#also: pour one out for my poor battered schedule

[sunbrights]

fic: somewhere surely lived (7/14)

fandom: danganronpa characters/pairings: fuyuhiko & peko as main POV characters + a "relationship of the day" character + some side characters. kuzupeko + 6 secondary ships. rating: e (not all chapters have smut, but a fair number of them do) summary: Hope's Peak is not just a dating program; it's a guarantee. With the right compatible partner, the benefits are endless: boosted life expectancy, improved self-esteem, increased productivity, new opportunities, better overall work and life satisfaction. For society's elite, Hope's Peak makes finding that partner straightforward, if not easy.

It provides an Ultimate Match-- provided the participants are willing to go through its paces.

(AU based on the Black Mirror episode, "Hang the DJ.")

read on AO3

He’s late. He knows that even before he gets dumped off at the central hub. His device had beeped at him in the middle of the afternoon and he ignored it, kept ignoring it, until a preset alarm kicked in half an hour before and wouldn’t shut off until he manually dismissed it.

He’s not going to stand someone up. He’s not that kind of guy. It’s just exhausting, the idea of it, having to go back to that same fucking booth and talk about the same fucking shit and go through the same fucking motions until it’s over. A day, a week, a month, a year— it ends the same, no matter what.

So, he’s late.

She’s already at the table waiting. She hasn’t ordered her food, or touched her wine glass. She’s sitting there at an empty table with her hands in her lap, and the twist of shame in his stomach speeds his feet up.

She looks up at him when he gets there, and it’s only then, that close and at that angle, that the recognition hits him. She has high cheekbones, pale hair, and bright, focused eyes. The dim lighting of the restaurant softens out the harshness of her face a little, or maybe that’s just because he knows better now.

The careful neutrality in her expression opens up into surprise.

“Oh,” she says. “Hello.”

“Hi.” He puts his hand on the back of the booth. “... I know you, don’t I?”

“Yes,” she answers. “We met at Ruruka and Sounosuke’s pairing day, a few months ago. You might not remember, but—”

“Oh, no,” he says, “I remember.” He slices the air with his index finger. Color rises in her cheeks. It brings out her eyes.

“I didn’t get your name, before,” she says. “I wanted to thank you. For…”

“Fuyuhiko,” he tells her. “And don’t mention it.”

She smiles, that little curve that’s almost not a smile. “Peko,” she answers.

His stomach is doing something stupid. He told himself he wouldn’t let himself get dragged down this early in the game.

She holds her hand out. “... Would you like to sit?”

Right. “Right.” He unbuttons the front of his jacket and slides into the booth. “Sorry. Made you wait this whole time and now I’m just standing around like an asshole.”

“It’s alright,” she says. She turns in her seat, opens up her purse, and then she has her device in her palm, held out over the table. She looks back at him expectantly.

Right.

He fishes in his jacket for his, and thumbs through the options: Main, Info, Expiration. It’s just a button. If they both tap their screens at the same time, the system will tell them how long they have.

He looks up at her. She must already be on the right screen, because she’s watching him, one finger poised over her device. She’s still smiling that little not-smile. He tries to put ‘thirty-six hours’ to her face, and his stomach sinks. He tries ‘eight months,’ and feels sick.

Technically, checking the date is a choice. The system doesn’t force it. It’s just that everyone does check. Why would you not want to know if you were about to waste your time?

Impulse grabs him. “What if we didn’t?” he asks.

She frowns. “Didn’t?”

“Didn’t check it. Didn’t know.”

She looks down at her screen. Her finger curls back around the edge of the device.

“Just— Listen, hear me out,” he says. “What’s the point of knowing, anyway? No matter how long it is, you still just end up waiting for it to be over. You’re setting yourself up, every single fucking time.”

“I suppose,” she says dubiously.

“How about this,” he says, “if either of us ever decides we do want to know, we look. No questions asked. But to start out…” He shakes his jacket back open, puts the device away, and shows her his empty hands. “You and me. That’s it.”

Something about that gets her attention. She looks up at him, contemplative.

“If you decide right now you want to know, we’ll look,” he tells her. “But… how about it?”

She sets the device aside on the table. “Yes,” she says, and her eyes are warm. “Alright.”

He finds himself smiling, too. “Great.”

*

The house has a full kitchen.

It’s a stupid thing to be relieved about, after he just got done trying to make an argument for not checking the expiration, but it at least means they made it past the thirty-six hour mark and the two week mark. He’s okay with that.

(She runs her hand over the wide granite island, and lingers there. Maybe she's relieved, too.)

“You can have the bed,” he calls back to her, when he goes for the extra blanket in the bedroom. It's in the same style, in the same place, like always. “I’ll sleep on the couch for now.”

She looks at him from across the kitchen. She says, “... Why?” like he’s just suggested the dumbest thing she's ever heard.

“Because,” he says. “I’m not gonna force you to share the bed with me on the first night.”

“You wouldn’t be,” she answers. “It’s fine. There’s no reason for you to be uncomfortable when there’s room enough for both of us.”

“It’s not about that!” His ears are hot. He glares at the wall. “It’s- It’s the principle of the thing.”

She stares at him. She steps around the counter, past him, up into the bedroom. He thinks maybe she’s decided to let it go, except then she tears the second, full blanket right off the mattress.

“Hey!” He twists in place, when she stalks past him again. “What the hell?”

The couch is sectional. She’s able to split it into two roughly-equal pieces; either one is technically long enough for him to sleep on without breaking his knees, but neither is even close to long enough for her, which is why it makes no fucking sense when she bundles herself down onto one.

“Are you serious right now?”

She stares back at him, resolute. She’s not the shrinking, unsure girl from the pairing day.

“You know what?” He flings his blanket on the opposite couch. “Fine. You’re on.”

1 DAY

When he wakes up, she’s still asleep. She barely fits on the couch, even with all the pillows thrown off, but she’s still perfectly peaceful. A loose lock of hair curls over her cheek, and flutters with each slow, even breath.

Meanwhile, his back hurts like hell. It’s somehow worse than the last time, like it got used to him sleeping in a real bed for eight months and is lashing out at him now for switching back to couches.

He keeps doing it. He’s not gonna be the one who cracks first.

3 WEEKS

They get invited to a pairing day.

He doesn’t want to go. It’s irrational and stupid, and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to go, and he’s fine with that— until he tells Peko he doesn’t want to go, and her expression briefly crumbles into something crestfallen.

“Of course,” she says, “I understand,” and just like that she’s bounced back up into neutrality, like the downswing never happened. It annoys him in a familiar, prickling way.

“Do you want to go?” he asks her. “I didn’t think you liked them, either.”

“They can be tiring,” she agrees. “Especially when they last the entire day. It’s alright. I understand.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” he says.

“I don’t want to go if it will make you uncomfortable.”

“Dammit, Peko, that’s not what I asked.”

For a second she looks so pained that he thinks he may have pushed too hard. She’s not Rantarou. Her walls aren’t the same.

“I... think they can be enjoyable,” she admits. “Under the right circumstances, and…” She looks down at her hands. “... with the right person.”

Shit.

She isn’t even wrong. The last pairing day hadn’t been all bad. The food had been good. For a few minutes, the company had been good.

“Alright,” he says. “Okay.”

“Please,” she says, “don’t feel like you need to—”

“But,” he says over her, “if it sucks, we’re leaving early. Deal?”

He sticks his hand out between them. She almost smiles, and clasps it back. “Yes.”

*

It’s not bad. The party itself is a classy affair. It’s held on the patio of some hollowed-out mansion down by the river, with colorful fairy lights strung up around the railings. They dress to match, both in black: him with a subtle gray pinstripe and her with sheer silk ruffles on her sleeves.

It starts in the early evening and goes on into the night. It’s warm, but not sticky; the river keeps tossing rolling breezes their way, enough to always keep things on the edge of comfortable. Summer stars spill out into the sky over the water. There’s drinks, food, music. It’s romantic. As far as fancy dates go, it’s solid.

The only problem is, he can’t seem to keep himself from spending the whole night neck-deep in his own ass.

She’s got more patience than he deserves. She puts up with him the whole time, all his comments and little scoffs and sour mood. She tries to bring him back up. She stays at his elbow, talks with him, keeps the two of them away from the cloying chatter of the main crowd.

She tries the whole night, and it falls apart anyway. Not because of her. Because of him: how he blows up over nothing, how he shouts loud enough for people to turn to look at them, and how he stalks off like a child, shoving his way through the crowd of guests.

She saw someone she recognized. She’d wanted to say hello. That’s it. That’s all.

He hops the railing of the patio to get closer to the riverbank. It’s the only part of the yard that’s mostly devoid of people, and it’s where all the fresh air is coming in. He needs the fucking air.

She finds him, even though she’d have every right to leave his sorry ass behind. She hops the railing, too, effortlessly, even in a little dress like that, and sits down on the bank. Not beside him, but close enough, a few feet away.

She doesn't say anything. She wraps her arms around her legs and watches the water.

The speakers dim. There’s a stretch of long minutes where there’s no music at all, just the gurgling of the river and a few buzzing crickets. There's no one else out here. Back at the house, someone has picked up a microphone, and the rest of the party has crowded together for the grand finale.

Peko is here, with him.

“I left early, the last time,” he says. He can’t look at her, but he sees her turn her head in his periphery. “Right after the ceremony, like you said. That’s why you couldn’t find me after.”

“I see,” she says, carefully. She’s confused. Who could fucking blame her?

“My last relationship got all fucked up at that pairing day,” he says. “I’m not- I’m not making an excuse. I’ve been an asshole tonight. I know that. I just— It’s not fair to you, when it’s my shit I’m all hung up on. So… I’m sorry.” He folds his arms over his knees. “That’s it.”

She’s quiet. She’s watching him. “It’s alright,” she decides, and that’s the only way he can think to describe it. A decision: hers, not his.

“Yeah?” he demands anyway, because apparently he can’t fucking stop even after he’s just gotten done apologizing. “How do you figure?”

“You need time,” she says. “The system doesn’t account for recovery. It can take a toll.” She stretches her legs out in the grass. “I understand.”

Whoever it is finishes giving their speech. The house erupts into cheers and applause.

“This could be over tomorrow,” he tells her.

“It could,” she agrees.

“And you’re okay with that? Letting me fuck around for however long trying to get my shit together, while you’re stuck wasting your time?”

“I don’t see it as a waste,” she answers, and it’s soft, but her eyes are steady.

There’s a commotion up on the patio. The crowd is starting to spill out toward the steps. “They’re leaving,” Peko says, rising to her feet. She dusts off the end of her skirt. “Would you like to see them off?”

“I don’t even know their fuckin’ names,” he says, “do you?”

“Chisa and Kyousuke,” she answers, without missing a beat. He looks up at her, and her smile is embarrassed. “... It’s written on most of the decorations.”

“I hate these fucking things.”

She holds her hand out to him. “If you prefer,” she says in that same careful, noncommittal way, “we could leave instead.”

He lets her pull him to his feet.

5 WEEKS

They keep sleeping on the separate couches. She rolls off of hers every morning like it’s nothing; she does a few stretches, laces up her shoes, and is on her way out the door, all before he’s even managed to get his spine in the right alignment.

“Fuck,” he groans into the pillow, “how do you do that?”

She twists her hair into a high ponytail at the top of her head. “There’s room in the bed, I believe,” she says, “if you’d be more comfortable there.”

He bows over the edge of the couch, and hangs his head down to stretch out the line of his vertebrae. “Fuck off,” he mutters into his knees.

She hovers. “I could show you a stretch,” she says. “It may help.”

He’s fine. He doesn’t need it.

But she offered, so he lets her.

*

They figure out how to get the system to let them order ingredients, instead of just more of the pre-made meals. He doesn’t think it’s possible, but she insists and keeps insisting until she manages to hit on the right voice command.

They go the full gambit: meat and fish and grains and vegetables. They fill up the kitchen. They order for weeks in advance, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It’s reckless, potentially pointless, and for once, in the moment, he doesn’t even think about it.

She orders a parade of different cheeses for a casserole recipe she loves, which is how she finds out he’s lactose intolerant. He orders a bottle of a sweet, fruity Merlot, which is how he finds out that she doesn’t like sweetness much.

She does try it, though. She manages three or four sips before her mouth puckers and her nose scrunches, a pinch of delicate disgust. It’s an expression he hasn’t seen on her before. She wears the negative ones even less often than the positive ones.

“Alright, alright,” he says. “Message heard loud and clear. I’ll get something drier next time.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, but she’s smiling when she leans over to put her glass down next to his on the countertop. They’re standing close enough that her sleeve brushes his elbow. The wine has left a faint red stain on her bottom lip.

She’d taste like the sweet plum of the Merlot, if he kissed her.

She doesn’t like sweetness, she said, but he does. He could sweep the flavor out of her mouth for her. All it would take is for him to shift his weight forward, part his lips, catch her open mouth, and—

“What is it?” she asks.

He clears his throat. He steps back from the counter. “You got ideas for dinner?” he says. “I’m gonna warn you right now, I’m a shitty fucking cook.”

2 MONTHS

He doesn’t need any more time.

If he knew they had a day left, or a week left, he wouldn’t waste it. He’d kiss her right now, tumble her down into their unused bed, and use every goddamn second to make up the difference for the mess he’s made her sit through.

He doesn’t want to do that, though.

He wants to take her somewhere special. He wants to have the date that pairing day was supposed to be, the two of them together under a smattering of summer starlight, maybe some dancing, maybe to a waltz on the piano. He wants to be able to wake up a month from now with his arm around her waist and take a few extra minutes of their morning, just because.

He decides on, “Let’s go somewhere,” over breakfast, when she’s still damp and shiny from her shower, pale hair turned dark over her shoulders.

She smiles at him. It still makes his stomach do something twisting and stupid.

*

It’s not fancy. There’s no starlight or piano waltz. They hike one of the shallow paths through the woods to see where the first licks of autumn are starting to turn the leaves orange and yellow. They have lunch on a couple of stumps. He asks to hold her hand on the way back, and she says yes.

When they get home, they sit together on the couch (his couch, he thinks, and it rings in his head the same way his bed might), and he opens a bottle of Bordeaux that she likes much better.

It’s an accident when it happens, maybe. They're sitting close enough that their knees are touching, talking about what other commands for the device Hope's Peak might be keeping on the down-low. She turns away to set her glass down on the coffee table.

Maybe he doesn’t need to have his head at that angle when he says her name. Maybe she doesn’t need to dip her chin like that when she turns back to him. But he does, and she does, and they catch there in the middle. It’s a brush, that’s all it is, but neither of them do anything to turn it into less than that.

He reaches for her with both hands. He frames her face, thumbs behind her ears and fingers tangled in her hair. She inhales just a little, sharply, and when he tugs, she sinks forward. She kisses him like that: no accidents, no pretense.

There’s not enough room for both of them on the couch, not like this; they slip and fumble trying to find a configuration that’s comfortable, and keep bumping hands and elbows. It’s fine. He doesn’t care. He loses traction once when his knee slides on the slippery fabric of her dress, and the smile that breaks against his mouth is more than worth it.

He pulls back enough to look down into her face. Her mouth is red. Her eyes are dark. His hand hovers at the high edge of her dress, where the skirt has slid up to the top of her thigh.

“Do you…” His whole mouth feels dry. He wets his lips, and it barely helps. “Tell me to fuck off if you want, but I was thinking… maybe…”

Behind him, his device chimes. It’s so loud it makes him jump, and she exhales a breathy laugh when he has to make a grab for the armrest behind her.

“No consent preference registered,” it chirps. “Fuyuhiko, do you consent to oral sex as the giving partner?”

Beyond the edge of the couch, he can see that her device has lit up, too, on the end table. They’re always tracking them, he realizes. Reading their intentions— and sharing that data, when it’s relevant.

Peko’s realized it, too. She’s gone scarlet— not just pink, fully red, right up to her hairline. She turns her face down against his shoulder, and the only benefit of that is that she can’t see his face, either.

“Shit,” he says into her hair, and it’s as much laughter as it is disbelief. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“The system requires that all participants submit their consent prior any sexual activity,” his device explains.

“Fuck, alright, yes, okay? Yes.”

It chimes again. “Thank you, Fuyuhiko.”

“I’m sorry,” she says in a small voice. “I didn’t realize—”

“Yeah,” he says. “Next time we gotta remember to do that part first.” She still won’t raise her head. He turns his lips against her temple so that she can feel him smiling. “What I was gonna say, was, uh… Y’know.” He slides his hands up her thighs, beneath her skirt, and hooks his thumbs into the elastic band of her underwear. “That. Basically.”

Her head snaps up from his shoulder. Her eyes are wide.

“I mean,” he hedges, “if that’s okay with you. It really only asked me, I guess, so—”

“Yes,” she whispers. “I- I… yes.”

He sinks to his knees in front of the couch. She lets him skim his hand back under her skirt to help her slide her panties down and off; they’re plain, black cotton, simple and practical. From this angle, he can see how every heavy breath rolls from her belly through her chest and out her throat.

