down, your face missing the heat of his palms. “First let’s have some water, hm?” he said, giving you a small smile as he reached for the cup that was on the small table next to your bed. He helped you gulp down half of it before the nurse appeared from the corridor with a kind smile. You recognized her as the same one that declared you were ready to go to labor.

“Oh, our young triplet family,” she said in a cheerful voice which was weirdly soothing to you. If she acted like that it meant there were no problems. “I see the mother is up. I am going to check your pulse, alright?” Both you and Baekhyun nodded and she asked in between: “When did you wake up?”

“Not long ago,” answered Baekhyun. “Not even five minutes ago.”

She nodded and once the machine around your arm beeped, she looked up at you, frowning. “Aren't you feeling dizzy?”

You sighed and nodded. “Just a bit.”

“Your blood pressure is a bit low now, for a change,” answered the nurse with an amusement, but you knew it was to lighten up your mood. You couldn’t even bother replying to that, only one thought consuming your mind: “Can I see my babies?”

Nurse looked down at you and she took a deep breath. “It’s better for you to lie down a little longer, miss, your va-“

“I want to see them now, though,” you interrupted with a weak voice and Baekhyun squeezed your hand as if asking for your attention.

“It’s better to listen to the nurse,” he advised quietly.

“You need to rest just a little longer, miss. I promise I will take you to them later-“

You had tears in your eyes again. “You took them away from me without me having a single proper glance at them,” you said, your voice raising in volume with each word. “I want to see them now. I feel good enough to see them.”

“Sweetheart, you can't walk yet,” said Baekhyun with a gentle, but resolute voice which you knew you shouldn't go against. He was running his thumb over the skin of your hand soothingly, momentarily bringing you to present and out of your little tantrum. Just momentarily, though.

“Babe, I am just fine!”

Baekhyun seemed troubled and looked up at the nurse for what you could only interpret as help.

And she did help. “Your vagina is stitched up and still healing after the surgery. You cannot walk right now.”

You gritted your teeth, angry tears spilling from the sides of your eyes. So that was the uncomfortable pain you felt down there.

“Until when,” you breathed weakly.

Baekhyun reached out his hand and ran the back of his index finger over the moisture.

“In the morning.”

“What time is it now?”

“It’s 1am,” she said, giving you a pressed smile. “I understand it’s difficult and that you really want to see the little ones, but rest just a little bit longer and we will take you there.”

“Then how do I pee?”

“You can do it in bed,” informed the nurse as if it were good news and pointed to a bag attached to the side of the bed you couldn’t see properly. “You are connected to this bag that will take everything you need to let out.”

Her words really hurt in a way, despite them being purely informative. How embarrassing that was. How frustrating every single thing was. You couldn’t see your babies, you couldn’t even walk and now you couldn’t even go to the toilet like a normal human.

“Can you do something with my dizziness?” you replied instead, turning your face slightly away from Baekhyun and the nurse, their gazes too heavy for you to bear. “Just something to stop it.”

“I will connect you to the IV drip,” she replied right away and you heard her write down something on the papers she was clutching to her chest now before moving to your side of the bed. “And I will come back in the morning.”

She quickly did as she said, taking your hand gently and plucking yet another injection in there, your hand and inside of your elbow now severely bruised.

Once she was out the doors, it was only the soft commotion coming from the corridors as nurses and some patients were roaming around.

You became extremely aware of Baekhyun’s touch on your hand and a couple of more tears rolled out of your eyes.

“Baby,” you heard him call silently, pleadingly.

You pressed your lips into a thin line and by now your tears were unstoppable. Humiliation and pain, all of it too much to bear and everything for him to witness.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s okay,” he cooed when he saw your trembling chin and wet cheek. He was quick to stand up and lean over you to have a good look at your face. He took a gentle hold of it, making you look at him with worry. Despite you feeling and probably looking like death, he wasn’t far away, either. His face seemed a bit fallen, circles under his eyes more prominent and his hair was disheveled. He could still set your heart in a frenzy, though. “It’s alright, I’m here.”

“I can’t stand you seeing me like this,” you whispered quickly before a sob would beat you to it. “I really can’t, Baekhyun,” you said and turned your head away even though he was still holding you.

“No, sweetheart, don’t do this,” he let out. “It’s all only natural.”

You turned your head back to look at him. “It’s humiliating,” you spat a bit stronger than intended. “And I can’t even see the three small humans I struggled to bring to this world. I just-“ you squeezed your eyes shut and let out a sob as a series of crying sprees overtook you, finally all the emotions and pain catching up to you, bringing you to your lowest of low. “I am fucking stitched up down there!”

Baekhyun was looking at you sadly and like someone very troubled, for he had no idea how to console you or make the pain go away.

Of course, you were aware of it. You knew he was helpless, powerless and just overall clueless about everything that you were going through in that moment. Yet, he was the one who was receiving your punches, your frustrations that you couldn’t keep at bay. He was there to support you only for you to push him away.

“I know,” he said, whispering your name gently as he caressed your flushed cheek, hating to see you cry so heartbreakingly, and in response, his own eyes glistened with tears, “and I’m so sorry that I don’t know what you are feeling right now, but please know that I understand and I am here for you. I’m here and I’m not leaving and I don’t care how you look or what you do. This is how it is, so please don’t think like that. I love you,” he said urgently, his eyes searching for yours.

You met his, though you could barely make out any features of his because he was blurry. Likewise Baekhyun only saw your blood-shot orbs full of moisture as tears kept falling from them continuously.

Finally, after more sobbing, you longingly reached out to Baekhyun, hugging him to you and he quickly complied, hushing you gently as he hid his face in your neck and murmured words of comfort. His scent was lingering and it was the only thing that could ground you enough to calm your ragged breathing and bring you some peace to your troubled whirlwind of emotions.

“I’m scared of everything,” you admitted finally. “I’m scared. I don't want to be here, Baekhyun. I want to go back home and hide.”

“Soon, my love, soon. Let's hold on just a little bit longer. We can do this. You can do this.”

Let's. A powerful word. Baekhyun used it a lot, you took note. We. Us. Our. Let’s. Everything he said included you and him. Him and you. It was never just one, it was either both or none. And right now, when you couldn't stand anything, he was there to remind you he was with you. It was not just you.

“I promise soon enough we will be home, in safety, just like you want it now. With our babies, as well,” he kept murmuring, his breath hot on your ear, the depth of his voice pulling you in like a lullaby.

You closed your eyes, imagining your tiny apartment with three off-springs in it that were made from pure love between you and Baekhyun.

You swallowed when Baekhyun went quiet, eventually deciding to just lie down next to you on the bed. You gratefully shimmied to the side, though you hissed in pain that shot up from between your legs. “Fuck, that hurts,” you groaned quietly, hiding your face in Baekhyun’s shoulder.

“Careful.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Baekhyun,” you whispered and he hummed in reply, making himself more comfortable. “Have you… seen them?”

He was silent for a moment before humming again. “I have, sweetheart.”

You bit your lip, fighting back the tears again. “How were they?”

“Beautiful,” he was fast to whisper back and he reached out to turn off the light on the table next to your bed, engulfing the room in darkness, the only light coming from the open doors of the room. “Fragile, but absolutely beautiful.”

Tears, once again, rolled down your cheeks and fell on Baekhyun's shirt as you silently cried and he hugged you even closer, letting you cry yourself to another deep slumber.