She’s flushed and beautiful.

Her device chimes. “No consent preference registered. Peko, do you consent to oral sex as the receiving partner?”

She draws both hands up the inside of her thighs, and lets the hem of her dress catch on her fingers. She murmurs, “Yes,” with her eyes on him, lidded and intense, and it makes him feel like his hair is standing on end.

“Thank you, Peko.”

He leans in.

The angle’s bad, at first. The couch cushions are soft and deep; that’s fine for when he’s trying to sleep, but not so much when she keeps sinking back too far for him to keep pressure where she needs it. Her hand flutters on his shoulder, clenching and releasing. He’s getting a crick in his neck.

“Hey,” he murmurs, and then, “Hey,” again, until her eyes flutter open. “Try- Try scooting up a little.” He spreads his palms wide on the outsides of her thighs. “Closer to the edge, so I can…”

She bites her lip. She’s flushed down to her chest. “But...”

“It’s okay,” he tells her. He scoops his arms around the small of her back in a clumsy hug, the most he can think to do. “I got you, alright? Last thing either of us want is for you to fall on your ass, I swear.”

She nods, unsteady. She lets him draw her down to the edge, and lets him lift her knees over his shoulders. It leaves her sprawled on the couch cushions, dress hiked up around her waist, with her hips pressed close and spread open.

He brushes his lips against her, not even a kiss, and she inhales, sharp and quick.

“Oh.” She pulls his collar hard against the back of his neck. “That’s… That’s better.”

He laughs against her, so that the sound vibrates on her skin, and her breath stumbles back out. “Yeah?”

Her hands scrabble for purchase against the back of his head. She’s trying not to press down, and doing a bad job of it. “Yes,” she whispers. “Go- Go, please.”

She’s dead fucking silent, the entire time. She lies there with her head tipped back against the cushions, her throat bobbing with every swallowed sound, and he thinks he’s fucking it up, at first. He starts to pull back, means to ask her what he’s doing wrong and what he could do better, when her fingers twist around his ears to keep him in place, hard enough to hurt.

He switches gears. He turns off the part of his brain that focuses on sound, and focuses instead on the things that make her knees tremble around his ears, or her nails rake back across his scalp. He figures out where her line is, learns to feel when she’s right up on that edge but not letting herself past it.

“Come on,” he growls against her. He sits up on his knees, and smooths his thumbs into the grooves of her hips. “I got you. Come on.”

She shudders. She spills over. She gasps, “Fuyuhiko,” at the ceiling, and it hits him like a stone, right in the gut.

He carries her through it. He tries to. Maybe the best he does for her is make sure she actually doesn’t fall on her ass. He has to come up for air as much as she does when it’s done, when she’s looking at him like that, lips parted and eyes dark, with the fingers of one hand curled around his ear.

“Fuck, I wanna kiss you,” he manages. “Can I kiss you?”

She surges forward, and grabs him by the face with both hands. She kisses him, full-on and messy, even though his mouth must still taste bitter and slick. She wraps her arms around him and drags on his shoulders until he gets the memo to come up off his knees.

He holds himself over her, both hands on the back of the couch. He has to brace one knee on the cushion between her legs to keep himself upright. “Shit,” he whispers against her mouth. “You’re incredible.”

Her lips move against his, too, only he can’t concentrate on what she’s saying because his blood is roaring in his ears and she just thumbed through the button on the front of his slacks. She fumbles with his belt, finds his zipper, and then she stops.

He’s dizzy. It’s a struggle to find her face, until he realizes it’s because she’s bent her head forward, against his chest.

“Wh-What?” he pants. “What’s wrong?”

She tilts her chin. He can see the flat edge of her smile. She’s trying not to laugh. “It wants to know… if…”

“Fuck,” he rasps. “Goddammit.” He rearranges his grip on the backrest, and clenches his eyes shut. “I consent, you stupid piece of shit.”

“Thank you, Fuyuhiko,” his device chirps behind him.

The momentum is broken. Her thumb at the top of his zipper feels more awkward now than promising. “Sorry,” he whispers, “I- I should’ve thought this out better. You don’t have to— I mean—”

She turns her face back up to him. Her fingers curl around his cheek. She presses gently, until he tilts his head in the direction she wants, and then her lips are on his again, softer this time, slower.

Her hands settle on his hips. Her thumbs hook in his waistband, tug until it slides down enough to give her room to work, and his breath catches in his throat.

“Peko,” he gasps against her mouth.

It doesn’t take much, even after all that. The warm curl of her fingers, the touch of her tongue to the roof of his mouth, a few quick twists of her wrist, and that’s it: he’s done. He tries to garble out a warning, but she just presses her free hand against the back of his head to hold him in place while it shudders through him.

They’re a wreck, the both of them, when it’s over: her with her hair a mess and her makeup smudged, hanging off the edge of the couch, and him half-draped on top of her, barely able to keep his balance.

He touches his forehead to hers. She traces the curve of his jaw with her thumb.

“Bed?” she asks.

He breathes in her smile. “Yeah,” he answers, “fuck this.”

*

It’s the best goddamn sleep he’s had in months.

When he wakes up, it’s abrupt, and dark, and cold. He doesn’t know much with his brain operating on empty like that, but he does know that his half of the bed is wider than it’s supposed to be. He reaches for her, paws out into the space, and finds the edge of the blanket again. He drags it back around his shoulders.

He just barely remembers to grumble, “Peko.”

“Go back to sleep,” she murmurs, and there, she’s there, close to his ear. He can’t keep his eyes open long enough to look at her.

“What the fuck,” he slurs into the pillow. “It’s nighttime.”

“It’s morning,” she corrects. “I shouldn’t miss my run.”

He swings his arm blindly sideways, and finds the curve of her shoulder. He grabs, and only gets her sleeve. “Don’t go.”

She presses a kiss to the side of his neck, just behind his ear. She’s smiling. “Go back to sleep.”

Somewhere along the line, he does.

10 WEEKS

“What do you think about tiny dogs?” he asks her. They’re on the couch together, sharing a blanket, his legs tented over her lap. “The yappy, strung-out looking ones?”

She traces the line of his shin with her thumb. She doesn’t want him to see it, but the corner of her mouth tugs sideways. “I think they’re nice,” she answers.

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“That’s fuckin’ crazy,” he tells her. “They’d bite your fingers off as much as look at you.”

She doesn’t rise to his bait, and she doesn’t take back her answer. It’s her turn. “Are there any sports you like?”

“Baseball,” he answers. “Played it for a while. I’m better at watching it, though.”

“I see.”

“Right, so, if you—”

She squeezes his knee. “I get to ask again.”

“What?” he laughs. “No, you don’t. How come?”

“You asked two.”

“Bullshit I did! ‘Seriously?’ doesn’t count.”

She holds her ground. She lifts her chin at him, and she’s not smiling, but her eyes get narrower underneath like she is.

“Alright,” he says. He leans forward, his elbow on the back of the couch beside her head, and lets his knees fall flat into her lap. “Fine. What’s your second one?”

Her hand finds the side of his face. The tips of her fingers trace the edge of his ear, and it tickles, but he’s determined not to show her any weakness. He sighs, a long, slow exhale, and touches the tip of his tongue to his lips.

Her eyeline drops down.

“Peko,” he says, and it rises back up, painfully slow. He’s won, and she knows it. “What’s your second one?”

(He’s an idiot. He’s underestimated her, like he does every time.)

She curves her thumbnail along his hairline, dips her chin, and asks him in a murmur, “What would you like to do next?”

He loses, right then and there. No chance. He accepts the defeat gracefully, and rolls her over so that she's the one in his lap.

3 MONTHS

He wakes up with his arm around her waist.

They take a few extra minutes in their morning, just because.

15 WEEKS

“You’re not paired with her,” Natsumi tells him. “You know that, right?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that just because you dumbasses didn’t check the expiration, it doesn’t mean you don’t still have one.”

“Obviously,” he says. “I know that. We both know that.”

She stares at him over the lid of her smoothie. It gurgles as loudly as she can make it.

“Really?” she asks. “Because it kinda seems like you don’t.”

4 MONTHS

He counts the days up. Four months, almost exactly. They’ve overshot it by a few, and it turns out he likes that less than if they’d been a few days shy.

He’s done the math. His average is two months. Hers is five. They’re sitting pretty at almost exactly the point their expiration date should be creeping up on them.

He doesn’t say anything to her. It’d defeat the purpose. Just because he let Natsumi get under his skin again doesn’t mean that he should be making Peko anxious about it, too. What they have is working. Letting the system shove its nose between them adds nothing and takes away everything.

Still.

It’s too late for the summer stars, but the autumn ones are just as good. He takes her out by the river, down to the spot where the sprawling, rickety house they used for the pairing day is sitting empty. She lets her arm unwind from his and steps close to the water, her chin tipped up to the sky. Moonlight and starlight spill over her, and gleam silver in her hair.

He taps his device. The hidden speakers in the trees fade in: a slow piano waltz.

She looks up at the sound, and then down to him. He holds his hand out. “Dance with me?”

Her lips turn up into her not-quite smile. Color rises in her cheeks, and brings out her eyes. She reaches her hand out, too, and her fingers curl into his.

They spin lazily together, there on the riverbank, in the grass and soft soil. It isn’t even a real waltz; it’s way too slow and uncoordinated for that. But his arm fits around her waist, and she’s looking back at him with her eyes soft and open in a way they hardly ever are, and the rest of it doesn’t matter. None of it. The steps, the device, the system, the goddamn fucking wall.

The song slows down. So do they, swaying steps devolving into swaying shoulders.

He imagines that tomorrow is their last day. He imagines that this’ll be the last time he sees her like this, touched by silver moonlight like that, looking back at him with her eyes like that. He imagines her at a pairing day with someone else, beautiful in a light spring gown, with her name on all of the decorations, and he kisses her.

When he pulls back, her eyes are shining. She presses her knuckles into the corners of them. “Wait, wait.” He wraps his hands around the back of her neck, tugs her down until her forehead is pressed against his. “You— Don’t cry. Why are you crying?”

She blinks the tears away. She shakes her head, just a little, just enough for him to feel it. “I love you, too,” she murmurs against his lips. “That’s all.”

22 WEEKS

He keeps counting. He can’t help himself. Once he knows the number, each morning is another increment. Each new total carves itself into the inside of his skull like tic marks on a prison wall.

*

“Is something wrong?” she asks.

They’re having breakfast, toast and coffee and sliced fruit. She has one hand on his knee below the table. They don’t have anything planned for the afternoon; she’d wanted a quiet day in, just the two of them, and so had he. He wants as many of those as he can get, from however many days there are left.

There are soft frown lines between her eyes, and he needs to be honest. It’s too late now not to be. “We've been together five months,” he tells her. “More than that. Hundred and fifty-seven days, tomorrow.”

She doesn't understand, at first. Her gaze goes soft, at first, like he’s told her good news, because it is. It should be. It’s something they should be proud of. A mark of what they’ve done, and what they could do.

It isn’t, though. Not where the system is concerned.

She sees it in his face, maybe, or maybe she just knows him well enough now that she understands the implication of his counting. She gets there. Her hand lifts off his knee.

“You want to check the expiration date,” she realizes.

His stomach twists. “No!” He leans forward, and his elbow jostles the edge of his plate. It sends cutlery to the table with a clatter. “No. Peko, no, that’s not it.”

She’s not listening. Her device is on the table, by her elbow, and it lights up under her touch. She swipes through the menus with quick, deliberate precision: Main, Info, Expiration.

“Peko—”

“We agreed,” she says. “As soon as one of us changes their mind, we look.”

He has this sudden, irrational panic that she’s going to look at it without him. He doesn’t even know if that’s possible, and he grabs her wrist anyway. “Stop it,” he says. “I didn’t change my mind, alright?”

“Will it make you feel better?” she asks him.

He hesitates.

“Then we should look,” she says, and holds her finger over the screen.

“You're not listening to me.”

“Please,” she says through grit teeth. Emotion still manages to tremble its way through. “Whatever time is left, I…” It trembles out into her fingers. She clutches the device to keep hold of it. “I don't want it to go to waste. So if doing this helps you, then…”

“This isn’t gonna fucking help!”

It’s louder than he means, sharper than he means. He seizes her hands with both of his, and shoves the face of the device down into the table. It makes a sound like splitting plastic, but he knows it won’t break.

“Maybe it would make me feel better,” he tells her, and forces his volume down. “Maybe. For a second. That’s not what this is about, okay?” He swallows. Breathes. “I don't want to know when it ends.” He can feel her trembling. He drags his thumb over the ridges of her knuckles. “I don't want it to end at all.”

Peko is looking down at their hands. She’s not crying. She’s wearing the same sort of carefully neutral look she had when he was late for dinner the very first night, lonely and quiet, slightly strained at the edges.

“The system makes mistakes,” he says, and now he's trembling, too. “99.8. That’s .2 percent of people who get fucked over. You wanna look at me and tell me this doesn’t feel like a mistake to you?”

She looks at him. She doesn’t say anything.

“Everything happens for a reason,” the device chirps, muffled between their fingers.

*

She kisses him every morning, before her run, while he’s still half-asleep. She brushes her lips wherever she can reach him, between the tangle of blankets: his cheek, his temple, his chin, his wrist.

He teaches himself to count those, instead.

6 MONTHS

He’s in the bedroom, fixing his tie in the mirror. She’s in the kitchen, packing their boxed lunch for later. It’s too cold for a picnic now, but the central hub has a cozy little lounge area with some fireplaces and worn-comfortable loveseats. They’re going to the aquarium first, then lunch, then a concert in the evening.

“Yo, Peko,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Yes?”

“When is this thing tonight again? I was thinking if we have some extra time, maybe—”

His device chimes on the vanity in front of him.

It's programmed with maybe four or five distinct sounds. They all get used for different things: notifications and alerts and acknowledgements. They overlap in a lot of places, by categories. There’s only one that’s unique. There’s only one he can recognize without trying to, or needing to, or wanting to.

He looks at it through the mirror, and the letters are backwards, but he knows. He knew before he looked.

END

He thinks: they didn’t even make it to thirty. She’s given him twenty-six sleepy, early-morning kisses since he started counting.

He barely even remembers the one from this morning. He tries. He grips the sharp edge of the vanity until his palms hurt, and tries to remember. She kissed him on the shoulder, he thinks, the outside curve of it. It’d been lazy, a brush. She’d been tired, too. She’d wanted to stay in bed with him, but she hadn’t.

He grabs the device. He turns on his heel, and stops in his tracks.

She’s already in the doorway. Her device hangs from her limp left hand, but it’s still lit up. He can still read the face of it.

END

“Peko—”

She talks over him. “I would like to say something.” Her voice is steel bent to its maximum; her face is a sheet of ice about to shatter.

“The relationship has ended,” their devices say in echoing unison. “Both participants must vacate their living quarters.”

“I want you to know that I have treasured every moment we spent together,” she says, rushed and clumsy. She struggles. It’s not like her at all. “And that I- I will always treasure them. It has been… unlike anything I’ve experienced in my life.”

“The relationship has ended. Both participants must vacate their living quarters.”

“I know that it’s selfish of me to ask. I know that this will pale in comparison to the connection you will have with the person you are matched with, when you meet them. But I… I hope, if you can, that you’ll remember this, too.” There are tears in her eyes, and she lets them spill over. “I hope that you’ll remember me, too.”

“No,” he rasps.

“Fuyuhiko—”

“How can you still not get it?” Emotion bubbles up his throat, and then his eyes are stinging, too. “How can you stand there and say that kind of shit to me? Like- Like I was going to forget anything. Like I ever could, like I’d ever want to?” He can’t stand it. She talks about herself like she’s a ghost, like she doesn’t matter, and she’s so goddamn frustrating. “I don’t want their fucking match, Peko!”

Her device lights up: a red, flashing ring around the face. He can see the reflection of it on her skin. He looks down, and his is blinking, too.

“Failure to vacate is considered a breach of system rules. Failure to comply with the system may result in banishment.”

He drops it. It hits the floor flat on its face and goes spinning into the wall. He crosses the space between them in two long steps, and reaches for her with both hands.

“I want you,” he tells her. “Only you.”

She sways into him. She lets out a breath, shaking and damp. Her free hand comes up to curl loosely around his wrist, and the other presses her device into her stomach, where the pretty lace of her blouse swallows up the warning light.

He sees it in her eyes. He swears he does. A spark, like possibility.

“Failure to vacate is considered a breach of system rules. Participants have three minutes to vacate, or security will be called.”

He watches her let it wink out.

She whispers, “Please.”

He lets go.

[some-dr-writings]

Gonta x Botanist Reader with a hobby of candy making One-shot: Gonta’s Gift

Gonta had awoken to a chill that morning as expected, it was still winter after all. It was still dark out as well. Gonta found himself on that particular morning unable to get up. He had work to do, yet he found himself instead hugging you tightly, nuzzling his face into the back of your neck as he interlaced your finders together. He adored the feeling of your hands within his, something about tracing the lines in your palms or seeing how perfectly the rings fit on those fingers of yours could always hypnotize him. Maybe it was the warmth of them, or the slight clamminess of them, perhaps it was what those rings symbolize, the lifelong commitment you two had taken for one another for many years now. He had seen those rings and his own on the pair of you for so long, one would think he’d just be used to it by now but at times, like that morning he just felt extra sentimental, visions of your wedding day together played in his mind sending his heart to pick up in pace. And then he was blushing, getting embarrassed recalling how when you danced with one another he accidentally took a misstep sending the pair of you to almost crash into a table, and how you simply laughed, told him he was doing great before taking a misstep yourself. Thankfully he was able to catch you and hold you closely as he was doing now, Miu and Kokichi saying something how you two should get a room and your old classmates immediately putting a stop to it. It was such an amazing day.

“Still sleepy I see.” “No, just admiring you.” Alright, it was time to get up. He flipped around, getting his glasses from the bedstand as you playfully patted Gonta’s unruly hair out of his face. “… I feel like being fancy, berries and pancakes and stuff, you want some?” “Yes, I’d love some!” You sleepily smiled before yawning and trotting out of the room.

“The pancakes smell so good, I could smell them all the way from the bedroom.” “That’s just your powerful wolf nose, then again I guess I could finally be going nose blind.” Gonta sidled up beside you, watching as you poured more batter onto the pan. “Ah, you made more jam?” Carefully he took one of the glass jars off the counter beside you, holding it up to the rays of light that had just began to peek through the window. “Yeah, once my raspberry research ended last month, I just decided to make some into jam. Still have a lot extra, but I don’t want to have nothing but raspberry jam for a year. Maybe I could make ice-cream, or… maybe turn it into a flavoring for lollipops?” “Could I give some to my ant friends?” “Sure, most of ‘em are still on the vine. Take the ones from greenhouse three, back left corner of the place, the others aren’t quite ripe yet.” “Third greenhouse, back left corner, thank you!” It would be nice to visit one of your greenhouses. He usually only did so when going to see you, or checking up on the insects you had allowed in there, maybe collect ingredients if you allowed it, but-

“Gonta Dear, you still have a mat in your hair.” “Huh!? I do!?” “Yeah, it’s towards the top… ish. No, I mean lower top? You know what, just bring me a comb I’ll get it for you.” “Thank you so much.” Quickly Gonta trotted back to the bathroom to get a comb, though he did feel a little guilty, he couldn’t even groom himself on his own, but he also could never decline help from you.

“Care to take over pancake duty so I could get to you now?” “I’d like that.” Admittedly Gonta also like this, it always felt so nice when you brushed through his hair, he’d get this pleasant tingling feeling on his head and down his back whenever you did so. “Oh, I just remembered. Oma might be stopping by today.” “Kokichi?” “Said something about coming today to collect the poisoned, exploding berries he had ordered or whatnot. I’m a botanist, not a plant breeder, besides I don’t have the time to experiment on that... although… maybe I could pencil it in next year?... Uh, anyway. Sounded like he also dragged Saihara and some others into his antics so we might see others as well.” “Do you know what time? It’d be ungentlemanly if we didn’t have snacks prepared! And we’re so far out in the countryside, do they have a place to stay at? I’ll go make sure the guest rooms are prepared later.” “I’m not sure, sorry Dear.” “… Perhaps we could make some extra pancakes for if they come in the morning?” “… And if they don’t come by soon enough, I guess we could just snack on the rest through the day.”

Gonta listened to the low hum rumble deep in your throat as you thought it over. He could sometimes puzzle out what you were thinking by the tone of your hum, or at least when your thoughts shifted from one topic to another, like it did just then, shifting to a slightly higher pitch before you spoke. “It’s sometimes weird to think back to our high school days. You always spoke differently back then, but it would be easier than proper Japanese, you hadn’t been back in human society for long. It had this charm to it that was nice. It was simple, not needlessly complicated. I wonder if back then I could have imagined you speaking with proper grammar.” “…” Gonta felt rather silly about it, the heat that arose on his cheeks. “Well… he would speak that way if you told Gonta you wanted him too.” “Oh, no, no, no! You don’t need to do that.” Placing your hands on one of his shoulders you jumped, pushing yourself up, planting a quick kiss on the cheek. “I appreciate the thought though.”

“Y/N, you should slow down, I don’t want you to choke on your food!” Gonta placed his hands on yours, getting you to stop shoveling the pancakes down our gullet. “Sorry Sweetie. I just have lots of work to get done and I don’t want to fall behind! You’re right though, I’ll slow down.” Gonta simply watched as you so excitedly smiled. You certainly were in a good mood, that was for sure, but who wouldn’t be when eating your cooking. He remembered how you always smiled like that on dates. Like your very first date when the pair of you went to a botanical garden together… It had been a while since you had gone on a date together, but you both had been rather busy. You still made time to just laze about in evenings, but you hadn’t gone on a real date and not for lack of trying. It seemed whenever you tried, something always got in the way whether it be the weather, scheduling conflicts, last minute delays and so on. These thoughts came to a halt through hearing the faucet turn on. “Y/N allow me. I’ll clean up so you may get to work.” “Thank you, Gonta.” As you passed by you gave him a kiss dashing away. He wished you had lingered just a little bit longer. You always were so hard working, but it would be hard not to do so when it was for something you loved, Gonta certainly knew what that was like, there had been more than one occasion where he was so absorbed in his research, he didn’t realize it was midnight till you came in, asking him to come to bed. You both really should take a day or two off and just have a date, it’d be a nice change of pace!

And so, another day at work ensued which was occasionally interrupted by daydreams of things to do together, Gonta notating every idea down; dancing under the moonlight, a picknick out in nature, doing some cooking together. True it was just three ideas, but he could come up with more ideas later and even ask for your input, you could probably come up with things he never could have.

As he was dreaming away about the pair of you working together in the kitchen, Gonta suddenly remembered something. He never got those raspberries; he had completely forgotten about that. Gonta had also noticed the time, it was really late in the afternoon, it would be evening soon. Gonta had never eaten lunch and he wouldn’t be surprised if you hadn’t either. Gonta raced through the house, past the kitchen, past your lab and to the many greenhouses. Gonta picked the raspberries you had told him of, and some strawberries from your designated personal food greenhouse. Gonta didn’t think himself as that great of a cook, but he at least he could make decent, filling meals that you loved! He’d make you some oatmeal, but if you did have lunch and were full, he’d eat it for you, and give you some strawberries as a snack instead.

Just as he was going back to the house, he spotted something in the corner of his eye. “Ah, Shuichi! You’re here!” Eagerly he raced up to the man… who was carrying a box? “You should have told me you were coming. That box looks heavy, I could carry it for you, it will be easy for me.” “G-Gonta! Well, I uh! I-I’m helping Y/N!” “Y/N needs help?” “Yeah! I’m just moving some equipment, nothing big! Just go back to your work, we can talk later.” “Really? You look off, are you coming down with a cold?” “I-” Before Shuichi could answer he was tackled to the ground, sending snow flying. “Shuichi, Kokichi! Are you alright!? You’re not hurt!?” The purple haired clown hopped off the poor detective, gaining a wince from him. “I-I’m fine Gonta.” “GONTA! WHAT ARE YOU DONING HERE!? YOU SHOULD BE WITH Y/N!” “W-what!? Did something happen to them?” Kokichi hopped onto Gonta, gripping the collar of Gonta’s lab coat in his fists, standing on Gonta’s stomach. Gonta kept leaning back as Kokich kept the ends of their noses presses together. “What happened to them!? WHAT HAPPENED TO THEM!? HOW COULD YOU NOT KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR OWN SPOUSE!?” He leaped off, beginning to walk away. “Oh, Poor Gonta doesn’t know how they are or where they are!” “Wh-where are they!?” With his back turned, he simply pointed to the house and the entomologist immediately darted away for it. Slowly Shuichi sat back up. “Well… that was certainly one way to keep him away, but you didn’t have to scare him like that.” Kokichi simply shrugged, taking the box from Shuichi. “It’ll be fine, he’ll be happy to see they’re just fine. Maybe they’ll cuddle for a few hours and be hunky-dory. Besiiiiides, Y/N is the best distraction we could ever ask for. Anyway what else was I supposed to do, let you ruin the surprise!?” Tears formed in the corner of his eyes before he burst into tears. “Y-you don’t want Gonta to have a happy birthday surprise!? HOW CRU-” Suddenly a hand was slapped over his mouth. “Shhhsh! Gonta might hear you! Let’s just go!” “Nishishi! About time you kicked your butt into gear! If you did earlier Gonta wouldn’t have caught you!”

“Y/N!” It was not gentlemanly to go running through the house, but you needed to be safe! “Y/N!” “Gont- OH FUUUUUUUUUUUUDGE! FUDGE-FUDGE-FUDGE!” The kitchen! Gonta immediately raced to the kitchen! “WAIT! DON’T step on the clear liquid, or touch the pot, both are very, VERY hot!” You lightly trembled, holding your hand under the pouring faucet. Seeing how red your hand was Gonta took the first-aid kit from one of the lower kitchen cabinets and snapped off a piece of the aloe vera plant you kept on the windowsill for situations just like this. Effortlessly with one arm he lifted you up to sit on the counter, with his free hand he turned off the faucet. Even though Gonta patted your hand dry as gently as possible it still flinched. “I’m sorry!” “N-no, no, it’s okay.” Taking a knife from the knife block Gonta quickly peeled off the aloe vera skin revealing the clear gel and smeared it over all the burnt parts of your hand, and a little around them just in case before wrapping your hand firmly. “I always forget just how good you are at this.” “When I lived in the forest, I had to know how to heal any injuries, even little cuts can get you sick.” A small sigh had escaped him as he cupped your hand in both of his.

“Hey, what’s wrong? You look shaken.” The moment you placed your uninjured hand on his cheek he immediately leaned into the touch before placing one of his hands on yours, gently pressing you into him. He closed his and kissed your palm not caring at all about it knocking over his glasses. “I saw Kokichi, he said something happened to you and I got scared. He was acting like it was something really bad.” “Oh Sweetie.” You leaned in, giving him a kiss on the forehead. “I’m okay, well aside from the burn, but you’ve taken care of that already. I’m okay because of you.” “So, I was useful?” “Dear…” You sighed, lightly shaking you head. “You are more than useful, you’re amazing. Never forget that, please.” Gonta was confused as you took off his glasses, placing them beside you. Then a giddy laughter bubbled up from him as you peppered his face in kisses. Now all day you had been giving him kisses, it would be ungentlemanly to not give you some love back, so with a determined glint in his eye he peppered your face and neck in kisses earning laughter and squeals from you. Soon you both dissolved into giggling messes, so loving your moment together.

Gonta insisted you stay on the counter while he cleaned up the floor, not wanting to risk you getting another burn or dirtying your bandages. Since it was still hot and hadn’t hardened yet it was somewhat easy aside from the residue of stickiness which seemed to refuse to leave the flooring for a while. “What were you making? Could I help, it might be harder to make it now with a hurt hand.” “… Well… Alright. We’re going to be making some hard candy.” “Hmm?” “Yeah, my lollipop stash in my office has started running low and I thought about making something slightly different this time. You’ll see.” “… You had work, I thought?” “Shuichi and Kokichi are taking over set-up so I have some extra time.” “Ah, that’s good. I must thank them later! Maybe they’d like to have another insect meet-and-greet! I do have some new friends they haven’t met yet!” A smile tugged on your lips seeing how excited he was getting. How you even met such a perfect, sweet, gentleman, you would never know, but you were more than grateful he was a part of your life, let alone him being your own husband.

Thankfully for you, you hadn’t gotten far when you got hurt so getting back to where you left off was rather quick. “See the crystal-like stuff on the sides of the pot? That’s where the wet pastry brush comes in. You just gotta brush it, we don’t want that stuff in the candy.” Gonta nodded, following your instructions. “Oh, didn’t you say we do something at a hundred twenty-six Celsius?” “I can take care of this part; you keep washing the crystals.” It was almost exciting to watch as you dropped in some red dye into the mixture, the boiling bubbles on their own mixing in the color, getting it to swirl around. It felt somewhat strange the fiery heat from the stove and winter’s chill both surrounded him. He was both tempted to roll down his sleeves, despite cooking, to warm up even a little or to at least undo the top buttons of his shirt. Cooking in winter was always a bit odd when the kitchen hadn’t completely warmed up yet.

“Is it at a hundred forty-eight Celsius yet?” “Almost.” “I think I can set up the next batch, we’re going to make one for each base color of the rainbow; red, orange, yellow, green, you get the idea.” “It’s at one forty-eight.” “Take it off the heat! Take it off the heat!” Quickly Gonta did so, placing it on a turned off burner while you shutoff the first one. “Now we add the flavoring! Can you guess what it is?” “Uh… I don’t……” He paused for a moment, as if unsure of what to say. “raspberry?” “Yes! How did you guess?” “I try remembering all of your words. They are all important to me, and you told me this morning about having so many!” “… Damn it, Dear. You’re so sweet.” You passed him a tiny glass bottle. “Here, just dump this into the pot and stir. After that we just have to pour the stuff into the molds and wait for it to cool.”

And so you both repeated the process over and over, past dinner time and even beyond when night had fallen, the sky dark, the only light from those tiny twinkling lights far away in the sky. “Careful. Careful. Careful. Don’t drip now… slowly… and… WE’RE DONE! Almost It’s gotta cool… which will take a while.” The molds were cube in shape so none could see exactly what the shape inside was, and for each you placed a stick in. It seemed a little big for a lollipop unless it was a very big one. “The kitchen will cool down quickly so the candy will too after that.” “Yeah…” You quickly glanced to the clock.” “But it was fun making stuff with you, I don’t want to stop just yet.” “Well, we could make something else.” “… You picked strawberries for oatmeal, right?” “Yes, but… that is a few too many for oatmeal, isn’t it…” You both looked to the two large containers of the stuff. “… Wanna make strawberry ice-cream? We can save some for oatmeal breakfast tomorrow.” “I’ll get the ice cream maker!” “Get the large one!” You adored seeing the delight in your husband’s eyes. No matter the weather or time of year, sweet, sweet ice-cream was always in your freezer. It was one of the first ‘candies’ you had him help make with you. Cooking together like this wasn’t too common with your usually busy schedules, but at least once a month you’d come together to make the sweet treat. And every time you’d be like a pair of children let loose in a sweets shop, wide sparkling eyes, squealing with high pitched voices at every little stage of the process of making. It was always just so fun.

All too soon though your fun had come to an end. “Oh! Dear, we need to go outside. Then everything can cool down much quicker!” “Yes a- Oh Shuichi and Kokichi! I just left them out there!” “Hey, Dear, it’s alright. They actually might be asleep right now, and I know they had some things to snack on. They’re alright, I assure you.” “If you say so… I still feel bad though.” “We can be the perfect gentlemanly hosts tomorrow. They were working all day, so I’m sure they’d like to see us be the ideal party hosts of sorts. How does that sound.” He looked to you for a prolonged moment, then smiled. “I WILL BE THE PERFECT GENTLEMAN HOST!” Suddenly he instantly lost all of his bravado, shrinking down a little. “I should be quiet! It’d be very rude to wake them this late in the night.”

Sneakily, and quietly giggling to yourselves like naughty children you slinked out of the house with the candies and ice-cream in hand. You placed them down by the doors of one the many greenhouses. “Ah, I just love crisp, clear skies like tonight. Just perfect.” You spun around, kicking up some snow as you went. It was even a full moon out, illuminating the whole world in a soft light. Gonta noticed how you soon slowed your twirling, hugging yourself and shivering. “Huh?” “Is this alright?” You looked up to him in confusion, not expecting to suddenly be held so closely. You smiled, nuzzling into him. “More than alright.” “Then… may I have your hand?” Though you were reluctant to do so, you managed to rip one of your arms from him and placed you hand in his which he held up to about chest level. Then you began to sway about, slow dancing to no music but the wind rustling about. Gonta made sure to keep a gentle yet firm grip on you noticing how the snow beneath your feet with slightly slippery. “If we stay close and keep moving, we’ll keep warm.” And so you danced in the world where only the pair of you existed, nothing but your love for one another to keep warm by.

Gonta noticed how you kept glancing to the watch on your wrist, even beginning to count down ever so softly to yourself. Though unsure as to why you were doing so, he joined in, counting down with you. “five.” “four.” “three.” “two.” “one.” “Happy Birthday Dear.” Oh, it must have been midnight already. “Hey, if it’s too cold out here we could go into the greenhouse for a bit.” “… Do you want to go?” “Yeah, but also no.” “If you want to keep dancing, let’s keep dancing. I just want to do what you want.” You playfully smacked him on the chest. “Excuse me! It’s your birthday, not mine. We do what you want.” Gonta fell silent, a bright blush dusting his cheeks. “Gonta… The only gift Gonta could want for his birthday is to make you happy. And Gonta wants to be the one to make you happy. You are the most precious to Gonta.” “… Gonta… you’re just precious, you know that?” His heart began to flutter seeing he had drawn a smile from you. “Though… I-uh! Gonta could want for one other thing. Could Gonta get a kiss from the absolute most precious, amazing love of his life, his only partner?” “Of course.” He lifted you up like it was but nothing, still holding you close. You looked down on him, chuckling to yourself as you draped your arms over his shoulders seeing his glasses starting to fog up. Ever so delicately you took them off, then while closing your eyes leaned your lips into his.