It wasn't easy to stand up, as you quickly learned later that day when the nurse came in the morning, just as promised. You felt like you were going to rip apart from sharp pain down there and your veins showed on your forehead as you fought the pain away, though to no avail.

“Can't you give her something to numb it?” asked Baekhyun in concern as he held your hand when you were standing frozen, breathing heavily before mustering up the courage to make another few steps.

“We are already giving her painkillers,” answered the nurse and squeezed your hand to show you support.

“I want to see my kids,” you said decidedly, “so I will walk to them right now, even if it means I will split open.”

Baekhyun didn't seem so convinced and he would have opposed it, but it had been almost two days and you still couldn't see them.

After a long, terrible way to the incubation, you were finally met with a wide glass that enabled you to look into the room full of small incubators that were a temporary and safe home for the new-born babies. Three of those were occupied by yours and you cried the entire time until you stood above one of them, your only son inside. His eyes were closed as he was sleeping peacefully, not making a single noise. His small hands were curled up into tiny fists and you grabbed Baekhyun's hand for support, squeezing it. He was right beside you, his eyes huge as he observed the tiny body of your son.

“You were right,” you said quietly, shakily. “Beautiful. Each of them.” And so, so fragile.

Baekhyun pressed his lips to your temple, keeping them there as he murmured. “Must be after you.”

You snorted, but didn't tear your gaze away from your baby for a single second.

You did the same to your two daughters, their pink skin reminding you how fresh and raw it still was. How incredibly fragile and weak they were. How they needed technology now more than you, for you couldn’t help them despite being their mother.

“They will be out very soon,” came a quiet voice. You looked up and saw a NICU doctor smiling at you and Baekhyun in a manner that could only be called understanding.

You nodded, not knowing what to say; or more like you wanted to have your little peace with them without interruption.

“You actually came in time,” she continued as she stepped to one of your daughters' incubators and opened it. “Unfortunately, you can’t hold them just yet but you can see how they change positions.”

You and Baekhyun looked at each other before following the doctor's hand movement. She carefully took the baby's body and turned it, making the tiny body lie on its belly.

You frowned, horrified. “Wh-why are you doing that? Isn't that going to suffocate her?”

The doctor adjusted the legs, tucking the knees towards the belly, hands next to the face. She then straightened up and closed the incubator. “These positions are the closest to how the babies would be if they are still inside your belly. They help in the growth of the baby's body.”

You were so surprised at that news that you and Baekhyun slowly walked up to your daughter’s incubator, watching her tiny body curled up, her gentle body strikingly soft.

The doctor gave you another kind smile. “Have you thought about the names yet?”

Baekhyun looked down at you, though quite surprisingly, you haven't discussed it. You didn't know their gender throughout pregnancy and after birth you were trying to recover from the small surgery and mental breakdown after mental breakdown. “Not yet,” he replied, squeezing your waist to hold you up when he noticed your tired posture. “Maybe we will go back to the room now and have a little discussion, hm?” he said, the last sentence more to you than to the doctor.

“I don’t want to leave them just yet,” you mumbled, looking up at Baekhyun with pleading eyes.

The doctor slowly worked on the other babies, while Baekhyun whispered: “You are getting tired, honey. You still need to think about your own health. How will you take care of the little ones if you don't have enough energy?”

Contemplating his words, you concluded that he was correct. But emotionally, you felt guilty for not being there for your children.

“C'mon,” he said, nudging you gently, “let's have a rest. They are better here now, sleeping anyway.”

You nodded, though it was difficult to do so.

“So Juna, the eldest? And Junhee, second? Jun, our little boy?” you whispered excitedly into Baekhyun's ear as the both of you were lying on the bed again, giggling to each other at various names, discussing meanings behind them.

“I think it's perfect,” he smiled, kissing your temple.

Baekhyun was keen on calling his son Jun and the names for your daughters came pretty naturally, as if it was meant to be like that.

Just before you could say something, the nurse came in rather quickly, her eyes frantic. It made you tense up immediately, Baekhyun following the lead. “Miss.”

You were already sitting up, ignoring the pain in between your legs. “What happened? Something with the babies?”

Panic overtook you almost right away until Baekhyun reached for you to stop moving, forcing you to let the nurse tell you what the problem was.

“The babies are alright, but there are some reporters asking about you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry, I suppose you don't know, but you made it to the news. As you know, you gave birth to triplets naturally which is very rare these days,” she rushed to explain with a bright smile aimed at you.

Your jaw fell, going into a huge shock, not even registering Baekhyun's hand running up and down your back soothingly. He didn't seem that shocked though. He must have already known.

“They want an interview - of course, none of your personal information has been released. We, as a hospital, cannot share that kind of information, but it is up to you whether you want to talk to them or not. After all, you did something fantastic.”

You couldn't catch Baekhyun's wide, and very proud smile as he watched your awed profile.

“I don't want to talk to them, thank you,” you decided, the idea not sitting well with you. “I just- I am not interested.” You held your chest. “You got me scared. I thought something was wrong with the babies.”

“I'm so sorry.” The nurse really was apologetic. “I will communicate your decision to the PR.” She hesitated for a moment before asking kindly: “Have you perhaps decided on the names of the babies, yet?”

Baekhyun nodded happily.

The entire week had been a huge blur. At some point you told Baekhyun to go home, rest up, shower, change clothes and to try to have some peace but he only did it when you promised him you wouldn’t move too much.

By the end of the week you could go to the toilet but only with the help of nurse, who had to help you pee, which turned out to be a very painful experience. You would have been humiliated under normal circumstances but after giving birth and them seeing literally everything, you couldn't care less. She was very supportive of you, though, and the only thing that kept you going were the days that would bring you closer to going home together with your little ones.

Baekhyun’s friends as well as Sukyeong and Chen came to visit and you were thankful for a close connection with the outside world, the hospital room already giving you slight depression. They showed you the short news that were about you, titled as “a young woman in Seoul gives natural birth to triplets”. It made you feel proud.

Sukyeong and Chanyeol both promised to come on the day of your release to help with the move smoothly. Chanyeol had a car and Sukyeong wanted to be there for emotional support for you. Thankfulness was an understanding.

Everyone was so patient with you and your little outbursts of frustration and small emotional rollercoasters. Every time you went to NICU, your heart would die a little bit, seeing your babies in such a weak state ripping your chest apart in pain. Realizing these emotions had to be newfound motherly instincts made you cry just a little harder because- you were a mother; someone responsible for their well-being, responsible for their health and happiness.

That was why, on the final day in the hospital, you fought back your tears very hard, the sight of the doctors taking out your tiny children tattooed in your memory permanently.

Baekhyun’s best friend, Chanyeol, and you’re best friend Sukyeong, we’re both outside watching you through the big window. It was a bit comical; Chanyeol the tall man whose eyes were huge already as they were, yet they doubled in size from being emotional while Sukyeong was a little energetic ball next to him, smiling brightly, her eyes getting almost lost.

“Jun, being the last baby, still didn’t open his eyes,” explained the doctor, bringing you back to the present, as she took him out and walked towards you and Baekhyun where you were sitting just close by on the couches they had there. “But maybe when he feels his parents…” she trailed off, sending you a soft smile.

You were already holding Juna, the eldest, and you wanted Baekhyun to take Jun, his only son. The doctor handed the tiny body to Baekhyun who cradled him to his chest with great care. Jun let out soft baby noises and Baekhyun proceeded to talk to him while the doctor tended to your middle one, Junhee.