Suddenly Gonta began to panic realizing he was so caught up in the moment he forgot about the snow and slipped. He clutched you as closely as he could, placing a hand on the back of your head to shield it, and threw out his arm so he could brace himself and not crush you in the fall. “Y/N, Are you okay!?” “Y-yeah, just start-” Just as suddenly as the fall happened, several voices appeared. “Guess ice isn’t the only hard thing around here! Am I right boys!” “Oh my God-” “Oh my Atua!” “Miu, SHUT UP!” “Yeah MIU! The insect lollipops are as well, duh!” “Kokichi, you’re not helping.” “Did you expect him to help!?” “Quiet down, Gonta’s going to hear us!” “Kaede, I believe he already has. Shall I turn on the lights now?” “Yeah, just do it Kirumi, please.”

And just like that the lights to the greenhouse burst to life revealing the whole class inside, several of them peaking their heads out the open door, some taking in the molds and ice cream that was left by it. “I- what!?” “Uh, remember that work Shuichi and Kokichi were helping me with? Well, we were working on making a surprise birthday party for you!” Gonta simply stared at you, unmoving, shocked. “Gonta!?” Tears formed in those bright red eyes, but you only saw them for a moment, suddenly being hugged, Gonta burying his face into the crook of your neck. “T-thank you. I love you, so much. Y-you know that, right? Not just for this but everything else too! I love you!” “Hey, at least save this till you see the spread we got you!” “huh?” “Go into the greenhouse!” Slowly the man got up, and once he did, he carried you all the way there. Tables were spread out as far as the eye could see, filled to toppling over with sweets, treats, and wrapped gifts of all kinds. Gonta even spotted Kaito opening the molds revealing beautiful insect shaped lollipops, drops, leaves and other such things.

Even a picknick. Gonta wondered how he ended up with such a perfect person like you, a person who could freaking know him so well as to have this all done at around the same time, he began wanting all this. You truly were the greatest gift in his life.

[dontcare77ghj]

Dying Words

Steve x reader x Bucky x Natasha\

Soulmates. The words that sent both fear and excitement up the spines of any who heard it. To have a soulmate was to acknowledge you had a weakness. Was to acknowledge you would have to lose them one day.

"Y/N! Natasha! Steve is trying to burn down the kitchen!" Bucky yelled as you and Natasha entered your shared floor.

"Don't listen to him! He's exaggerating!" Steve called out before a loud hiss and a curse came from the kitchen.

"Are we going to the hospital or not? I need to know if I have to leave my shoes on." Natasha said, pulling you into the kitchen.

"We don't have to go to the hospital." Steve scoffed. He was standing before a smoking stove and had Bucky looking over a burn on his arm.

"You have a blistering burn on your arm, you punk." Bucky sighed. "Baby doll where'd you put the first aid kit?"

"Cabinet over the fridge." You answered, moving to clean up the mess on the stove. "Christ Steve. What were you trying to make?"

"Pasta," Steve responded as Bucky began to rub numbing cream on his burn.

"It's all stuck to the bottom of the pot." You told him. "And burnt." You added, using a knife to try and cut the burnt pasta out of the pot.

"I liked that pot." Natasha sighed. "Steve, what have we said about you being in the kitchen unsupervised?"

"I've been practicing. Wanda said I've made progress." Steve whined as Bucky chuckled. 

"Well, the kitchen's not on fire. So I suppose that's progress." Natasha said.

"I wanted to do something special for the three of you," Steve said as Bucky wrapped the still red, yet healing, burn. "We only have a couple more days together before we'll be apart for months. I wanted to do something special." He reiterated.

Steve was not wrong. The three of you had two more days together after tonight before you would be left alone for the next few months.

Steve, Natasha, and Bucky were all being sent out of the country. None of you were sure how long they would be gone but it would not be a quick mission.

"The thought is special, Stevie." You smiled at the blonde. "But in future, if you want to surprise us, order in."

"I'll keep that in mind." Steve smiled.

"Okay then. We have two days left together before we're forced to separate," Bucky begun, pulling you into his side. "I suggest none of us leave this floor until then."

"I could get behind that," Natasha smirked, snaking her arm around Steve's middle. "Two days with just the three of you. Don't have to see anyone else, don't have to get out of bed, don't have to wear clothes." She grinned, pressing a kiss to Steve's neck. "Just the four of us for two days long."

"That sounds really good." You said, leaning your head against Bucky's shoulder.

"That's three out of four. What do you say, Stevie?" Bucky asked the blonde.

"I'd say that sounds really good." Steve smiled at the three of you. "Two days. Just the four of us."

Day 1

"Why hello there." You grinned as two arms wrapped around your waist. "Did you sleep well?"

"It would have been much better if you were in bed with us." Natasha hummed.

"I was in bed with you." You denied.

"Yeah, but you didn't wake up with us," Natasha whined. "You got up at a normal time and you're showering as if you have somewhere to go."

"Maybe I just wanted you to join me in the shower." You smirked. "Did you ever think about that?"

"If that was your plan, you're an evil genius," Natasha stated. "God save us all if you try into a villain."

"Y/N can't be a villain," Bucky said, entering the large shower with Steve right behind him. "She's too sweet."

"Not as sweet as you, Buck." You said, squirting shampoo into your hand and massaging it into Natasha's scalp. "What's the go for today?"

"After the shower, I'll make us breakfast." Bucky started.

"Steve stay out of the kitchen." Natasha cut in as you carefully rinsed the shampoo from her hair.

"Then Steve wants to knock some of those movies off his list. After that, I thought you two could pick what we do." Bucky continued as if he had not been interrupted.

"Get ready to drunk bake with me," Natasha smirked. "I just got a box of vodka from Russia herself."

"Me and Steve can't get drunk," Bucky told the redhead. "Y/N doesn't drink to excess and at this point, even you can't get drunk on vodka."

"We can all still drink." Natasha shrugged. "It's much more fun to cook with vodka."

"The fire extinguisher's still good, right?' You asked Bucky, causing Steve to chuckle.

"Don't mock me while I have shampoo in my hands," Natasha said.

"I mean I love you and you're fantastic." You told her. Both boys laughed at your quick retraction as Natasha smirked in victory.

"That's what I thought you said."

"Steve you don't even like this movie! Why are we still watching this?" Bucky groaned. 

"Because we already started it. And if we start something we have to finish it." Steve said. 

"You can stop with the patriotic attitude. It's just a movie." You said, throwing a pillow at the Captain.

"That's it. I can't do this anymore. F.R.I.D.A.Y. can you please stop the movie?" Natasha asked. 

"Yes, Agent Romanoff." F.R.I.D.A.Y. responded.

"Natasha we were supposed to finish it," Steve complained.

"You don't care. You were on your phone twenty minutes ago." She waved him off.

"Okay we have watched three movies on your list and you hated the last two." You clapped your hands as you stood. "I say you remove any more movies Tony suggested from your list after that."

"I agree with Y/N," Bucky said as Natasha also rose.

"Next on the list vodka." Natasha proclaimed, moving into the kitchen.

"I thought it was baking?" Steve asked as you all followed her into the kitchen.

"Same difference." Natasha shrugged, opening the new crate of her favorite drink.

Natasha quickly poured four glasses as Bucky grabbed a selection of cake boxes from the cupboard.

"Which are we in the mood for today?" He asked.

"Whatever's highest in sugar." You told him as Natasha handed you your glass.

"Triple chocolate cake it is." Bucky nodded.

Twenty minutes after Bucky had chosen the box mix Natasha let out a sigh and pointed a spoon at you and Steve.

"When we said cooking, I thought we'd all make it. Not have you two just laze on your asses." She said.

"I am doing work. I'm making sure Steve doesn't step foot in the kitchen." You smiled.

"And I'm drinking just like you asked," Steve told her.

"We're dating a couple of smart asses," Natasha said to Bucky who nodded in agreement.

"You know what Steve? We are being terrible partners." You said, standing and moving towards your partners. "Let me help you with this darling." You took the spoon from Natasha's hand and flung a glob of the sweet chocolate at her face.

Bucky laughed at Natasha's face of surprise and you turned to him.

"You got something on your nose, hon." You told Buck, flinging another large chunk at him.

"Now you're in for it," Bucky said, reaching for you.

"Steve help me!" You called for the man as you dodged Bucky but ran into Natasha.

"No can do, Y/N, not allowed in the kitchen. Remember?" Steve smirked.

"Oh no, kotenok." Natasha mock cooed, passing you to Bucky who held you close. "It looks like you got a little something on you too." She said, holding the bowl in both hands.

"Nat don't you dare." You warned, wiggling in Bucky's hold.

"Sorry can't hear you," Natasha smirked, pouring the batter over your head.

"Nat no!" You squealed. "Now I have to go for another shower." You groaned, wiping the batter out of your eyes once Bucky let you go.

"Fortunately for you, I can help you here," Steve said, taking your hand and pulling you towards the bathroom. 

"Thanks, Steve." You rolled your eyes. 

"Unlike you two with the cake mix, we can be helpful too," Bucky said, moving to follow the two of you.

"Oh no. I think the two of you have a mess to clean up." Steve told the brunette. 

"Maybe if you're quick enough you can join us in the shower." You said, pressing a kiss to Bucky's cheek before pulling Steve with you. 

"That was fast," Steve commented once Natasha and Bucky entered the shower. "Are you sure you cleaned up the mess?"

"For the most part." Natasha shrugged, pulling you close. "You still smell so sweet, kotenok." She hummed.

"I can think of one thing we were supposed to add to today's schedule," Bucky smirked.

"Well we better hop to it then, shouldn't we?" Steve agreed with him.

Day 2

"I ordered the pizza, so I dib not getting it," Natasha said, curling into Bucky's side.

"And I'm just too warm right now to move." You said, pushing your back into Steve's chest. "So it's gotta be one of you boys."

"Well with reasons like that I can see why it has to be us." Bucky snarked. "Sorry, Stevie, but when the time comes it'll have to be you."

"Jerk," Steve mumbled into your hair. "Fine, I'll get the pizza when it comes."

"Thank you, Stevie." You smiled, leaning up to kiss the man.

"You're going to need to put pants on," Bucky told him.

"I'm going to need to find pants." Steve corrected him, lifting his head to scope out the bedroom floor.

"And a shirt," Natasha interjected. "We love this, but it's for us, not the delivery guy."

"Seconded." You agreed with the woman.

"I don't even know where my clothes are." Steve sighed, unwinding his arms so he could search for them.

"It's cold without you, Steve." You grumbled, rolling into Bucky's side.

"What are you going to do without us here?" Bucky teased, wrapping his arm around you. 

"Freeze and get my own pizza." You quipped, pressing your face into his chest.

"Oh, poor baby," Natasha said, reaching over to hold your hand. "We're making you get your own pizza? We're monsters."

"You're not monsters. Fury's the monster for sending you on the mission." You told her, causing Bucky to chuckle.

"I'm going to tell him you said that," Bucky smirked.

"Don't you dare." You gasped, rolling on top of him. "Man'll kill me."

"Bucky's not cruel enough to do that," Steve assured you. "He wants to come back to you, not have you killed by Fury."

"You better all come back to me." You said, moving off Bucky and sitting up in bed. "I'll kill you otherwise."

"Terrifying from the woman who was covered in chocolate cake yesterday." Natasha teased you.

"That wasn't my fault." You whined.

"We promise to come back to you," Steve swore, sitting on the edge of the bed having found his pants.

"Can't have anyone else take our jobs of pizza collector and personal heaters, now, can we?" Bucky added with a smirk.

"Oh shut it." You laughed, hitting the brunette in the chest. "But seriously, you have to come back to me."

"We always do, kotenok," Natasha said. "Always." She repeated, taking your hand and kissing the back of it.

"Your delivery has arrived." F.R.I.D.A.Y. announced, ruining the tender moment.

"Shirt, Steve," Natasha reminded as Steve stood.

"Yes, dear," Steve said, grabbing Buckys from the ground. "I'll be back with sustenance. Stay in bed."

"Wasn't planning on moving." Bucky murmured, pulling you and Natasha close.

"Hurry back, Steve." You called, relaxing into Bucky's hold.

Three months did not pass quickly, they seemed to crawl by like that of a snail.

No-one was allowed any contact with your partners or the team they went with.

You had no idea how close they were to being done, no idea if anyone was injured if they were captured and no idea as to if anyone were alive.

It was a Tuesday when you got a phone call. You had been in the kitchen reheating last night's leftovers as the phone rung shrilly with an unknown number.

"Hello, Y/N L/N speaking." You said, stepping away from the noise in the kitchen.

"Hey, baby doll." A gasp escaped your lips. Not at the sound of Bucky's strained voice but at the burning sensation in your thigh. Those three words were your soul mate words. And they were now burned into your skin upon your hearing of them. "Given the fact you're crying, I'd wager you got those words burnt into your skin?"

"Bucky please don't. Please don't tell me this is happening." You whispered, sinking to the ground.

"I'm sorry, baby doll, but we're dying." He told you somberly. "We don't have a lot of time but we just want you to know we love you.

"This can't be happening. Please don't do this."

"Can you please just say the words for me, baby doll?" Bucky begged you.

"I love you. God, I love you so much." You sobbed. "I love you so much it hurts, this can't be happening."

"I'm sorry kotenok but it is," Natasha said suddenly. Your sobs increased at the sound of her voice and the continued burning of your body.

"Nat, please, I can't lose you all. Please, I love you."

"I love you too, Y/N," Natasha choked. "But unfortunately this is what's happening and we can't do anything about it. We need to keep going after we're gone. The house we bought is finished, so if you need to go anywhere go there. Clint and Tony promised to look after you and check up on you if anything happened to us."

"I don't want them. I want the three of you." You shook your head. "I love you."

"I'm sorry we can't give you that," Natasha said, sadly.

"You promised me you'd all come back." You said. "You promised you'd come home."

"I know, and I'm sorry, but we can't come home," Steve said, causing another round of sobs from you.

"You have to come home, Steve. You have to and not just for me." You sobbed. "I'm pregnant, I'm going to have our child."

"Oh, God." Steve cried. You could hear relaying the news to your other partners as you continued to cry. "How far along are you?"

"Three months." You sniffed. "It's a little girl. Steve, please come home. Can you please all just come home?"

"I wish we could, Y/N. I wish we could. I love you, sweetheart. We all love you and we love our daughter. Tell that. Tell her that for us."

"I will." You nodded instantly. "I'll tell her every day."

"I'm sorry, we can't be there for her. Or for you." Steve apologized. "We have to go now, sweetheart."

"No please, just a little longer please." You begged him.

"We're out of time, Y/N." He told you.

"I can't do this without you." You sobbed. Your entire body was shaking as you became overcome with grief.

"Yes, you can," Steve said, sadly. "And we'll be with you in spirit. This is goodbye Y/N. We love you." He added. Without waiting for you to repeat the sentiment, he ended the call.

You sat there on the kitchen floor for several more minutes. You heard the microwave beeping and you could hear F.R.I.D.A.Y. but those noises were muffled compared to the ringing in your ears.

And suddenly you were screaming. Your hand placed firmly on your barely there bump. The last remainder of your partners. The last remainder of Natasha, Steve and Bucky.

You had to go on for her. Even if you were alone. You had to go on for her.

Soulmates. The words that sent both fear and excitement up the spines of any who heard it. The dying words of your soulmate, or in your case soulmates, were burned onto a persons skin. Some thought it a blessing, never truly knowing who your soulmate was until you heard those dying words. 

Others thought it a curse, to be stuck with their final words branded on your body. To have to go the rest of your life with their final sentiment on your form, you could see where they were coming from.

You weren’t sure which side you fell on. Whether this was a curse or a blessing. The only thing you truly knew was that you a daughter on the way and all three of your soulmates had died without ever meeting her.

Taglist

@rvgrsbrns @smilexcaptainx @hopingforbarnes @starlingelliot @piper-koko-barnes-rogers @jelly-fishy-babie @skeletoresinthebasement @agent-barnes40 @reann-loves-sebstan @skadikh

Natasha Romanoff Taglist

@5aftermidnight @ohfuckno

Coming soon

Dean x reader x Cas

Bucky x reader x Natasha

Meg x reader x Cas

Wanda x reader x Vision

Steve x reader x Bucky x Peggy

[random-mha-thoughts]

Jerk (Todoroki x Reader)

Pairing: Todoroki x Fem!Reader

@adainelartz​ asked:  “ I read your oneshots and I think they're great! I wanted to request an angst (sad or hapy end) oneshot where the reader has a fire quirk or something similar, and Shouto and Her had been classmate in elementary or middle school and people used to bully Y/n chan for thinking she could be like endeavor with her being weak or a top hero with a quirk like hers and Shouto just watches every beat ups given to y/n chan and Y/n chan decides to snap in UA and take revenge and targets to hurt Shouto most.”

Genre: Angst to slight fluff

Word count: 3,361

Tags:  @yuki-osaki​ @liviitehe​ @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog​ 

a/n:  I swear this was going to take a shorter amount of time to write and it was going to be a lot shorter as well.  But what can I say, I’m a writer; I write, my brain starts working, I write more, the gears turns more, what do I do, say no?  No, I keep writing.

This ending isn't the best and it feels kind of rushed, but I also didn't know how else to end it and I wanted to hurry and finish it and I already almost fell asleep sitting up at my keyboard at least twice, so I wrote the first thing that came to my head.  I hope I did your request justice, babe~ Thank you again for letting me write it~

Also, if you haven’t seen, I hit 600 followers yesterday!  Though I don’t know why you all are here, thank you for being here and sticking through my poor update schedule.  I appreciate you all.  Enjoy the story~

I hate him.

He's oblivious as I bore holes into the back of his head.  Mr. I-Got-In-On-Recommendation just sits there studying like the studious boy he is.  Everyone thinks he's so great, but I know he's no better than a bully.

"Are you okay, (Y/n)?" Jirou asks, eyeing me warily as he headphone jacks flit around.  "You need to calm down, your food's already dead."

Looking down, there were holes in my salmon from me poking at it.  "I'm fine, just thinking of something."

"You must be thinking of killing someone then," Kaminari laughs nervously, scooting an inch away from me.  "I'd hate to be on the receiving end of that."

He flinches when I smirk at him.  "You probably should be."  I'm only joking, but after Bakugou, I'm the next scariest person in 1-A.  It doesn't help that my quirk is also dangerous.

But it wasn't always that way, unfortunately.  Back in middle school, I could barely light a candle with my fire quirk, flames barely stuttering out a cold, dark red flame before collapsing on itself.  I've always been vocal about being a powerful top hero, and my quirk should've matched those ambitions.  Instead, I was a weakling.  No one believed me or took me seriously.  They laughed at me, teased me, scoffed at me, disregarded all my dreams.  But I never gave up, I kept my dreams close to me and resolved to work harder.

I tried befriending Todoroki just because I thought he could give me pointers, since he has a Fire quirk also, but he wasn't very open to making friends or talking about that half of his quirk.  In fact, he was always cold to everyone, but somehow he was still popular.  So popular that some girls in my classes berated me for getting close to him.  They were my worst bullies; just because I tried being friendly with their crush, they started teasing me about how weak I was, humiliating me in front of the class, writing nasty messages on my desk, pouring water on me.  It even got to the point where they started pulling me out after class and during lunch to beat me up.  I would be the punching bag or target of all their quirks.

"This is what a real hero fights like!  Not some puny whore like you!"

They'd growl and laugh at me, and I couldn't defend myself.  And on a few occasions, I'd see Todoroki standing a distance away as I was battered and bruised.

I didn't care that he didn't know it was because of him that I was being abused.  I was angry because he just stood there, watching as those girls beat me up and called me names.  I curse his apathy, those cold eyes as he stared right at me, met eyes with me, and chose to walk away as if nothing was happening.  Just because his quirk is already strong, he looked down on weak fools like me.  What a pompous asshole.

Months before entrance exams, I'd had enough of being a busted-up rag doll.  I trained late into the wee hours of morning, pouring over countless online guides for unleashing your quirk.  The first time I was able to sustain a bright red flame for more than 30 seconds, I almost cried in victory.  The more I trained, the more powerful and hotter my flames became, spanning from red to orange to bright yellow, even white in short bursts.  By the time the UA Entrance Exam rolled around, I'd attained incredible control over the temperature and sizes of flames I can make.  Getting into UA has been my best achievement since I worked so hard for it.

Imagine how bitter I was when I heard Todoroki got in on recommendations.

I wasn't just bitter, I was pissed.  A cold, pompous jerk like him got in just because he's known to have a really powerful quirk and his father is a Pro Hero.  He doesn't even have a hero attitude!  How can someone who doesn't even help a bully victim be a real hero?

From the first day of starting UA, I vowed to make Shouto Todoroki pay for his mistakes.

"Hey, (Y/n)?"  Kirishima places a hand on my shoulder as we walk back to our classroom.  "You went to the same junior high as Todoroki, right?"

"Yeah, why?"  I try not to visibly bristle at his name.

Shark-Teeth hesitates, trying to word his next question as delicate as possible as his features twist awkwardly.  "You two aren't very fond of each other, are you?"

"We just didn't talk," I put it bluntly.

Kiri rubs behind his neck.  "I would've thought that, you know, since you two have similar quirks you would've at least-"

"He's not a very..."  Friendly, kind, decent- "Talkative person.  He didn't really have friends in school."  I sit down in my seat and pull out my books, signalling I want to end the conversation.

Thankfully, Kirishima recognizes this, mouthing an "Okay..." before retreating to his own seat for class to begin.

.

Later that day, we're into duo teams for battle trials.  My teammate ends up being Ojiro.  At least it's not that jerk.  As Bakugou and Midoriya fight it out, we're discussing tactics in the back of the room.

"You're much better at close combat than me," I explain, "So you should go out and take on the other members while I guard the weapon.  If you need backup, I'll come out to help you."  I already anticipate how Todoroki's going to attack.  Being pitted against him is the perfect opportunity for me to get back at him.

When it's our turn, we set up inside the building near the weapon.  I tug my gloves over my long sleeves.  "Stay behind me.  Whatever happens, don't panic," I mutter as I stand near the blond's tail.

Ojiro's confused expression is about to ask me why when the entire building starts rumbling.  I activate orange fire out of my hands as the ice starts sweeping inside the room.  Typical.  At first, the ice is about to trap us, but I expand the size of the flames and sweep them over the entire inside of the room, careful not to burn the weapon.

"How did you know he would do that?" Ojiro asks, obviously impressed by my foresight.

"Instinct.  Todoroki's going to come in here thinking he's frozen us to capture the warhead.  When he does, I'll distract him while you run out and get the jump on Shoji, okay?"

As I predicted, Todoroki strolls into the room, eyebrows furrowing when he sees the room is completely rid of ice.  "What-"

I don't give him chance to react as I blow orange flames directly at him.  He puts up an ice barrier in the nick of time, my quirk completely encompassing him in heat.  I nod for my teammate to hurry, and follows my orders, slipping through the door and bouncing out a window.

You're mine, jackass.  I rush at him through the flames, heart pumping fresh rage through my veins.  He raises his arm to shoot ice at me, but I jump up above him, propelling myself with flames from my left hand and shooting from my other one at him once I'm soaring near the back of his head.  Landing right behind, I swipe his legs before he can spot me, effective in tripping him to his knee.  I kick down, sending him onto his face with a groan.  Gotcha.

Unfortunately for me, his right arm finds my ankle, sending numbing ice up my leg.  "You can't win that easily," I grit out.  I step on his free left wrist, hearing the crack under my foot, and shoot another flame blast at the ice on my leg.  Ignoring his grunts of pain, I crouch down and pin his right hand behind his back.  "And that's checkmate, Todoroki-san."

"Alright, that's enough, Young (Y/n)!"  All Might yells out through the speakers.  "The villain team has captured the hero team!"

Smirking, I shove Todoroki aside and walk away without bothering to look at him again.  "So much for someone getting into UA on recommendations," I mutter to myself.

Once I'm out of the building, Ojiro raises an eyebrow at me.  "Where's Todoroki?"

I simply shrug.  "He'll be down in a little, I guess."

Turning back around, the jerk is exiting out of the building, nursing his left wrist against his chest.  I face away quickly, just a twinge of guilt invading my mind.

"Hey, (Y/n), I think he's hurt," Ojiro's calm voice points out.

I scowl at him.  "It's just his wrist, he'll be fine," I bark, stomping off to the rest of the class.  It's not fair that I feel guilty, he deserves it!

.

"You sure there's no beef between you and Todoroki?" Kirishima asks as he walks next to me at the end of the day.

"Fuck off, Shark-Teeth!"  I'm still in a bad mood.  It's just his wrist, come on!  "One trip to Recovery Girl and he was completely fine, I don't know why everyone's so bent out of shape about it!"

"Because you didn't even help him afterwards.  That's kinda not heroic, don't you think?"

I round on him, about to grab his shirt and blast him in the face, instead choosing to clench my fists.  "You don't know what 'mean' is!  Stay out of this!"  I walk away from him without looking back, mumbling to myself.  How can he say that about me not being heroic?  If he knew what Todoroki did, he would say the same thing.

On my way to the train station, I spot that familiar mop of bicolored hair staring at me with the same neutral gaze I hate.  Glancing down, I see his wrist is fine before quickly darting away.  Pompous jerk making me feel bad.

.

After that day, this idiot always had the audacity to stare at me.  I always feel his eyes on me, it's so annoying.  And he makes it so obvious, he doesn't even look away when I catch him, he just stares at me.  It's enough that Kirishima's words got to me, I don't need him confusing me with this staring contest we have going on.  If he wants to talk to me, he should do it already.

During the next few training sessions, we began sparring against each other with our quirks.  People have slowly been becoming scared of me during these times because of how rough I was.

Once, I got to fight Bakugou.  It was really fun going all out against someone who's just as aggressive.

This time, my opponent is the jerk himself.  When Aizawa announced the pairs, Kirishima was about to pull me aside, but saw my murderous look and chose he would like to live.  Everyone around us found their partners and started their individual training.  While the two of us stared at each other from across the mat.  I want to smash his emotionless pretty face in, I hate that I don't know what he's thinking!

If he's not gonna make the first move, I will.  I rush up to him, igniting the flames in my palms.  He's ready for me this time, standing his ground as I bound up and hunkering into a fighting stance.   I throw up a hand towards his face once I close in on him, ready to blow his face off.

Todoroki catches my hand by the wrist, bringing his right hand up to trap me in an ice coffin.  I slap that hand away and explode out a burst of orange flames, making him let go and stagger a few steps back.  He immediately sends a trail of ice down to secure my feet in place, but I respond by directing both my hands downward, propelling myself off the ground and towards him in a giant, sweeping leap.

The familiar weightlessness of being in the air fuels the adrenaline pumping through me.  He's my enemy, and I'm taking him down.

As I launch more continuous blasts at him while I soaring towards him, Todoroki coats his arm with ice to block his face.  But he's in for a surprise.  Moving close enough, I drop kick his arm down before landing a punch straight in his face.  My body lands on top of his torso, pinning him to the ground.  Winding back to land another punch on him, he suddenly launches his upper body upwards, headbutting me in the nose.

I let out a pained growl, reeling back as I feel the tingling of tears pooling in the corner of my eyes, and Todoroki uses this opportunity to flip us over so he's on top.  Placing his hand on my shoulder, I'm instantly plunged into an ice coffin under him.  Heaving out an icy breath, he slowly rises to his feet.  The puckered skin of his scar already starts swelling into a bruise where I punched him, and forehead cracked from where he headbutt my nose.

The anger boils my blood hot as my flames.  He's not winning over me!  I'm not letting that happen!  With a growling scream, heat floods from my iced palms before I'm broken free from my confines.  White and blue flames erupt from my hands, directing them straight up at Todoroki.  The ice barrier he puts up to protect himself melts faster than ice cream on a hot day against this new color of my fire.  It continuously flares out from me as I stand up, pointing right at him and getting closer.  I ball my fist up and throw my fire-coated fists at his forearms, the anger still building inside me.  I want him to yield before me already, so he can pay for his sin.

Even after my quirk blinks out, I continue punching at him, blinded by both rage and hot tears.  It wasn't until something wrapped around my arms and restrained me suspended slightly off the ground that I finally stop.

"I'm not putting you down until you're cooled down," Aizawa growls, his quirk and capture weapon smothering me.

Everyone was already staring at the scene.  Although I scowl, I go limp and show no signs of resistance.  When my body finally relaxes, I feel a sharp pain shooting up my hands and forearm.  Once I'm free, I inspect my hands, noticing the beginning blisters of burns coating everything from my fingertips to my elbows.  Ouch.  My fire's never done that before.  It's probably those flames I used.  The dull pain in my nose starts throbbing.

"Both of you took this training a little too seriously," our teacher glowers at us.  "I'll deal your punishment later.  Can I trust that you won't kill each other going to see Recovery Girl?"

"Yes sir," we both mutter out.

.

The walk over there was quiet.  I trudged ahead because I didn't want to see his face, but I had to feel his gaze bore into my skull again.  After a good scolding from Recovery Girl, we were told to rest for a little while in the office before going back to class.  I try to lie back and ignore him, indulging myself in quiet.  I was so full of emotion that my flames turned hotter than they have before, but I have to use them sparingly since they can burn my normally fire-resistant skin.  I'll have to make some adjustments to my hero costume gloves too.

"Do you have a person vendetta against me or something?"

Even just the sound of his blank voice makes me roll my eyes.  "Hm, I wonder what could've given you that crazy idea."

Todoroki rolls up to a sitting position and faces me.  Just like mine, his arms are wrapped in bandages.  Apparently, because I punched him with my white-blue fire, he has some burns too, though not as severe as my own.  He peers at me from one grey eye, the other one covered by a bag of ice he nestles against his new bruise.  "I'd like to know why."

I clench my fists weakly against the pain.  "I really don't feel like burning this office to a crisp right now, so we shouldn't talk about it."

"I think it's only fair when someone's holding a grudge against another, both parties should be clear on what the grudge entails."

Stupid logical idiot.  "Fine."  I sit myself up with a little more difficulty and flash him a harsh glare.  "When we were in Junior High, you pushed me away when I tried to be friendly with you.  I know you remember how weak I was and how much everyone else teased me because I said I want to be a top hero, like your dad.  You were cold to me that way, but that's not the only reason I hate you.  These girls in our class didn't like that I was getting close to you, so they started teasing me, harassing me, and beat me up."  I pivot my entire body towards him as I hiss my next words, "And you watched them without interfering.  You let a victim get bullied and you did nothing.  Someone who wants to be a hero and save people, and got into this school on a recommendation, can't even be bothered to be a hero to his classmates when they're being bullied."  Shaking my head, I add, "You disgust me.  You're no hero, you're just an extremely powerful pompous asshole.  You make me sick."

Todoroki's entire demeanor changes.  Instead of the cold expression he always displays, his eyebrows relax out of their furrowed position.  He looks down at his wrapped arms.  "I...didn't think at the time.  Yes, I saw it happen.  Frankly, I was disgusted by you having a similar quirk as my father and wanting to be a hero after him."  His left hand clenches.  "That power repulses me, which is why I never use it in combat.  Watching you go through all that, I rationalized to myself that you were strong enough to take it."

His fist relaxes and he bows his head somberly.  "I know it's no excuse for what I did, I apologize for that.  I take full responsibility for your hatred."

I'm quiet, kind of stunned.  I've sometimes imagined Todoroki apologizing to me, but seeing it happen is somehow surreal.  Rubbing the back of my head, I admit, "Well, I have to say that it's partially because of you that I was spurred to start training and become as I am now.  So thank you, I guess."  And although I really don't want to, I also say, "I'm sorry I broke your wrist in training last week.  And burned you today.  And almost tried to kill you in general.  It was all overboard and I've been a huge jerk about this whole thing."

He offers a nod.  "I believe it's safe to say our differences have been settled, then.  I hope we can patch things up and become better classmates now that this is all behind us."

Without looking at him, I hold out my fist between our beds.  When he takes too long, I roll my eyes.  "It's a fist bump, it's what f-friends do."

I sense his eyes dart between my definitely tinted cheeks and my fist, before his fingers daintily close over it.  "I'd rather do this, if you don't mind."

Peeking over at him, I open my hand, allowing him to gently clasp my hand between his fingers and his palm.  A new sense of warmth washes over me when I look into his eyes.  Though his features are as non-emotive as ever, his relaxed, mismatching orbs rest on me in what I can only place as support or respect.

"You're strong, (Y/n), and although my previous unfair actions towards you are what primarily coaxed it out, I know you already were in your mind and heart.  I look forward to seeing it as we both progress to becoming heroes together."

His slight softening shifts something within both of us.  And that moment told me that our new relationship would evolve into something greater.

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Ninety-Eight: Cooking ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

Staring at his schedule, Sasuke feels an eye twitch.

He can’t believe it’s come to this…

It’s his senior year. One year from now, he’ll be heading off to university. He’s eighteen years old, a legal adult, and...for the next semester, every day, for his last period...he’s going to be in a Home Economics class.

He can already tell this is going to be hell. He has no interest in anything home ec. Cooking, sewing, family studies. This is useless to him!

But unfortunately...this is his only real option. All the other classes in that slot were either something he’d already taken, or something even more ridiculous. Making clothes and baking stuff might be bad, but he’d never be caught dead in the drama department. He is not an actor.

So, he chose the least of many evils. Not that it felt like much of a choice…

“Heyyy, Sasuke!”