“Hey there, little pal,” you heard a soft whisper. Seeing Juna was fast asleep on your chest, you leaned your head on Baekhyun's shoulder and watched Jun’s peaceful face. “Daddy’s got you now. You’re safe with me, buddy.”

You breathed out a soft laugh through your nose, nuzzling Baekhyun’s shoulder just when you saw two huge pairs of black eyes looking at you rather sleepily.

“Oh my god, he opened his eyes,” you whispered, watching in awe as Jun was blinking slowly, taking in the world with his eyes. His eyes focused on you before moving his eyes upwards, towards the sound of his father’s voice.

“Is little Jun seeing everything for the first time?” cooed Baekhyun gently though he couldn’t see the scene, baby’s head being tucked under his chin.

Tears welled up in your eyes and your heart broke just a little bit again. Jun was the most fragile out of the three babies. Being the last one to come out and the one who was squished far back in your tummy with his two sisters in your belly, he was deprived of the vital nutritions your body was supposed to provide him while in the womb the most. Seeing him look around with curiosity and reacting to Baekhyun’s voice - it made you emotional.

You held Juna close to you as Jun looked back to you again. Maybe you were just seeing things too early on, but he seemed to have Baekhyun’s eyes; big, soft, down-turned and delicate.

“Hi there, little one,” you let out, pressing your lips together to keep your cries in. “Welcome.”

Baekhyun looked at you with the softest smile he ever gave you. He took notice of your tear-stained cheeks but he couldn’t comment, for his own were slowly burning up in his eyes. You looked so beautiful with tiny Juna in your arms as she slept peacefully while you were gazing at your son in his arms. Despite looking exhausted, he became breathless just a little bit. Pregnancy made you thousand times more beautiful, the pregnancy glow made you shine and bubbly and attractive and incredibly desirable. Now, after giving birth, he saw you in a completely different light - as a mother of his children, and he might have fallen in love with you all over again.

Baekhyun maneuvered Jun around carefully until he was lying in his arms and he could see his eyes. Jun looked back at his father, still blinking slowly, sleepily as he curiously took in Baekhyun’s smiling features.

“Well, hello there, big eyes,” he whispered lovingly. “Are you enjoying the view?”

You giggled quietly and sighed in content.

“I think he likes you very much, honey,” you commented, watching Jun’s stare fixed on your boyfriend.

Baekhyun cooed lovingly, completely and utterly sweeped off his feet at the sight of his son looking back at him.

Just then, the doctor approached with Junhee. You gladly opened your other arm for the third baby to join you. Junhee was awake and already taking her surroundings in.

You smiled when your eyes met, the baby silently watching you. Just like Baekhyun, you cooed though a bit quieter not to disturb sleeping Juna. Junhee’ s eyes scrunched up ever so slightly in the tiniest of smiles, though for you it felt like she had a full on grin plastered on her face. Your chest was about to combust with emotions while you noticed the doctors and nurses watching you with smiling faces.

“Is it okay if we take a picture of you? So we can hang it up here to prove that everything is possible,” asked the doctor who handed you the babies.

You and Baekhyun exchanged silent glances and nodded. You might have made history today.

The picture came out beautiful. Baekhyun leaned in to kiss your temple just when the flash blinded you.

When you arrived at your apartment, it was crazy silent, and smelled like home. Everything was clean and put in place which made you turn to Baekhyun with a grateful smile for you knew it was him cleaning up the apartment whenever he left the hospital to go home.

Once Sukyeong and Chanyeol left, you went to the bedroom to found it being rearranged.

The mattress you and Baekhyun usually slept on was pushed to the wall and under the window surrounded by pillows. It would have to do for the babies until you could afford to buy a more proper place for them to sleep. You and Baekhyun agreed you'd sleep on the floor on the mat right next to the bed.

Deciding you wanted to shower and to put yourself together as much as you could with your tiredness and achiness, you placed the babies in the mattress over the length so all of them would fit. They were all sleeping anyway, so you didn’t feel too guilty for letting them be for now.

“I’ll watch out for them, you go and shower,” murmured Baekhyun as he roamed in the bag that was with you in the hospital. You nodded, already taking off your shirt that was now hanging off of you as you lost a bit of the baby bump. “Will you be alright? You want me to help?”

You turned back to him but shook your head with a smile. “I’ll be fine. You watch the babies.”

“Honey, wait,” called softly Baekhyun and stood up, walking towards your awaiting figure. Once stood in front of you, he smiled and cradled your face. “Welcome home,” he whispered before kissing you on your lips softly.

You returned the kiss that made you smile as you hugged him to you. “Thank you, Baekhyun. For everything,” you mumbled against his mouth.

“They are sleeping so peacefully,” whispered Baekhyun lovingly as he raised his head slightly, looking at the mattress that once used to be his and yours but now three sleeping babies were preoccupying the space. Your three babies.

You hummed, not turning around to check, because you couldn't take off your eyes of Baekhyun. His eyes were sparkling, his cheeks puffy in a gracious smile as his lip was trapped between his teeth. His hand was resting on your hip, and he gave you a couple of caresses before lowering himself back into lying position on the mattress, facing you with a smile.

“What?” he whispered again, noticing your dreamy eyes.

You shook your head lightly. “Nothing. I just love you.”

Baekhyun's smile widened, but also softened. He slid the hand that was resting on your hip over your curves and arm until he reached your cheek that he cradled gently. “And I love you,” he murmured. “I love you so much, my hero.”

You smiled at the nickname he gave you, making your eyes teary.

Beakhyun brought his face closer to yours until you felt his breath fanning your lips. “I love you,” he repeated lovingly and breathed a silent kiss on your lips. Not moving away too much, he suddenly whispered, staring into your eyes: “Marry me.”

You gasped as silently as you could, your head unconsciously moving away. “Baekh-”

Just then his hand disappeared from your face and before you knew it, he was playing with your fingers, and you felt something cold being slid on the fourth finger on your left hand. He kept looking at your shocked face. “Marry me, my hero.” Once he made sure the ring was safely on your finger, he brought your hand up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to your palm, then to the ringed finger. “After everything that I put you through with pregnancy-”

“It was both of us-”

“But I put you through it unexpectedly, and I thought I would lose you because of it. What you just did last week is something incredible, my love,” he murmured urgently, searching your eyes. “So grant me the pleasure to finally become your husband I wanted to be for a long time now.”

Happy tears glistened in your eyes as you were looking into Baekhyun's expecting ones. So the moment had finally come. He proposed. After everything you've been through for years and now the past 8 months and the past week... He still wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, he still loved you and he still wanted to be yours.

Tears rolled down the bridge of your nose and you nodded eagerly. “Yes, Baekhyun,” you whispered quickly before you would choke on a sob. “Thousand times yes,” you mumbled and were already leaning in for a kiss while you noticed his eyes also glistening, but smiling happily nonetheless. He let out a quiet, but happy chuckle as he awaited for you to come close enough and he finally kissed you, intertwining his hand with yours. The one with the ring on it.

You prolonged the kiss, having missed this kind of contact with him, and you tried to kiss him as quietly as possible, the idea of all three babies up and loud scary enough to make you behave.

Before you knew it, Baekhyun wrapped his arm around your waist and brought you on his chest while he laid back on his back, your lips still connected, both of you smiling like fools.

You separated with a quiet smooch and you excitedly brought the left hand close to your face and admired the beautiful ring, the small diamonds catching faraway light even the darkness of the room. It bore certain heaviness around it, giving it a meaning; meaning that you belonged to him.