Great. His day just went from bad to worse.

Latching onto his friend’s shoulders, Naruto tries to peek at his schedule. “Hey, hey! Do we have any shared classes?”

“I doubt it. Most of mine are honors. And you, Naruto, are not an honors student.”

The blond immediately pouts. “Hey, no need to be rude about it! And you said most, not all! What ones do you have that aren’t? Here, I’ll pull out my -”

“Trust me, they still won’t line up.”

“C’mon, just tell me! What other ones are you taking?”

“Nothing you’d be putting yourself through.”

“...what’s that supposed to mean?” In a deft move, Naruto manages to snatch the paper, ignoring Sasuke’s protests. “Yeah, yeah, yeah...ohhh, wait!” Turning around, a giddy smile slowly grows over his face. “What’s this I see in your last hour block…?”

“Look, I didn’t have any choice! You really think I’d willing subject myself to that?!”

“Aww, Sasuke’s gonna learn to be a housewife!” Naruto cackles, letting Sasuke snatch back the schedule. “That’s adorable!”

“One more word Naruto, and I’m gonna sock you in the gut.”

“M’just teasing ya, bastard! You know, I’ve heard that chicks really dig guys who have those house-making skills! Cooking, cleaning, the whole nine yards!”

“Because that’s totally why I’m taking it. Besides, if that’s true, then why don’t you take the class?”

“I can’t, I’ve got something required that hour.”

“Of course you do.”

“No, really!”

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter. I’ll just...take it, and get it over with.”

“Twenty bucks says you’re swimming in freshmen girls when you get there! They’ll be so jazzed to see a big, handsome senior guy taking the class with ‘em -”

“I’m warning you, Naruto…!”

Snickering, he gives the Uchiha’s shoulder a shove. “M’just messin’ with ya! Have fun with your housewife class!”

Glowering, Sasuke adjusts his backpack before striding after him. Oh, he’s going to pay for that.

But first...they have a school day to get through. Which normally would crawl by. But just because he’s dreading the last class, the rest all seem to fly until he’s standing outside the proper classroom

You can do this, Sasuke, just...bite the bullet and get it over with.

With a twist and a tug of the doorknob, he pulls it open.

It’s...actually far from what he expected. Along one wall is a long countertop speckled with sinks. Perpendicular to that, another strip of it, along with a fridge, and several ovens with stovetops. But most of the classroom is just...a classroom. Desks, and a few tables along one side. A couple of cabinets obviously hold supplies, and there’s bookcases stuffed with tomes on various subjects.

Also within the room is a small group of girls.

Not a single boy but himself.

How old-fashioned, he can’t help but think.

They seem to vary in age: a few of each year. But the only senior he recognizes is a girl he vaguely knows. She’s friends with Sakura, who never leaves him alone. And if he remembers right, this one happens to be smitten with his friend Naruto. Who, in turn, likes Sakura.

It’s all so stupidly convoluted.

At the head of the classroom is an old woman who looks like she was already teaching the class back when it was invented. As the bell rings, she instructs them all to sit down, giving a spiel about the class and what they’ll be covering.

“Today, we’ll have a little bit of a free day! Over on the second shelf are your books, and the top shelf is our basic cookbook. You can either give cooking something a shot, or try a basic sewing pattern.”

Immediately, Sasuke takes up the cookbook. Skimming through it, he tries to find something simple.

“Chefs, do try to pair up so we have enough supplies and ovens! And remember: wash your hands!”

Sighing to himself, Sasuke actually jumps a bit as someone comes up beside him. “Need a partner?”

A glance shows Hinata. She’s already tied her hair up in a bun, donning an apron.

“Oh...er, yeah. I guess so.”

“Anything in particular you wanted to try?”

“Not really...to be honest, I’m only here because I have to be.”

To his surprise, she just smiles at him. “That’s okay. It’s n-never a bad thing to pick up some new skills, right?”

“...right.”

“I’ll stick with you - I think the other girls are a little intimidated, anyway.”

Hearing Hinata giggle into her sleeve, Sasuke glances over to the others. As she predicts, they all give him a wary glance in return.

“What, do they think I’m here to prey on them?”

“I don’t know, but just...stick to your task. You’ll be fine.”

Grumbling a bit to himself, he looks his options over. “How about this?”

Peering over into the book, Hinata nods. “Sure! Nothing beats a classic brownie, ne?”

“I dunno, never been much into sweets.”

There’s a pause as she looks at him as though he’s grown a second head. “...really?”

“Nah. That’s more my brother’s thing.”

“Oh...well, I guess we can just share them with the rest of the class. Here, start gathering these ingredients...”

With Hinata’s guidance, they soon have all they need. She walks him through each step, actually quite encouraging and pretty knowledgeable.

“How come you’re taking this class? Seem you know all this already.”

“In all honesty, I’m like you: just here to be here. But I really do like stuff like this. I love to bake, and knit. They’re favorite hobbies of mine.”

Mixing batter, Sasuke doesn’t reply.

“Okay, so now just pour it into the pan, and we’ll put it in to b-bake!”

Being careful not to spill or dribble along the side of the pan, Sasuke does as asked before gingerly putting it into the heated oven. “So...half an hour?”

Setting the timer, Hinata nods. “Mhm! Just about when class ends.”

“...is that bad?”

“No, I can stay after and make sure things are cleaned up and put away.”

Sasuke’s brow furrows. “...so can I.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” It was his idea, after all. He’s not about to skimp on his part of the work.

“Okay! Well...I guess in the meantime, we might as well s-start now, right?”

“Sure.”

They quickly tidy up the dishes, wiping down the counter and then just...sitting and waiting for the buzzer.

“Next time we’ll have to find something to make you’ll enjoy too! I still can’t believe you don’t like sweets.”

“They’re okay. I just don’t really seem them out. I’d rather have something salty or savory.”

Hinata hums. “I have a major sweet tooth…”

“Well, you can take them home, then.”

“Oh no, I’ll be tempted to eat them all!”

That earns a snort. “All right, fine: I’ll take some for my brother.” Itachi tends to visit a few nights a week from university. He’ll surely appreciate them.

A few minutes later, the timer goes off, and Sasuke carefully removes the pan. Only a few seconds after that, the bell sounds, and the rest of the class flees for the day.

“Here, let’s put them on a rack - you never want to c-cut them when they’re warm! They’ll just fall apart.”

They do a bit more tidying as the brownies cool before Hinata takes some cardboard storage boxes out of a cupboard and divvies them up. “Okay...I’ll take a few. You can give the rest to your family, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Want to try one before we head out?”

“Uh…” Eyeing the box suspiciously, Sasuke takes out a smaller piece, hesitating a moment before taking a bite.

Huh...not bad.

“It’s good.”

“Good! And things are even better when you get to be proud you made them yourself!” Hinata beams, nibbling one of her own.

Sasuke can’t help a small smile. She reminds him of his mom in some ways.

“...oh gosh, I gotta get going to volleyball practice! I’ll have to just keep these in my locker - see you tomorrow, Sasuke!” Just like that, Hinata scoops up her things and zooms from the room.

...well then.

Blinking, he takes up his own box, having no sports or clubs to worry about, and instead heads out to his car. Maybe if he hurries, they’ll still be warm when he gets home. He can already hear his mother’s gushing about him finally making something on his own. Well...he did have help. But not Mikoto’s.

...maybe they can make something else tomorrow.

     Not much to this one! Just a lil bit of modern slice of life with poor Sasuke getting shoved into a home ec class. Which honestly I think is good for him x3 And gives him some time with Hinata - even better!      On that note though, I gotta run - it's late and my eyeballs aren't happy, haha! Thanks for reading!

[moonprincess92]

Tell me what you eat and I will tell you who you are

the food travel au 

3 ½ month film schedule. 31 countries. 24 episodes.

2 people who might just fall in love along the way. 

(read on AO3) 

Chapter 1: London  Author: @moonprincess92nz 

It’s her first fucking day and she’s late.

“SHIT, SHIT, SHIT–” Jyn dodges through suitcases, around security guards and even leaps right over an empty bench at one point as she races throughout Heathrow Airport. She practically slams right through a holidaying family and nearly bowls into a couple of kids with giant backpacks on their backs, but nothing slows her down because if there is anything worse she can do than being goddamn late on her first day, she can’t think of it. Her rep is bad enough, she needs this job –

ARRIVALS, the sign blares. 

Her poor battered suitcase screeching to a halt next to her, Jyn stops to stare around at the hordes of people pouring out of the arrivals gate. The production crew is flying in mostly from USA, she thinks she is one of maybe three people who are from the UK. They told her to meet at the airport, and she checks the email on her phone for the billionth time before scanning the crowd once more.

Finally, she catches a familiar face.

He isn’t so much familiar because she knows him, but rather because she may or may not have binge-watched Cassian Andor videos on YouTube for about eight hours the previous night. Thing is, Jyn honestly wouldn’t call herself a foodie. She knows how to scramble eggs and burn chicken nuggets, but that is about the extent of her cooking skills. Half the time she doesn’t know how she even ended up getting this job, but there she was balls deep in some popular Mexican cooking show because apparently, his face wasn’t so bad to look at. It was only when her roommate barged unceremoniously into her room at four in the morning to ask, “Don’t you have to be at the airport by like, 7am?” when she figured that she might have a bit of a problem.

(“Shut up, Bodhi,” she threw back at him).

Operating on as little sleep as she is, seeing Cassian Andor in person kind of makes her ovaries feel like exploding.

SHIT.

Luckily, before she says something and makes herself look ridiculous, it appears that someone notices her. She hastily says her name, and she’s pulled into the sea of formal introductions by who is apparently their production manager, Mon Mothma. Jyn has never been good at this part. Sometimes, she thinks that she chose the wrong profession entirely – she should be working in a lab or office, somewhere with as little human interaction as possible – but rather unfortunately, she’s chosen a profession where it’s impossible to get by without kissing arse and playing nice with others.

She’s learned over the years how to put on a polite mingling face, but Jesus, it takes it out of her.

“Hi! I’m Luke, the social media manager!” a bright-eyed blonde says.

“Wedge Antilles,” their sound engineer introduces. “Looking forward to working with you!”

“… Kes Dameron. Sorry, I haven’t had coffee yet,” It turns out their head of security is about as sociable as she is this early in the morning.

Honestly, she’s doing fine until suddenly she’s face to face with Cassian Andor and that’s about when it strikes her what she’s really gone and gotten herself into. She’s standing in front of an honest-to-god celebrity, here. She’s never worked on something on this large a scale in her life! It doesn’t help that there’s really something about his jawline as well, but either way she is a professional, goddamn it. She holds out her hand and says,

“Jyn.”

Cassian quirks an eyebrow.

“Is that… your favourite drink, or…?” he asks in confusion.

“What? Oh, bugger,” Jyn curses as he tentatively shakes her hand. “I don’t mean gin, I mean – it’s my name, Jyn with a J – and a y – apparently my parents hated me as a child,” She tops it off with a slightly awkward laugh.

God, she is bad at this.  

“Oh. If it helps, I often get called Caspian whenever I go to Starbucks?” Cassian offers.

“Well, that was your first mistake going to Starbucks.”

“What’s wrong with Starbucks?”

“Talk about commercialisation!” Jyn points out. “Whatever happened to supporting your local businesses?”

Incredibly, he laughs. “I’m sorry, you’re the new camera operator, right?”

“Right, right – I was offered the job a little last minute.”

“Of course – Kay unfortunately got sick – that was the guy who was originally hired.”

“Ah, I see,” Jyn tries to lean casually on her suitcase. “I wasn’t given any details, just a contract and a place to meet – sucks to be him, amiright?”

Cassian frowns. “He’s my best friend.”

Jyn blinks. Of fucking course he was his best friend.

She just gestures vaguely behind her somewhere. “I’m gonna…” she says, weakly. He smiles politely back.

If it was at all appropriate for the setting she would be SCREAMING.

“… so all in all,” Jyn eventually says through Skype later that night. “within the first minute of us meeting, I convince him I’m an alcoholic, criticise him for going to bollocking Starbucks and also somehow manage to insult his best friend!”

Little Bodhi through the screen shakes his head. “Oh my god, Jyn…”

Oh my god, Jyn sounds about right. She snuggles down into the hotel bedsheets and is at least thankful that she’s on a production that can afford actual stars underneath their accommodation. The last time she had a job, she was put up in a student hostel, and she’s pretty sure she’s still washing fleas out of her hair to this day. Most of day one was dedicated to production meetings with only a few establishing shots being filmed that evening. After hours of listening to Mon Mothma drone on and on (3 ½ month film schedule, tight deadline, 31 countries, 24 episodes, etc., etc.) Jyn was thankfully able to clear her head down by the Thames. With only her and the essential crew, she was finally able to breathe as she captured her city by sunset.

She honestly doesn’t know what this job is really going to entail. The travelling she is relatively familiar with thanks to her job, but even then she technically hasn’t been out of the country since she was 16, and she mostly tries to forget her time with Saw anyway. She might not have had a family for a long time, but she’s at home here in London as much as she’s ever been. It’s the only place she’s ever felt truly safe, felt like she has ground beneath her feet and she’s a little (a lot) terrified to actually leave it.

But hell, bills need to be paid and a T.V. show needs to be filmed.

“What am I doing, Bodhi?” Jyn mutters underneath the blankets.

“I believe it’s called ‘flirting’,” Bodhi smirks back in their flat on the other side of the city. “and, if I might add, you’re not doing it very well.”

“Fuck you, mate.”

“Just calling it like it is.”

“Seriously,” Jyn stresses, then. “what am I doing here? I’m working on a travelling food show and I barely know how to cook!”

“You’re the camera operator, not the bloody caterer,” Bodhi says, exasperatedly. “I’m fairly certain you don’t need to know.”

“But–”

“Jyn, listen,” Bodhi cuts her off. “Lord knows I’d prefer to just wrap you up and bring you back home, but honey, you gotta stick with this, ok? No more flaking! You think you don’t fit in, fine – fake it until you do. Go get bloody lost in Germany or finally learn how to make pasta or something, I don’t care, just get out and do it, because we both know you’re not really living here.”

“I’m living!”

“You’re existing,” Bodhi sighed. “and I know your life has had its fucked up moments. I know. It sucks. But it’s time, Jyn.”

She snorts. “You know, when I called you it wasn’t for another therapy session. How much do I owe you this time?”

Her best friend rolls his eyes. “A lifetime of free pancakes.”

“You know I can’t make pancakes.”

“Lifetime supply of Jammy Dodgers, then.”

“That, I can do,” Jyn points at the screen.

Bodhi laughs, only it quickly turns into a violent yawn. “BLIMEY, I’m tired.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll take the hint,” Jyn smirks. “but, um, before you actually do go – on a scale of 1 to 10, exactly HOW bad was the flirting?”

“Minus 5,” Bodhi deadpans. “Don’t insult his friends next time.”

“Yeah,” Jyn grimaces. “I’ll do that.”

He grins. “Love you, Jyn.”

“Yeah. Love you, too.”

tellmewhatyoueatofficial check out that view! #tellmewhatyoueat #london #tower bridge #filming #cinematogropher #travel #sunsetwiththecrew #bts @jynserso

bodhitherook JYN BABE U MANAGED TO MAKE IT ONTO THE OFFICIAL INSTA ACCT  

bodhitherook also how the fuck are u not wearing a jacket

tellmewhatyoueatofficial @bodhitherook i confess we might have asked her to take her jacket off for the #aesthetic

bodhitherook WHO RUNS THIS ACCOUNT JYN BC CLEARLY THESE PEOPLE ARE TRYIN TO KILL U IT’S OCTOBER

jynserso pfffft sun was out, was a solid 15 degrees that’s basically sunbathing weather

jynserso but still calling you out @walkstheskies his name is Luke Skywalker go stalk him 

Jyn manages to corner Luke Skywalker in the hotel hallway.

“WHY ME,” she despairs. Her phone is open on the show’s official Instagram page, and it’s pretty clear what she’s talking about, although she quickly adds, “and before you say anything, I KNOW signing the contract means technically I consented to my image being used on multiple forms of social media, but still–”

Luke just shrugs happily.  

“I belong behind a camera, not in front of it,” she protests.

“Hey,” Luke counters. “you look beautiful in that shot! Also, I should be the one complaining, after you sicced your best friend on me.”

“Oh good, Bodhi did his job then,” Jyn says. She steps out of the way hastily as several of their fellow crew members run down the hall between rooms, someone cheering something about shots in the background.

“He’s sent me about a dozen messages insisting that I look after you and treat you right,” he laughs. “Nice guy!”

Jyn just smirks slightly before eyeing down the hallway once more. It’s been two days, and their insane shooting schedule is already starting to hit them all. Quite frankly, none of them have any business still being awake at this time, but it was a long day and apparently they are all still so hyped that trying to sleep with the racket they’re making would be fruitless anyway.

“We should get out!” someone calls enthusiastically from one of the open rooms, and Jyn turns to see their lighting director’s face beaming when she notices her. Shara Bey dashes over and clings hold of her shoulder. “Hey! Where should we go?”