“You like it, sweetheart?” asked Baekhyun silently as he massaged your neck slowly, then twirled your hair around his finger.

You grinned to yourself, affection and love spreading endless warmth in your heart. Turning your head, Baekhyun’s lips stretched wide at the sight of your smile. “I love it. It’s perfect.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“You’re perfect,” you sighed and lifted yourself up to hide your face in the crook of his neck. “You’re everything and more.”

He slipped his arms around your figure and hugged you tightly. “You’re talking about yourself right?”

You both laughed quietly as you enjoyed the silence, while keeping an eye on three sleeping babies next to you.

It really couldn’t get any better than that, you thought.

Managing three babies was... difficult. Waking up at ungodly hours was something both of you were strongly prepared for mentally until it actually started to happen and until you realized you had two breasts but three mouths to feed. As much as you tried to take care of the little ones with love and care, you were exhausted to the utmost limit and your breasts and back were hurting, let alone your neck wouldn’t cooperate with keeping your head up despite the daylight outside.

“Honey,” murmured Baekhyun one night, shaking your shoulder gently as you dozed off while feeding the last one, sitting against the wall. “I’ve got an idea.”

You couldn’t even create a coherent sentence, instead you just followed your fiancé to bed where two already fed kids were sleeping quietly.

“Just lie down on your side and put him next to you,” he navigated and helped you do so with gentle hands while making sure the baby was secured in your arms.

Once you lied down, almost immediately you were pulled harshly into the dreamland and you only vaguely could feel Baekhyun placing the baby close to your breast while holding his head up so he wouldn’t choke.

He pressed a kiss to your temple, nosing your cheek as he sighed tiredly and looked at Jun, who was now feeding. “You little rascals,” he murmured lovingly and took a glimpse at your almost unconscious figure.

It hurt him seeing you like this, yet he couldn’t stop the feeling of pride swelling in his heart. You were fighting every day without a break and you still found time to tend to him, too. All of these facts just made him realize how a woman was important in a household. She was everyone’s anchor.

And he wanted to make sure he was yours.

Once Jun was well fed, he let the baby keep sleeping while he shook you awake yet again and helped you back to your own small place next to the mattress.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice hoarse with sleep as you lied down. “I love you,” you made sure to say before letting him pull you close and finally, finally getting some very much needed sleep.

“Love you, too.”

“Oh, Sukyeonga,” you smiled when you opened the door, your good friend waiting on the other side with a huge and excited grin.

“Come here, mama!” she wailed and engulfed you in a huge hug that knocked the wind out of your lungs. “My beautiful friend with three!”

You chuckled and let go of her as you invited her in. “Beautiful, more like a zombie. I’m numb inside.”

She sighed as she took off her shoes and tiptoed after you with a bag dangling off her wrist. “Being a mother suits you,” she said gently, observing your features. “This is for you. A little present for two princesses and a prince.”

Taking the bag from her you saw little overall dresses in various colours and you smiled gratefully. “Thank you. This is a huge help.”

She waved her hand and peeked inside the bedroom where the babies were sleeping. “Don’t mention it. They grow very fast so the sizes are a bit bigger.” She turned back to you and both of you sat down at the small table on the floor, your already prepared tea well bred by now. You quickly poured her and yourself a small cup.

Without realizing, you felt your eyes burn with tears. “I just- it’s just hard to maintain a good life while so many threats are breathing down our necks, you know?” you said with a restricted throat and Sukyeong was fast next to you, rubbing your back in small circles. “Baekhyun is doing his best but he is literally about to end his doctoral studies and it’s very difficult for him to also lead the university’s team and whatnot.”

“Ah, dear, I know it’s difficult for the both of you. You’re still breastfeeding, right?”

You nodded, wiping your cheeks. “Yes, but I don’t know for how long I can do that,” you admitted with a stuffy nose. “When I’m finally done with the last baby, I can start over again with feeding the first… Either way, I’d love to get a job and help Baek out with meeting the deadlines but how can I-“ you choked on a sob and Sukyeong brought you to her, giving you a huge reassuring hug. “Shh. It’ll be alright. I know it’s hard. But until now the both of you have gotten through everything stronger than before. I’m sure this will also turn into your favor. You just gotta believe.”

You cried just a bit harder because your mental health was unstable and tiredness was eating you away. “Baekhyun pro-proposed,” you hiccuped on your sobs and you heard Sukyeong’s gasp as she leaned away from the hug, a look of disbelief evident on her face. “What? He proposed? For marriage?” You nodded and she sighed, a satisfied smile stretching her lips. “Finally.”

“Huh?”

“We’ve been in touch a lot,” she admitted, “he was asking for my suggestions to know if you would like the ring or not. He spent a lot of time on it. Which reminds me- show me!”

But you didn’t have to move as she grabbed your left hand and brought the hand up to her face, her gaze scrutinizing the choice of your fiancé. “That’s so pretty. We all agreed on this one. I’m glad he is a man who listens well”

“Huh?”

She giggled at your antics and let go of you to take a sip of her tea. “He asked Chanyeol and some other of his close friends, and me and Chen. We all knew but then when he planned to propose, you went into labor unexpectedly so I’m glad he was finally able to get a peace of mind. He was scared you know?”

Feeling your tears dry up on your cheeks, you quickly ran your hands over them. “Scared? Of what? Rejection?”

She nodded with a knowing smile.

You scoffed in disbelief. “I would never reject him, what was he thinking? Like he could get rid of me after making me pregnant with three kids.”

Sukyeong chuckled. “I just think,” she shrugged thoughtfully, “that he really respects you and doesn’t take you for granted. He loves you so much. He is a tough guy for sure, I wouldn't want him to kick my butt, but if there is anyone or anything that scares him, it’s you.”

You shook your head though her words were making you emotional yet again. Just then your phone beeped with an incoming message from him. You quickly leaned over the phone.

is everything okay with the four of you? ❤️

did Sukyeong arrive?

“See?” Sukyeong nudged you. “It’s difficult for me not to swoon over him.”

You laughed and typed up a quick reply. You couldn’t even get jealous over her words; you might have just found yourself swooning over your fiancée as well.

Just when you were about to retort something, somebody knocked on the door. Quickly standing and rushing to grab the door, you swung it open, curious as to who could it be- except it was no one. You looked around, waiting for a few more heartbeats as if expecting someone to pop up out of nowhere but the corridor was so silent you shrugged, deciding to just close the door when your gaze fell on the floor. There was a white envelope with your name on top of it, written in an elegant font.

Frowning slightly, you crouched down, taking the letter and turning it over in your hands a few times before going back inside. Not understanding why the person didn’t leave it downstairs in the post boxes, you decided to open it right away just when Sukyeong skipped over to you, also curious at the weird delivery.

“Who is it from?”

“I have no clue and there is no name there,” you replied, deep in thought before opening the envelope.

There was only one thin paper inside, though the text on it was heavy. You skimmed it quickly over but Sukyeong was faster in understanding what the paper was about.

“What the-”

And then you gasped loudly, complete and utter shock overtaking you when you also realized what you were holding in your hand.

“Is this a freaking lotto ticket?” you asked, your hand now shaking.

“Fuck,” Sukyeong let out, covering her mouth, her eyes huge in pure shock. “One billion won?”

The paper you were holding slowly descended to the floor, your poor heart too much in shock to keep it in your grip.

The lotto ticket was on your name.

The money was yours.

You were a millionaire.

----

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quicksiluers · 3 years

Text

Here’s a dumb story of Grant not talking to Sherman all day and Sherman has no idea why and is stressing way too much about it and Grant is super embarrassed by it when they actually talk about it. (it’s needlessly long so I apoligize in advance) (I also posted it on ao3 if it’s easier to read there)

With special appearances byyyy Rawlins, McPherson and Comstock cause why the hell not

“And this play we saw, it had to be one of the worst things I had ever seen.”

McPherson raised a brow, a playful smirk on his lips, “Sherman, if it’s not some professional play, you always think it’s the worst thing you’ve seen.”

Sherman frowned, ignoring the low chuckle coming from Grant beside him, “It’s not my fault all these actors out here are awful.”

“Maybe you’re being too harsh?” Grant asked, rolling his cigar between his fingers, “You’re standards seem...high.”

“Should I set my standards low?” The redhead pushed back, glancing back and forth between the two generals, “If that is their job, they should at least try to be good at it.”

Snorting, McPherson shook his head and waved the older man off, “Out here I’ll just take what I can get.”

The wood in the fireplace beside them cracked, the embers filtering up through the chimney. A small chill settled through the room, the winter air creeping through the walls. Sherman ignored it, occasionally rubbing his hands together for a small bit of friction. A little cold wasn’t going to bother him when McPherson and Grant were around.

Memphis was a city he had spent far too much time in. The people were a pain to deal with, the press even worse, and the weather had been awful the past week. Somehow he found himself missing those summer months outside in the Mississippi heat.

“I’ll take anything over those balls they invite us to,” Grant grumbled, stuffing the cigar in his mouth, “Those are tedious.”

“At least the food is good,” McPherson argued, crossing his arms, “I’ve only been to a few and that’s usually the best part.”

“That’s the only good part.”

Sherman laughed, “Mac when you go to as many of those things as Grant and I have, you’ll understand how absolutely god awful they are.”

The younger general’s brows pinched together, his thick beard hiding a small pout, “Well if I was invited to more of them…”

“Trust me when I say you don’t want that invite,” Sherman jabbed his thumb over in Grant’s direction, “Grant finds a way to scurry off half the time when we’re at them, he’s a genius at finding the easy escape.”

Laughter filled the room. The redhead covered his mouth, trying to control himself. He wished he had that talent, it would come in handy in a number of situations.

“Plus, those absolutely awful people you have to deal with,” Sherman continued, “The politicians and the men who claim to be with the Union when it’s incredibly easy to tell they are two-timing snakes.”

“I”m shocked you can tell the two groups apart,” McPherson teased, kicking Sherman’s boot, “You seem to describe them the same way.”

“They essentially are.”

A small movement caught his eye and Sherman turned, watching as Grant pushed back from the table. The cigar was set firmly in his mouth, his expression clouded. Their eyes met briefly before Grant looked down at his pocket watch, the beat-up item resting in his palm.

“It’s getting late. I have some work to do,” Grant snapped the watch shut, nodding to the two of them.

“Rawlins can’t do it for you?” McPherson asked, moving to stand up before the older the general waved him down, “What could be so press-”

“Everything is always pressing with Washington Mac.”

“It can’t wait until morning?” Sherman questioned, eyebrow raised. If there was something urgent, Rawlins would have crashed the party without an invitation. The young aide had a knack for coming in at the worst times.

Grant glanced at him and Sherman was taken aback by the coldness of the stare.

“I would prefer it be finished tonight,” he replied, quickly looking away from Sherman. With a small nod and a muttered goodbye, the leading general gathered his things and made his way across the room. As he left, either from the wind or maybe his own strength, the door slammed shut.

Silence hung between Sherman and McPherson as they sat in the room, eyes glued to the door. McPherson scratched the side of his face, eyebrows pulled together, “That seemed abrupt.”

Sherman couldn’t help but agree. Grant could be blunt, but that sort of abruptness wasn’t like him. Especially towards him. The coldness of Grant’s glance unsettled him as well. Had they mentioned something they shouldn’t have?

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair, “Must be something important, you know how they get on his back for anything over there.”

McPherson nodded slowly, the puzzled expression still on his face, “I suppose…”

“If Washington had to deal with me, they wouldn’t get an answer until I felt like giving them a goddamn answer.”

“And that is why,” McPherson pointed with a laugh, “they don’t have to deal with you.”

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The morning was brisk with a light flurry in the air. None of it stopped the people from roaming up and down the streets, either greeting him with a polite smile or an angry sneer. Sherman tried his best to ignore both.

The stairs underneath him creaked as he climbed up, bypassing a flushed-looking staff officer. Probably the young man’s first day at the job, he knew the look of someone given too much information in one meeting. He was sure it made the boy’s head spin.

Striding through the other aides, Sherman entered his office and grabbed the papers and envelopes off his desk.

“Anything important come in colonel?” Sherman turned, the young man glancing up from the hand full of other papers he was shuffling through, “Don’t tell me I have to look through all that crap.”

“Oh no sir,” the colonel, Williams, replied. He shook the papers lightly, “Just some complaints from the city folk, which I’ve mostly gone through and divided up.”

“And?”

“And most of it is not all that important or interesting,” he shrugged, pushing up his glasses, “the normal complaints and requests that are usually dismissed or denied.”

“Lovely,” Sherman muttered, walking around his desk and sitting in the chair behind it.

Shuffling through the mail, there was a few telegrams from Blair and McPherson he would have to review. Some requests for leaves, an invitation or two for another party one of the wealthy city folk was putting on. He’d have to come up for an excuse on those. There was no chance in hell he’d get caught up in those parties again, especially if Grant managed to sneak off. Half the reason he went was because the younger general would be around.

“Nothing from General Grant this morning?” Sherman questioned, flipping through the papers again. There was a letter from Ellen he would have to read. And it looked like John had sent him something as well.

“No sir, nothing that came across your or mine’s desk.”

Odd. Grant made it a habit to leave him a note or something in the morning. Maybe whatever he was finishing up last night didn’t leave him time to have anything sent over.

Sherman leaned his chair, pulling a cigar from his breast pocket. Ellen had tried to tell him not to smoke so much in the morning, but he couldn’t help it. With the damn cold, he needed to warm up somehow. It wasn’t as if the building was producing any heat to give him comfort.

Colonel Williams sat silently off to the side of the room at his small desk, eyes flicking back and forth over the pile of papers before him. The young man was useful, he knew exactly what Sherman did and didn’t want to see and brought only the important things to his attention. He also had a knack for reading his moods, which was something all his other aides seemed to lack.

“I’m sorry sir,” the colonel said, crossing the room, “It seems that General Grant did send something, it just came from General Rawlins. I apologize,” he placed the single sheet down on Sherman’s desk, his eyebrows pinched together.

“Is there something wrong with it?” Sherman asked, grabbing the sheet.

“No sir, just…I guess I’m used to General Grant writing to you personally.”

The redhead shrugged, “When he gets caught up, Rawlins sometimes takes care of it.”

His eyes trailed over the words, General Sherman, General Grant is unable to accompany you to dinner later this evening. He apologizes in advance. - Your Obt. Servt. Brig. Gen. J. Rawlins.

Oh. That was sudden.

Sherman frowned, chewing on the butt of his cigar. It was incredibly unlike Grant to cancel a meeting, especially this one in particular. It was just going to be the two of them, talking over potential strategies and plans for the upcoming campaign season. Putting together a framework of what going forward would entail and what Washington may or may not above.