“What’re you looking at me for?” Jyn asks in bewilderment.

“Well, you’re the local girl,” Shara points out.

Jyn stares at the over-tired, wired and enthusiastic faces all staring back at her. They’ve all spilled out of their rooms, nodding and asking and between this and the Instagram post, Jyn isn’t sure she’s been on the receiving end of this much attention in her life. There’s a reason she stays behind the camera! She glances at Luke, although the man just shrugs at her in response.

“I’ve never been to London! Where do we get good food around here?” he asks.

Shit.

“Uhhhh... I know a place that sells killer fish and chips?”

“It’s an adventure and it’s happening - c’mon, guys!” Shara leads the way. 

She ends up bringing them to The Cantina, of all places.

A fun fact to rattle off is that there are literally thousands of pubs throughout London, and somehow she always ends up here. Her and Bodhi almost haunt the place at this point. It’s objectively not the most popular in London nor even relatively famous, but in Jyn’s opinion it captures the very heart of British pub culture (you know, getting shit-faced and yelling about football). It’s kind of what the entire show they’re filming is supposed to be about, so… yeah, here they are. The place is always dark and a little shady, the music always slightly too loud and the lights slightly too piercing, but Jyn feels almost relaxed here.

“I moved back to London when I was 16,” she explains as they approach. Shara Bey has already filmed several snapchat videos of herself by this point and now seems to be flirting with the security guy. Most of their group is hanging onto her every word and she adds, “We’d come here on the weekends with our fake I.D.s and get hammered.”

“My kinda party,” Luke grins.

They all pile inside The Cantina, Jyn dutifully avoiding Cassian’s eyes. Honestly, she had no idea that he was even coming - did famous T.V. presenters even do that? - but someone called out to him just as they were walking out of the hotel doors to go catch a train and he dashed out to join them. After embarrassing herself so spectacularly, she figures the only way to handle tonight is the true British way: ignore all emotions and pretend everything is fine.

She notices a gap at the bar and she manages to quickly order two shots as everyone piles into the pub. She thought she had avoided all scrutiny as her colleagues get caught up in which drinks to order, but apparently nothing gets past the social media manager. Luke gives her a look of bemusement from over his shoulder and Jyn bites at him,

“What?”

“Steady on,” he says.

“Shut up,” Jyn accuses.

“You know, if you want to talk to him all you have to do is open your mouth and start saying words,” Luke says, slyly.

Jyn glares. “What d’you know? You know nothing.”

“I know that look! Trust me, I get it. I’m a huge fan too.”

Jyn finally meets his knowing gaze.

“You also watch three seasons in eight hours?”

“Without subtitles!” Luke nods. “My Spanish got a LOT better.”

“Stalk on Instagram?”

“I’m a social media manager,” Luke scoffs. “Raise me something actually valuable.”

“Imagine marrying someday?”

Luke laughs. “Jyn, we all know that he’s out of both our leagues, but with you… ehhhhh, there’s potential.”

“I’m sorry, EHHHHH?”

“I also said potential!”

Jyn was going to offer one of the shots to Luke, but with that statement, she keeps them both for herself. It’s true, she’s been filming this man for the last two days and she still technically hasn’t had any kind of one-on-one conversation with him that isn’t to do with camera angles. Besides the disastrous first attempt, that is. She isn’t even sure what’s stopping her at this point. It’s not like she’s kidding herself that something is going to happen – they’re on a schedule, they’re going to be travelling in a tight knit group for months without space to get away, and who even looks at her like that anymore? – so it’s not even the fact that he’s hot that makes her like this.

She’s just never done anything on this kind of scale before. These people all have established careers, been featured on Ellen, have followers on Twitter… this is the first time Jyn’s worked on a project where the director isn’t some uni student filming a sex scene in their parent’s garage. Bloody hell, what could she even say to him?

“Ok, look,” Luke sighs next to her. “exactly how many shots is this going to take? Because I will literally buy them all if it will get your ass over there.”

“I don’t know,” she says honestly. “but at least one more.”

tellmewhatyoueatofficial rumour has it that somewhere round here you can get some killer #fishnchips! @theofficialcantina #tellmewhatyoueat #bts #london #camden town #camden market #london pub #the cantina #filming #cinematogropher #travel  

Her ass inevitably did not end up over there.

“Ok, we’re going for the casual ‘we’ve just stumbled upon this place’ feel,” Their director, Draven, is running backwards somewhere behind her, trying to keep up with the action as Cassian walks down the street. She’s aiming for the vision of him being in amongst the crowd, just one with London, which is kinda contradicted by the fact that they have blocked off one side of the entire stretch of street outside the restaurant they’re currently featuring and their security guy is letting through a controlled amount of people to walk through their shot. Still, she gets to watch Cassian stroll down the footpath with his hands in his pockets, contently gazing around the streets, so she’s probably got the good end of the deal, here. Voiceovers will be added in later, so literally all he has to do is walk and smile as Draven yells out direction.

“Ok! You reach Rebel Rebel,” he calls out. Cassian pretends that his eye is caught by the actually previously chosen restaurant, glancing up at it. She zooms in on his face.

Yes. Definitely has the best deal, here.

“CUT,” Draven yells. “Perfect, we’ll shoot it once more, then head on in.”

They take a break before moving into the restaurant to do more filming and she listens to Draven rave to their producer about how big they’re expecting their audience to be for this particular episode. She probably doesn’t try hard enough to hide her scoff, but she’s exhausted from being up until 2am that morning and still too pissed off at herself to care. Despite all of Luke’s encouragement, she still hadn’t managed to get herself over to the table where Cassian had been sitting. She had an opening and alcohol, and yet…

“Look, I’ve worked on this show before and I’m yelling you,” Luke nodded at Cassian last night. “He’s a good guy! He’s worth getting to know.”

She was sure he was. It was just getting to the point of knowing him that worried her. She glances bitterly up at Rebel Rebel. Honestly, of all fucking places in London, they just had to choose the most cliché.

“Why do you not like this place?”

She whirls around in a slight panic, heart practically leaping into her throat. Cassian’s watching her curiously, water bottle in hand and please Jyn, please remember what proper words are.

“Who – who says I don’t like it?”

“That expression on your face,” Cassian points out.

She’s almost impressed that he noticed. “Is filming going to be this forced the entire time?”

For a moment she isn’t sure if he’s going to give her a real or diplomatic answer. She supposes his job’s on the line, but just as that thought occurs he admits, “A lot of things are pre-shot filming this kind of show. It’s like reality T.V., we pretend it was all filmed on the spot when actually we planned the entire thing. But the food and the reactions, that’s going to be real. You can’t fake taste.”

“What if you don’t like something? Are we allowed to include that?”

“Usually depends on who I’m allowed to piss off,” he mentions.

“Well, I dunno who chose Rebel, Rebel, but this place sucks,” If he can figure it out from the look on her face, then there’s no point denying it. Jyn points out the restaurant that is technically one of London’s top places to eat. Recommended on Trip Advisor, stars and celebrities were known to dine there and even Jamie Oliver did a special there once, but as far as Jyn is concerned the entire place was overrated.

“How do you know that?”

“Like I couldn’t possibly know great food,” She winces a little at the tone. Blimey, she needs to work on not sounding so defensive.

“Show me,” Cassian suddenly challenges. “After filming today, take me to the good food.”

He can’t be serious. Surely he isn’t? They have a schedule, they have deadlines, they can’t just go bloody rogue! Yes, fine, she does have somewhere in mind. She might consider wine and a can of tinned soup a decent meal, but that doesn’t mean she can’t recognise great food when she sees it. The memories suddenly hit her, of meat sizzling, of swinging on vinyl chairs and knives clinking against plates. She remembers being allowed to stand on a stool behind the counter to take customer’s money and running through the kitchens trying not to get caught by the chefs. Whenever she hears classical music she’s taken back and they’re literally only around the corner, but…

It’s a stupid idea.

She shrugs. “I think Draven’s gonna burst a blood vessel if we don’t get back to it.” 

JUST TAKE HIM TO THE FUCKING RESTAURANT JYN DO IT DOOOOOO IIIIITTTTTTT

FKJDJFKJDFJKFJKDF KILL ME Also are u still harassing luke to be nice to me bc honestly bodhi

Im just lookin out for mah gurl Also turns out he’s kinda funny so But not the point, just take him Jyn seriously

But it’s such a personal place and we barely know each other

Don’t make it about you then. Just say u know a place that’s better, bring ur camera and film the magic. Oooooh, get baze to make his special, that shit is GOOD Plus this way you’ll get to know each other eeeyyyyy

I’m going to regret this

No u wont 

It eats at her, until eventually Bodhi manages to make her snap. Damn it, it will not leave her alone and apparently, her way of asking people out these days is just turning up at their hotel room door and demanding them to come with her, since the moment Cassian answers her slightly too hard knock on his door she blurts out,

“Get your coat on, we’re going somewhere.”

Cassian blinks slightly, but seems entirely non-phased as he ducks to the side to grab a jacket and follows her out the door. “Where are we going?”

“To the good food.”

It’s a bit far to walk and she’s still not used to the T.V. glamour of being able to take taxis everywhere, so she drags him out into the cool, drizzly evening and onto the tube. Taking the Piccadilly Line into Covent Garden, the night is fresh and just starting to buzz when they climb up into the street. She wasn’t going to get her camera out until they reached Lahmu, but the side street they cut down is strung up with multi-coloured lanterns and his face is honestly too good to not try and capture.

“To be honest, I’m not entirely sure if we’re even allowed to do this,” Jyn admits, as she points out the way. “Like, filming outside of scheduled shooting. Have I just violated my contract or something?”

“Depends if Draven likes what he sees,” Cassian answers her.

“I’ll delete it later, then,” Jyn says, walking sideways as she filmed and hoping that nothing got in her way lest she accidentally go flying. “No one has to know a thing. And if you talk, I’ll kill you.”

He laughs a little into the camera. “I’m starting to think I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“But anyway, welcome to Covent Garden again,” she makes a deal out of saying, ensuring that she can still see his face through her lens. He pauses under a lamp post and thankfully, no one seems to recognise them in the dark and without the addition of an entire film crew. To someone else, they could literally be any random YouTube vloggers or something. “Naturally, this damn show only brings you to the touristy side of London, but there are some admittedly great places to eat in this area. Not fucking Rebel, Rebel though, I mean shit that’s actually edible.”

“We might want to edit that last part out.”

“Yeah, post can handle that,” She would wave a hand if she had one to spare. “Tell me, superstar Cassian Andor, how are you enjoying London so far?”

He smiles a little against the backdrop of lit restaurants. “It’s cold.”

“Of course it’s cold, it’s fucking England.”

“But it’s exciting,” he adds. “There’s so much history here, buildings that have been around for hundreds of years… it’s great to see.”

“You’re supposed to say you love the food, stop going off script.”

“Sorry – I love the food.”

“Good,” she says. “because if you don’t love where we’re going, then I’ll buy the next round of drinks.”

“Where exactly ARE we going?”

She points across the street and she films him turning and seeing the lit up sign of Lahmu. Owned for the last fifteen years by Baze and Chirrut Malbus-Îmwe, it’s known for its wildly eccentric yet still somehow delicious menu. Jyn leads Cassian there, waving to the matire’d on their way in and asking if Baze is around.

“You’re a regular?” Cassian asks.

“Kind of,” Jyn hedges. “it’s weird to explain.”

She doesn’t rest until they find Baze in the kitchen, the co-owner and chef shaking Cassian’s hand vigorously like any person who was vaguely familiar with food would. Jyn keeps the camera rolling the entire time until finally, he tries Baze’s famous Secret Special and the unearthly sounds that come out of his mouth Jyn deems a little too inappropriate for their G-rated show.

“This is fucking amazing,” he practically moans.

“I’m glad,” Baze says warmly as Jyn hastily cuts the recording.

“And you seriously won’t tell me what kind of meat this is?”

“Of course not, that’s the secret part.”

“It’s not going to have me arrested, right?”

“No. Well… I don’t think so, at least.”

Cassian just shrugs. “Good enough for me.”

Carefully working on packing the camera away in the bag she has strung around her neck, Cassian continues to enthusiastically shovel whatever mystery meat it is into his mouth. Over by the kitchen bench, Baze leans in and squeezes her shoulder.

“So can I expect to actually get on T.V. here, or not?” he asks in undertone.

“Probably not,” she admits.

“Ah, well. It was a nice idea while it lasted,” Baze sighs, gruffly.

“You guys are still doing well, right?” Jyn asks, casually.

“Stop worrying. We’re fine,” Baze shoots her a look. “Exposure never hurts, however.”

“Just let Cassian tweet about this place,” Jyn points out. “You’ll have people coming in hordes.”

Cassian cuts in to scoff, “I’m not THAT popular.”

“When you have a follower count with 5 digits or more, you’re considered popular, mate.”

Cassian protests, but honestly they’re mostly silent after that as he apparently just savours the flavours Jyn knows have to be hitting his tongue. She realises at one point that she’s closed her eyes and she hastily snaps them open because Jesus, Jyn, get a grip, she can listen to the boiling soup and scraping of pots without looking weird about it. It’s only when Baze moves away to carry on directing his kitchen, however, when she finally says,

“Look. I think we got off on the wrong foot when we first met,” she says. “I swear I usually know how to talk to people normally. I’m a big fan?”

Thankfully, he laughs and she lets out a slow breath of relief. “I’m honoured.”

“No really,” Jyn points out. “I don’t even speak Spanish, and I watched all three seasons of your last show.”

“That’s dedication.”

“Sorry again.”

“Hey,” he shakes his head. “It’s fine – I’m a big fan of yours too.”

“Piss off,” Jyn says before she even stops to think whether that might offend him or not. “I film obscure niche documentaries and indie films that lose money rather than make money, there’s no way you like any of that shit.”

“No really, I looked you up when we knew you were coming,” Cassian points out. “Or, ok, Kay sort of insisted that we look you up, he was feeling a bit territorial. But we watched a little of that one documentary you did on the abandoned insane asylum?”

“Oh god,” Jyn shivers. “that place was creepy as all fuckin’ hell. I had nightmares for weeks.”

“But the camera work was beautiful! Wait, exactly how creepy?”

“I’m pretty sure that one of the film crew got possessed.”

“You’re not serious?”

And it’s weird, but he finishes his Secret Special and she tells the quite frankly terrifying story of when one of her crew members had gone a little nutty and claimed that they were having visions of dead people and it kind of… goes well. Her heart is still pounding, but they’re finally talking. It at least makes her feel a little more grounded, a little more like she actually fits into this project that until this point made her feel like she was just floundering under water. This isn’t another weird documentary about haunted buildings, this is something that will eventually air on prime time British television…  

“So how did you end up as a T.V. presenter, of all things?” Jyn asks once his plate is scraped clean.

“I started in regular journalism. Believe it or not, but I’m not the best cook.”

“Shut the hell up,” Jyn insists.

“No really,” Cassian says, earnestly. “I can appreciate good food, but I still cannot make anything like my mother can.”

“Well, I burn toast so together, we’ve got this show covered.”

“Thank God, I was starting to worry.”

She laughs. Fucking laughs. But he’s laughing too, so she hopes it’s ok and he asks her then, “How did you get into camera work?”

“The professional answer is that I have always appreciated the entire filmography of whoever happens to be employing me at the time,” Jyn says. “The real answer is that I was running out of time to pick an elective at uni and I chose this random media studies paper on a whim.”

“So we pretty much started in the same place.”

“I guess, yeah,” It’s hard to imagine herself having literally anything in common with the celebrity, but what the hell does she know in the end? They’re quiet for a moment, Cassian moving to wash his own plate and Jyn pretending that she isn’t watching. It’s only when he’s finished and everything is put away when he turns back to her and says, 

“So what’s the story?”

“Sorry?”

“The story,” he reiterates and Jyn’s chest thuds painfully. “about why this place. Don’t try and tell me there isn’t a story.”

It’s true, there is one. And she honestly wasn’t sure whether she was going to say it when she first brought him in here, but there’s something that makes her want to say it now. She takes a deep breath and answers,

“My father used to own it.” 

He nods, but doesn’t say anything else. He waits, clearly willing to let her talk when she’s ready, and she eventually sighs in exasperation. “Fine, my father owned it and it’s how he met my mother,” she adds on. “I practically grew up here, but they died and it got sold when I was eight and it’s never felt exactly the same since. I guess I still try sometimes, though.”

It’s a very glossed over version of the story, but it will do for now. He nods in understanding before gesturing to her camera once more. “Do you mind?”

She frowns. “What do you want to film?”

“I have an idea – just roll with it?”

She humours him, once again pulling out the camera. She’s at least thankful that the kitchen lights are kind of perfect for filming as she sets it on top of an upturned saucepot in lieu of a tripod. She prompts, “What are you thinking?” and Cassian looks up right at her through the lens.

Blimey.