Dread crept over him as his eyes went over the note again.

Maybe Grant decided he didn’t need Sherman to come up with a strategy. He was a man of action and came up with his own movements frequently, which Sherman would follow. Even when they didn’t agree. But they always talked things over, even if Grant didn’t take his input.

What if Grant didn’t need him to make plans? The brunette didn’t really need Sherman’s input at all. Maybe Grant somehow realized and is thinking of moving on, maybe-

He let out a small breath, the smoke blowing in Williams’s face. The colonel coughed but Sherman was lost in his spiraling thoughts. Stop thinking like that. Just try to go by Grant’s headquarters later. There was no need to make this a bigger deal than it had to be.

“Thank you, Colonel,” Sherman replied, trying to wave the smoke away, “I’ll be sure to handle it.”

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“What do you mean he isn’t here?”

Cyrus B. Comstock raised an eyebrow, annoyance creeping up into his face, “Do you need me to write it down for you General Sherman?”

He could almost feel his eye twitch. Cyrus was newer to Grant’s staff, an engineer from the east, but they had gotten along well around Vicksburg. A no-nonsense sort of man, probably from dealing with all the catfighting over in the eastern army. He appreciated that sort of attitude, just not at this exact moment.

“General Grant is usually here during the day,” Sherman retorted, trying to keep himself calm, “Did something come up to call him away?”

“Rawlins said that they had some errands to run,” Comstock shrugged. He placed his stack of books down on the desk before him, hand resting on his hip, “They didn’t say when they would be back.”

Rawlins. Always Rawlins. The boy was practically glued to Grant’s side. Sherman didn’t know how Grant stood it. If Colonel Williams followed him around like a puppy, he’d lock every door behind him.

Sighing, Sherman carded his hand through his hair. It wasn’t fair to be annoyed at Rawlins. He just needed to know everything was ok. The cancellation was just…so unlike Grant. He had to know what he said or did to bother him.

“How was General Grant this morning?”

“How was he?” Comstock repeated.

Now the younger man was getting on his nerves, “Yes, did he seem…fine?”

“He seemed like his normal self,” Comstock’s eyebrows pinched together again, confused, “Why? Is he supposed to be upset?”

This was going nowhere. The annoyance mixed with panic was making every nerve feel like it was on edge. This room was stuffy anyway. “No, I just…never mind, I’ll talk to him later.”

Sherman stormed out, passing by the other busy body aides Grant had working.

Everything was fine. He would just talk to Grant later, find out what was keeping him so busy. It had to be something extremely important. Probably telegrams from Washington, acting like chickens with their heads cut off.

Surely that had to be it.

He stuffed a cigar in his mouth, chomping down on the end. The tobacco ground against his teeth. There was something he was missing. What had brought this on? It wasn’t like there weren’t any secrets between them, but Sherman felt like Grant was always open and happy to see him. He had given him that chair at Chattanooga for god’s sake!

It must have been something he did. The sheer thought of that made the panic grow.

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“I think you’re overthinking this Sherman.”

“Am I?” He asked hotly, the floorboards squeaking as he paced back and forth, “Grant doesn’t just cancel something we’ve been talking about for weeks. There has to be a reason…”

McPherson rolled his eyes, chin resting in the palm of his hand. The younger general’s desk was neatly organized, papers stacked to perfection. Just like McPherson, always organized and ready to go. Calm, cool, and looking at him like he was crazy.

Maybe he was.

“Grant is probably just busy with other things and can’t make it,” McPherson explained, watching the redhead tug at his beard fiercely, “it probably isn’t more complicated than that.”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

McPherson sat up a bit, crossing his arms over his chest, “I wouldn’t understand? Sherman, I was on his staff for a good portion of time. I think I know a little about how Grant operates.”

Sherman glanced at him, stopping in the middle of the floor. His fingers pulled at his beard again, his irritation building up. He had racked his mind over their conversation over and over. There was nothing he noticed that may have irked Grant, everything seemed so perfectly normal until he left.

Sighing, he dragged his hand through his hair, his other hand resting on his hip, “It was hard to schedule it as is, god knows how long we’ll stay in the same place together. And it came in this morning too, which seems…”

“Abrupt?” McPherson finished with a small smirk.

The redhead frowned slightly at that, “Yes. It seemed very sudden.”

“Like how Grant left last night abruptly?” McPherson continued, “when he said he had important things to work on for Washington?”

“He would have finished that by now,” Sherman countered, continuing his pacing, “And if he didn’t, I’m sure he would have told Rawlins what needed to be done.”

“You know Grant likes to do that stuff himself, with it going straight to the president and all.”

“Did I say something last night?” He changed the topic quickly, tired of McPherson’s counterpoints. They made sense of course, but there had to be more. Surely there was something else behind this. He must have done something to bother the younger general.

The brunette frowned, looking up the ceiling for a moment, “Last night?” he muttered, taking a moment to think about it. He shook his head, “Nothing that stands out.”

“Nothing that would offend him?”

The younger man cracked a smile, a small laugh escaping him, “Offend him? Now I do think you’re overthinking this.”

This was going nowhere. He just needed to talk to Grant, that’s all. Clear the air, find exactly why he couldn’t meet him tonight. It wasn’t too much to ask for. Just an explanation.

That was perfectly reasonable, wasn’t it?

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The candlelight in his office dimmed, casting small shadows across his desk. Beyond the window, he watched the last streams of sunlight disappear into the night sky. Winter was the worst time, with the short days and what seemed like everlasting nights. Plus the cold air that would nip at his bones, even with his warmer clothing on, was not pleasant.

Sheman puffed on the cigar resting between his lips, leaning back in his chair. Since he came back to his office, he hadn’t moved from the spot. Every single thought in his mind was racing, trying to solve this riddle. Was it a riddle? Was he making something out of nothing? Wouldn’t be the first time.

But dammit, maybe he just really wanted to have dinner with Grant.

The younger general was busier than ever. Between his new command of all the armies from the Appalachian Mountains to the Mississippi River, Grant barely seemed to have time for himself. The fact that they were able to get together last night was a miracle. He had joined last minute and like a flash, he was gone again.

Plus that rumor of him getting the rank of full lieutenant general seemed to hang over his head. The idea of losing him to the eastern theater gnawed at Sherman. That theater was a disaster. The politicians got their hands into the army’s business far too often and the men there couldn’t do anything worth a damn. And even when they did score a victory, they seemed to somehow let it slip through their hands.

Out here in the west is where the war would be won. There was no doubt of that in Sherman’s mind and he wanted to reiterate that again to Grant in their meeting. But now he wouldn’t get the chance.

It wasn’t as if Grant was going to disappear off the face of the earth. He just wanted...what did he want?

Maybe he just wanted to spend time with Grant before he was dragged off hundreds of miles away from him.

Sherman frowned, sliding down in his chair a bit as he felt his cheeks flush. What he wanted didn’t matter. It was up to Grant and for some reason, the younger man didn’t want to see him.

Which was fine. Totally fine. Nothing wrong with that at all.

A light knock echoed through the room. “Come in.”

The door creaked open and Sherman looked up, meeting the confused and slightly concerned expression of Colonel Williams. He waved the young man in, sitting up in his chair. Pull yourself together dammit.

Williams saluted before walking in, a folded piece of paper in his hands, “Sir, a message arrived from General Rawlins for you. It came in only a short time ago.”

Sherman perked up at that, rising in his seat. What could it mean? He quickly took the slip from Williams’s hands, his eyes scanning over the short message.

When you have a moment, would you please come over to General Grant’s headquarters to speak with me? There is a matter here I would like to discuss with you. Your Obt. Servt. - Brig. Gen. J. Rawlins.

Incredibly cryptic, which was very un-Rawlins-like. His frown deepened, reading over the message again. What would he need to discuss?

Sherman stuffed the paper into his breast pocket, next to the cigars, and rose from his chair. “Thank you, Colonel. If anyone needs me, advise them that I will be with General Rawlins.”

He left the young man behind before he could answer, his nerves on end. It had to be related to Grant. Rawlins would surely know what caused him to cancel. If Rawlins didn’t know, then Sherman would never find out without going to the source. And that scared him like hell.

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John Rawlins looked like absolute shit. Sherman knew he has been sick, Grant mentioned it offhandedly, but it still shocked him to see. The younger man’s back was to him, hacking into a handkerchief.

Rawlins wiped his mouth, stuffing the handkerchief into his pocket. He turned and Sherman took in his sunken cheeks and the dark circles under his eyes. It looked like he hadn’t slept for days. “General Sherman, can you close the door?”

Puzzled, Sherman obliged him and gently shut the door behind him.

“Did you say something to Grant?” Rawlins asked directly, leveling a smaller glare at the taller man.

His stomach dropped. So it was something he said. Goddammit, but what was it? “If I did, I don’t know what made him upset.”

“Upset?” Rawlins repeated, hands resting on his hips, “He’s not upset, he’s just been...so goddamn moody the entire day.”

“Moody how?” Sherman asked, stepping closer to the brunette. So he wasn’t upset?

“Like he hasn’t spoken a word all day.”

“Well you know that isn’t uncommon for Grant,” he replied, “Sometimes he can go hours without talking.”

“Yes, but he hasn’t spoken to anyone all day. Including myself, which is an issue when you’re supposed to be his chief of staff,” Rawlins responded with a hint of annoyance, “he’s been in this mood since he returned last night and you and General McPherson were the only ones to see him. And in combination with that letter from his fathe-”

“Well, why isn’t General McPherson here?” Sherman interrupted, irritation rising, “Have you asked him?”

“I know General McPherson wouldn’t say something to somehow offend General Grant.”

Sherman’s anger flared up, planting his hands on his hips, “So you just ASSUMED I said something that’s made Grant moody all day?”

Rawlins glared at him and pointed his finger, “Either something you said or something that happened in that room.”

Sherman’s cheeks flushed at that, the anger boiling up, “Well if you and Grant were together all da-”

“We weren’t together all day.” Rawlins cut him off, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I just told Comstock to tell people that so they would leave Grant alone.”

“Unbelievable!” He tried not to shout, but he couldn’t hold it back. All the pent-up anxiety and anger were going to make him lose his mind, “I just wanted to figure out why Grant canceled out goddamn dinner and you go and make Comstock, and I’m sure all the other aides I may have asked, lie! Perfect! Fantastic!”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Rawlins muttered, rolling his eyes, “That’s another reason why I knew it was you because the ONLY thing Grant requested from me all day was to send that note to you and for the life of my don’t know why.”

The words stopped him cold. In an instant, the anger was overtaken but the anxiety. It was something he did to bother Grant. He couldn’t stand it, knowing he had made Grant feel like...whatever he was feeling like.

“Well, where is he?” Sherman asked, taking a small breath. His heart felt like it was going to burst from his chest.

Rawlins stared at him hard, his frown deepening. Sherman was beginning to think he was going to have to plead to the other man to know. Grant had a knack of slinking off when he didn’t want to be found.

A hard knock on the door broke the silence. Rawlins’s shoulders seemed to drop slightly as if a weight had been lifted, “Come in!”

Come in? They were in the middle of a conversation! His annoyance spiked, who the hell did Rawlins think he wa-

The door behind him creaked open and Sherman turned, eye’s widening slightly when he saw Grant’s familiar tired face. The younger general looked up and their eyes met, and he seemed to freeze for a minute.

“Rawlins...” Grant grumbled, stepping into the room more. His eyes jumped from Sherman to Rawlins, who had a small smirk tugging on his lips. The young man seemed very proud of himself.

“Now that you’re both here,” Rawlins clapped, “you can discuss whatever the hell is going on between the two of you.”

Sherman felt his face heat up and he saw Grant’s eyebrows pinch together, his frown deepening. “Rawlins, there isn-”

“Don’t you say there isn’t,” the young man interrupted, brushing past Sherman to stand in front of Grant, “because clearly there is and it’s been a pain all day.”

The two brunettes glared at one another, neither wanting to give ground. Grant’s eyes flickered over to Sherman. There was something beyond the look that he couldn’t place.

Grant sighed, holding up his hands, “Fine.”

“Good, now if you’ll excuse me,” Rawlins looked back at Sherman and then to Grant, “I’m going to get something to eat. Deal with...,” he waved his hand between the two of them, “whatever the hell is going on here. Please.”

Before Sherman could say anything, the young man slipped out of the room, closing the door with enough force to make his point.

Then it was just the two of them, standing a few feet from one another. There was an awkwardness, Grant fiddling around with a cigar in his hand. Looking anywhere that wasn’t at Sherman. It was going to drive him mad.

“Grant...” Sherman trailed off, unsure of what to say. Which was rarely a thing that happened. But he didn’t know what he was apologizing for, hell he didn’t even know why Grant had ignored him all day.

The general walked past him, sitting on the edge of the desk in the middle of the room. He continued to fiddle with the cigar, suddenly interested in the tips of his boots. Why was he acting like this? Grant never acted like this. Sure he was silent a majority of the time, but there was still a presence there. People knew he was commanding the room. But this didn’t feel like that at all.

“I didn’t realize this was what Rawlins asked me to come here for...,” Grant muttered with a shake of his head, “Should have known.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation,” Sherman shrugged, trying to break the ice, “I just assumed he was having me come in to yell at me.”

The younger general chuckled, finally looking up at him. There was a flush to his cheeks that surprised Sherman, giving him pause. Maybe Grant wasn’t feeling good? That would explain some things. But why not come out and say that.

Grant waved his hand to the empty space next to him on the desk, inviting him over, “That is something he tends to do.”

Walking across the room, Sherman sat on the edge of the desk, a small space between him and Grant. He sighed, combing his hand through his beard, “Grant, I don’t know what I said or did but I’m sor-”

Grant held up his hand, Sherman shutting up immediately. He watched the other man as he rolled the cigar between his fingers, the flush on his cheeks getting darker. Did he have a fever?

“It’s nothing you need to apologize for, I was just...,” Grant stopped himself, scratching the back of his neck, “It’s childish really.”

“I mean, clearly I said something.”

“It wasn’t really anything.”

“Well, it upset you enough that you didn’t want to see me all day.”

Grant sighed, fiddling around with the cigar again. The flush had gotten darker and Sherman couldn’t wrap his head around it. He had never seen Grant like this, everything about this situation was completely foreign to him. Grant didn’t get embarrassed, he didn’t get frazzled. In the midst of battle, he was incredibly cool under pressure.

Sherman watched him, trying to understand. Maybe he was sick. It could be making him act out of character. That had to be it.

On impulse, he reached out his hand and placed it on Grant’s forehead, making the younger man jump. It did feel a bit warm but nothing that would indicate a fever...

“Wh-what are you doing?” Grant spluttered, grabbing Sherman’s wrist and pulling it away, his eyebrows pinched together, looking at him with confusion.

He was reaching his breaking point. Why couldn’t he just tell him for god’s sake?

“I’m trying to figure out if you’re sick or something because I can’t understand what the hell is going on,” Sherman declared, waving his free hand dramatically, “I’ve been trying to figure it out all day! Just...,” he deflated, trying to compose himself, “just tell me what I did so we can move on.”

Grant stared at him, the normally stoic expression clouded with embarrassment. Sherman felt a gentle squeeze on his wrist, a small warmth coming over him before the other man let go. Grant’s hands sat on his lap, his fingers twisting the fabric of his pants.

“I don’t ‘scurry’ away.”

The voice was barely above a whisper, Grant looking straight at the wall, away from him. Sherman blinked, trying to understand.

“You don’t what?”

Sighing, Grant looked at him, a small pout on his face. The red on his cheeks hadn’t faded away, they had intensified if anything. “You said I ‘scurry’ away at parties...I don’t I just...,” he carded his hand through his hair, messing up the small style he had to it, “I just don’t like being around that many people.”

Sherman blinked, staring at him. And then he blinked again. The information whirled around in his head, “You don’t... ‘scurry’ away,” he repeated, slowly putting the pieces together.

The younger general nodded, watching him like a hawk. As if he expected some sort of reaction from Sherman, though he wasn’t sure what. It obviously hit some chord with Grant. He couldn’t imagine why, everyone knew Grant wasn’t into the big social scenes.

“No,” Grant replied curtly, “I...,” he paused, running his hand through his hair again, “It’s dumb, I made it something it didn’t have to be.”

On the one hand, Sherman was more confused than ever. He had no idea that Grant had this side. Julia had mentioned it in passing once or twice, her little teasing making Grant blush, but he had chalked that up to their cutesy romance. He was the shyest fellow you ever saw, she told him one night over dinner. But also extremely determined, it was something Julia appreciated about her husband. And it was an aspect that Sherman also appreciated.

On the other hand...there was this flop strand of Grant’s hair hanging over his forehead that Sherman wanted to reach out and push back. His hair always seemed so put together. And those clear blue eyes were looking at him, the flush on Grant's cheeks making the color come out more. All frazzled like this, the younger general was...extremely cute.

Oh for god’s sake, listen to yourself. Sherman crushed that feeling down immediately, grabbing a cigar from his pocket so Grant wouldn’t notice his own flustered face. Acting like some fucking damsel.

“I didn’t realize that bothered you,” he stuffed the cigar in his mouth, the smoke calming him down.

“It’s...,” Grant stopped, tapping his fingers against his knee. He pushed off from the desk, back to Sherman, stuffing his hands in his pockets, “We can just move past it.”

“Obviously not,” Sherman countered, “If it’s something that bothers you, I’d like to know why.”

He could see the tension in Grant’s back, slightly rocking back on heels now and again. There couldn’t be anything like this between them, not when they were about to move into what they hoped was the final months of the war. The planning, everything hinged on them working together.

“You would?” Grant answered with a mutter, nodding a bit. Like he was coming to terms with something. He turned toward Sherman, his shoulders deflating slightly. He looked tired, worn out.

“Yeah, I would.”

“I didn’t mean to take my...annoyance out on you. It just happened to be the combination of what you said and…,” Grant paused, gesturing with his hand slightly, “a letter I received from my father. It had...more to do with him than you but he’s not here so…”

Jesse Root Grant. Sherman had met the man once or twice when he came to visit Grant in camp. The older man would be warm in greeting but there was a look in his eye that always unsettled him. Like he had an agenda while visiting.

He also happened to be an ass. Causing more problems than what they were worth, publishing Grant’s letters in the papers. Then all those journalist half-wits would pull from them and disparage Grant in the miserable little articles.

The pieces all fell into place for Sherman. It just happened to be a wrong comment, the wrong time. The nervous weight he had carried around all day lifted from his shoulders.

“Your father does have that charming personality,” Sherman remarked, pulling out his cigar, “All that talk and scheming, can’t see how that could affect anyone poorly,” he smirked, waving a hand in Grant’s direction, “such as yourself.”

For a moment there was no reaction. Grant stared back with that blank expression of his and Sherman thought this time he had taken it a step too far.

Slowly, a smile tugged onto the young general’s face. Then a chuckle and Grant put his mouth over his face, trying to hide his laugher. It was a rare sound that Sherman delighted in and his smile grew wider.

“Real ol’ shame for the papers when Jesse stopped blasting your letters for headlines, then they had to do actual work for a story to come up with.”

Their laughter bounced around the room, the tension evaporating. Grant’s face was flushed again, shaking his head as he came over and stood before him. He wiped at his eyes, a small smile on his face, “It was a sorry day for them.”

“Really made them scurry off,” Sherman jested, kicking the toe of Grant’s boot with his own, “Probably wailing in the streets too!”

Composing himself, Grant took a deep breath, that wave of calm Sherman knew so well seemingly coming over him. But the smile didn’t disappear, “Yes, scurrying off I’m sure. Heading for other camps, picking up their rumors too.”

“But really, your father is an ass.”

Grant bit his bottom lip slightly, incredibly unfair to Sherman, keeping his smile from growing. “He can be...a handful. Stubborn.”

“Impossible. He seemed extremely reasonable when he visited.” The sarcasm was oozing from the words, but he couldn't help it. The man was a pain in Grant’s side.

“You should him when he’s in a good mood.”

“Charming I’m sure.”

They shared a small laugh, silence settling over them. Sherman’s eyes looked Grant over, the tension seemingly gone. More at ease, like he normally was around camp.

Grant pulled out his pocket watch, clicking it open to the clockface. His thumb brushed over it, “Did you eat before coming here?”

Sherman almost jumped at the question but he calmed himself, trying to keep that aloof personality in place. He didn’t want to seem too eager, “As a matter of fact, I thought I had plans...but it seemed like the scheduled time for them changed a bit.”

Snapping the watch closed, Grant tucked it back into his breast pocket, “Funny...I seemed to have the same issue.”

“Well then, it seems we’re two fine men who’ve been stood up,” Sherman jested, trying to keep a serious face. He pushed off from the desk, toe to toe with Grant, “it would almost seem practical if we had dinner together.”

Those blue eyes stared up at him, a small twinkle in Grant’s eye, and goddammit if those ridiculous thoughts didn’t come back into his head. His brain never knew when to shut up.

“It would seem so,” Grant conceded, staring at him for a long moment before stepping back. He bounced on the balls of his toes slightly, “Shall we?”

Walking out into the chilled Memphis air, the two walked side by side, arms brushing together.

Grant lit up a cigar, puffing on it briefly before blowing out the smoke, “I am sorry Sherman, I shouldn’t let something like that…”

The redhead waved him off, “Water under the bridge. Your father has a big mouth. It gets under your skin.”

“It shouldn’t.”

“Well, the next time you get something from him,” Sherman bumped him with his elbow, a small grin on his face, “and it says something idiotic, let me read it and we find a way to laugh about it.”

Grant smiled, “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

“Or you can burn it.”

“Everything doesn’t have to be burned Sherman.”

“Makes it easier to ignore though.”

#my fic #ulysses s grant #william tecumseh sherman #this is really dumb but whatever i had fun #and yes writing a flustered grant was tons of fun #i had to stop shoving other random aides in here #but i like writing about grant's staff lol

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