“We’re going to be taking Europe by storm, right?” he says, and she almost thinks his words aren’t even intended for the camera. “The idea is that we experience multiple cultures and different kinds of foods, but I love that there’s one thing that seems to be universal. No matter where you are in the world, food has this ability to connect things. We associate food with the places we come from, certain celebrations, smell with memories, a restaurant with home…” Her heart is definitely somewhere up around her throat and he smiles at her. “and that’s pretty awesome.”

tellmewhatyoueatofficial rumour has it if you order the #SecretSpecial you’ll become a changed person! #tellmewhatyoueat #restaurant #food #filming #locations #london #covent garden #bts @lahmurestaurant

k-lara7 omg I love this place!!!!

yavemiel @ pingou7 we are so going here next time you come visit me

bodhitherook I had no idea they were filming here @jynserso??????

doptimous Definitely would recommend @lahmurestaurant. The owners are so nice, you’re never waiting long and it’s honestly a great experience every time we go. 

In the end, Draven loves their side project so much that it turns into his idea.

They were all supposed to be on a flight to Cardiff at this point, but the network has apparently let them delay by twelve hours to allow them to shoot additional footage and anything that gets her favourite restaurant exposure is fine with Jyn. But despite their filming obviously fake candid shots outside the restaurant, Draven’s admitted that there’s a lot of charm in the real candid-ness of what they filmed the previous night and hopefully, a lot of their original footage will end up being used in the final cuts.

“I’m going to miss London!” Luke says cheerfully as they wait at the airport. Definitely not a big enough production for a private jet, they get a few looks waiting amongst everyone else but luckily at 4am not many people care all that much about the moderately famous food show host and crew. Jyn is attempting to sleep in her cold, plastic chair but it’s kind of hard when Luke won’t stop chatting.

“Do you ever stop?” she asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind,” she mutters. She gets up and leaves Luke to his cheerful trawling through Twitter and notices Cassian slumped down near the phone charging station. With his hoodie pulled over his eyes it’s difficult to tell if he’s awake or not, but he stirs when she sits down next to him.

“Naturally the network couldn’t wait for tomorrow and literally had to book us on the next flight to Cardiff,” she says. “Who the hell even flies to Cardiff at this time in the morning?”

“Right?” he smiles a little. Then, after pausing he adds, “Hey, um… I’m sorry if I stepped over a line or something before. When we were filming at Lahmu. I know you didn’t really intend on it being a part of the show and it got kinda personal so I just wanted to make sure you’re…”

“It’s ok,” Jyn says softly.

She isn’t sure what it is. It’s 4am in an airport, it’s one of those liminal spaces where time stops existing and only vacant expressions and stress endures. But she turns to glance over at him and he’s looking at her and shitballs, her stomach twists itself inside out.  She still doesn’t know what to expect from this entire project and she certainly doesn’t expect anything ever from him, but a part of her is really, really pissed off to know that they have to part ways at the end of all this.

But then again also, they have 30 more countries to go.

Finally, the announcer is declaring that their flight is beginning boarding. All around, tired people stand and yawn, stretching and picking up suitcases and rousing sleeping children. Cassian sighs before pushing back his hood and giving her a determined look.

“Let’s go to Wales,” he says.

“Let’s go to Wales,” Jyn agrees. 

---

[erid-search-history]

Baby blues Ch.5

Hey guys! chapter 5 is finally being posted after my lazy ass decided it needed to be done-

there are mentions of past child abuse and other issues similar to this, alchohol mention, and a small mention of toxic masculinity--

you have been warned that these subjects may come up. please be aware and take care of yourselves.

ok lil monsters, here ya go!

and happy late/ early thanksgiving to you all

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was a stupid idea, but it was also david’s, so she guesses that was to be expected. A baby shower on thanksgiving was ok she guessed, if it hadn’t of been for the fact that her parents showed up. David’s mom was also here, albeit spending most of the time in the kitchen with david or watching the football game.

Max had made himself comfortable on the couch right next to his anxious mother. His nose buried in his DS, trying his best to ignore the stupid tv and christmas ads. Barf.

Gwens father dressed sharply for the occasion, and her mother had a nice casual looking dress on. He cleared his throat to snap her out of her daze, again.

“So, have you decided on a name yet? A young man needs to have a name that gets him somewhere in life.”

She sighed and put on a fake grin. “Dad, we don’t even know if they’re a boy yet. For all we know, they could be a little girl.”

He huffed, and placed a hand on his lap begrudgingly. Her mom put her hand over his.

“Well, i’m sure whatever they are, they are going to have the most beautiful eyes. The eyes you have are a trait that comes from your great great grandmother. She came here to-”

“To open up her own business as a women in America.’ I know, mama, you’ve told me that story about her at least a dozen times.”

Her mom only giggled and nodded, “yes, but stories are how we keep our lessons and passion alive.”

Gwen and her parents continued in idle chatter for a good ten minutes before David called from the kitchen. Gwen got up, fairly quickly, for a chance to take her leave. “I’m gonna go help david in the kitchen, why don’t you catch up with max? I’m sure he’s just itching to hear some stories about grandmama.”

Before he could even make an objection, gwen mouthed ‘sorry’ and ran off.

Max placed his DS on the side of the couch and scooted to sit up all the way. He put his hands in his pockets and waited. Gwen’s father straightened his back, making him look even taller in his seat than before. “So, maxwell,” “max. Just max..please.” He looks away from the man, slightly agitated. “Right, max. So, what do you do? Play any sports?”

He shakes his head, “no, i can’t.”

This perturbs the man a bit, “well, how do you know you can’t unless you try? You know, my grandfather thought once before that a single man couldn’t cut down a forest by himself, but you know who proved him wrong? My father. Yes, the man did it in a single week too. He was so proud of himself, even built our house out of the wood he used. He taught me that a man can do anything in this world if he puts his mind to it. Now, what about that?”

Max sneered at the confidence shown by this guy.

“Well, i still don’t think i can play any sports.” He frowns, “and why not!?”

“Well for starters, it’s kinda hard to avoid having an asthma attack when you’re pointlessly kicking a ball around in 100 degree weather.”

Gwen’s dad stopped right as he was about to argue again, and started to pout. Again.

Ricardo had always been strong opinionated wise, but somehow this little runt always seemed to damper his words. Natalie, his wife and gwen’s mom, on the other hand was very soft spoken, but always had a good family story to tell. They had met when he wanted to do a business deal with her father, and they fell in love.

“Don’t worry dear, i’m sure there are other things for you in life other than sports. I hear that cooking is a good practice to go into nowadays. Who knows, maybe it’ll be the thing that helps you find a little lady friend.”

She winks at him mischievously, this causes him to redden in the face and hide. “Yeah whatever, it’s not like anyone in my school would even give a sh- crap. All they want to do is look at their magazines and act like everything is ok, when i’m pretty sure the country is being run by psychos right now.”

He shrugs it all off, putting up a wall against the embarrassment.

Gwen comes back in and beckons for max, “hey squirt, Dad needs ya in the kitchen.”

Max grabs his game and hops off the couch. Anything to get out of here.

Gwen takes a seat on the couch again, now it being just her and her parents.

“So…” Natalie started, “i was going to wait until after dinner, but i think now is a better time. Dear?”

Ricardo nods and grabs one of the big bags they had brought inside. Gwen made a puzzled face, and only became more confused as her mother handed her a small red box. She cautiously opened it, and gasped loudly at what was inside.

“But, mama-”

“No buts, my angel. We talked about it and well, we decided it was time. Your father and i aren’t getting any younger, you deserve them. I believe that David, that man is the dearest thing to you.”

Gwen pulled out two rings. One with a purple stone, the other a pine green.

“You and papa have had these forever, i can’t just take them i-”

“Hush. i already told you. It’s a family tradition to pass these down. Every generation. You have someone you love, now the whole world can know that your heart is belonging to another.”

Gwen had already started crying at this point, and put the rings down before hugging her parents. They could be overbearing at times, even too dotey, but may her words be damned if she said she didn’t love them. These rings were always passed down, from mother to daughter, only when the mother felt that the love was true between her daughter and her husband.

This may have seemed like just a silly tradition to others, but to gwen, it was the world. Her parents were finally starting to realize that she could do things on her own. She was an adult, and they finally believed that. They let her go to david, and let her decide she was ready for children of her own.

Her mother laughed happily and returned the hug. “I knew you would make us proud darling, my angel. You will be an amazing mother to this baby. I know so.”

Gwen wiped her cheek against the back of her hand, smiling for real. “Thank you, mama.”

Davids mom, Shirley, had walked into the room with drinks in hand. “Oh, am i interrupting something?..I can just leave these for ya..”

She set the drinks down, and gwen chuckled. “No no, it’s fine shirley. We were just wondering if you have any embarrassing things you can tell us about david.”

She caught on quickly and took a seat. She grabbed her iced tea, and smirked. “We talking toddler years or preteen?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Max sat on the counter, a bowl and whisk in hand. He midlessy, and quietly stirred the batter that lay in it. It was unusual to see him acting so shut in, maybe it was just the company and out of schedule things going on. For some reason, out of schedule things made him uneasy.

David placed his oven mit down after checking the turkey, and stood in front of max. The yellowish batter looked about done at this point, but max didn’t really seem to be paying attention. “Having fun there?”

Max snapped his head up, but recovered quickly with a tisk. “Tch, i mean it’s not pokemon.”

He haned off the bowl to david and shoved his hands to the counter.

“All right, spill. What’s eating at ya champ?”

Max rolled his eyes, “nothing’s wrong with me David. Geez, what is this, doctor Phil? I don’t need a therapy session.”

That was too defencive, wasn’t it? Shit now he might be more worried. There was no reason he should even know in the first place. Why was he always so shitty?

“Well, just know i’m here if you need to talk buddy, that’s kinda why i’m here.”

David swiftly patted max’s head as he picked up the bowl. He poured the mix into a cupcake tin. Cornbread was always on of the man’s favourite things.

“Yeah..ok.”

Max decided maybe it would be best if he snuck off to his room for some quiet. A house full of people always meant mental exhaustion for the poor boy.

It was pretty easy to slip past the talking adults. They were too distracted anyway.

Once he made it up to his room, he did what he always did when he needed a chill pill. He made a space in his closet, set up some pillows, and made a fort of sorts. The small space was always comfortable to him. He absolutely needed this if he was going to get through dinner.

He crawled into it, grabbing his bear on the way, and slowly rocked himself back and forth. The motion always relaxed his mind, and let him focus on the movement of the air around him.

He slowly slipped one paw of the bear between his lips, and nibbled at it. The soft fur pushing up against his lip eased his muscles, and he just needed to close his eyes...just for a second.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Max ran,and kept running. He had felt this adrenaline before, it ran through his veins like ice, and stung like a burn. He was nothing but a ball of fear at this point, and when he tripped, his heart stopped. This was it. His demise.

He was 5 again, and curled in on himself like an injured cat.

“You selfish, ungrateful, brat. You run like i’m some kind of monster. Look at you, you little fuck up, can’t even run right,”

The tall figure grabs his arm violently and max struggles fruitlessly.

The man laughs, and as he comes closer, David’s face is the only thing that can be seen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Max snaps awake in a cold sweat. His bear is in his lap, and a blanket part way over his head. He grips his chest with all his strength, and lets out a soft sob. He squeezes his bear against his chest for comfort, and continues to let out his tears.

He could hear his pulse in his ears, and it felt like he had been choking on his heart. He took a deep breath, composing himself as best as possible, before curling back up. Cooling down and falling asleep really wasn’t the best thing to do at the moment. He always tended to get nightmares when he was anxious, this lead him to not get very much sleep in the past week or so.

He wiped his eyes quickly, and pretended to be asleep in the floor of his closet as he heard footsteps.

“Hey champ, you in here? You've been awfully quiet i-”

David stopped his question midway, and placed a hand on his heart at the sight. Max was curled in a tight ball. His face was sort of relaxed, and he clutched his bear tight.

David pulled out his phone, snapping a quick pick before placing his phone back in his pocket.

Once he was gone, max turned over to hopefully have some more quiet time.

David hopped down the staircase quietly, and looked at his mother and wife with a smile. “He’s fine, i guess he got a little tuckered out from helping this morning. Little guy fell asleep on  the floor.”

He chuckles, gwen following in suit. “I guess he just needed a moment to chill.”

Her parents and shirley all smiled, knowing exactly that feeling, of walking in on your kid sleeping in a weird spot.

“Oh yeah, that reminds my of the time i caught Davey sleeping in the dog bed with Moose. The little rascal thought the bed was so soft.”

“MOM PleasE”

Gwen snorted, and had to put her glass of tea down. “Of course you’d do something like that. Davey.”

David folded his arms and huffed, “really, I just don’t see why you always have to pick fun at me.”

“It’s fun.”

Gwen and shirley looked at eachother after replying in unison, and ended up laughing again.

Natalie shook her head with a chuckle, “well, since max is sleeping, I guess we can go ahead and give you two a little something that you should probably keep put away. Max certainly doesn't need to get into any of this.”

Natalie pulled another box from her stuff.

“Of course you're going to have to wait a while because of the baby, but we figured you could use a treat then.”

She hands Gwen a very expensive bottle of vodka. The bottle was in the shape of a skull, and had a red rose spiraling upward around the head. It wore the flower almost like a hair piece.

“Aww, thanks mom, i’m sure we’ll enjoy it.”

She gives her mom a quick hug, and hands the box to david. He places it on the table and smiles.

“Well, thank you mr. and mrs. santos! I think it would be a good time to bring out our gift then. How about it mom?”

She perks up with a grin, much like her son’s.

“I think that’s a great idea! Go grab the big boxes from my trunk!”

He gives a salute and heads outside.

“Aw, shirley you didn’t need to do that.”

Gwen puts a hand over her cheek and smiles as shirley grabbed her in a warm hug. “Aw you know it was inevitable. I had a lot of Davey's old baby stuff, y'all can use it more than me, that's for sure.”

They all laugh simultaneously, and David comes in with two big boxes in hand.

Gwen and David are given a nice green quilt, an old animal mobile, some clothes, and some toys. Gwen's parents also give her some baby clothes, and some dresses that Gwen can wear once she needs them to be comfortable.

The adults all sit together quietly, sipping on tea and watching football. Max comes out of his room, still drowsy and not entirely sure of if he should ask David for a coffee, but decides not to. He could stand not to be told that it's bad for his growth.

David goes back to the kitchen and finishes up the last of baking the pies and seasoning the turkey.

“All right gang, dinner's going to be ready in a few minutes!”

Dinner is nice, and since it's the second Thanksgiving max has had with them, he already knows that David has outdone himself. His food always seemed to make him feel a bit better. Max can only smile as he takes a scoop of homemade stuffing.

David smiles at how happy everyone is, and decides that it's a good time to share some good news.

He holds Gwen's hand and smiles brightly. “Mom, Mr and Mrs Santos, I'm glad y'all are here for me to tell you this, I've been terribly excited.”

Everyone smiles a bit, but max is a bit wary.

“I got a letter last week and, well, you're looking at the new owner of a very nice bit of woodland! It turns out, one of my old bosses decided he wanted to move to Europe, and with no use for it, signed it off to me! Maybe in a couple of years, I'll be able to open up a nicer summer camp, and we'll be able to work with children who want to learn about nature again!”

Everyone clapped, and max, well he only looked down to his plate with a nauseous feeling. For some reason, the thought of David paying mind to other, better behaved kids made him feel sick. He clutched his stomach.

David noticed and asked, “oh geez, what's wrong max? Are you ok?”

Max needed an escape, now.

“I just- need to go to the bathroom!”

He pushed himself away from the table quickly and ran down the hallway.

Everyone was quiet for a minute, until David broke the silence.

“I think he may have gotten nervous, he's not used to a lot of adults at once, let me go talk to him.”

Gwen and him shared an exchanged glance for a moment before he took his leave into the next room over.

[yannasunflower]

Concrete Flower ~ Chapter 2 am I stagnant or moving forward?

Sakura had already been awake for an hour when her alarm went off. She slammed her hand down on it, glaring at the red number that told her it was precisely eight in the morning. She had her first class at ten and she was going to need at least a half hour to find the damn classroom in the maze that was her school.

But first, she lay, staring at the pale sunlight filtering in through the blinds. Tiredness dragged at her bones, nearly convincing her to stay in bed until she died. Her bed was so warm, so comforting.

Groaning, she rolled herself out of bed and stumbled to the kitchen, pouring herself a cup of coffee and swallowing two mouthfuls, ignoring the way the hot liquid scorched her mouth and tongue. Without adding sugar or milk, she made her way to the shower, managing a half smile at the soft sounds of Ino's snoring. She reminded herself not to hum in the shower; waking Ino up sooner than she wanted to be awake was punishable by death. She was not eager to be on the receiving end of her wrath so early in the morning.

After her shower, she sipped at her coffee as she pulled shorts and a simple t-shirt on. She checked her reflection, frowning at the dark circles under her eyes before dabbing some concealer on. She didn't really want to look like a zombie the first day of school, after all.

Double checking that she had her keys, she shut the door behind her an hour later, cursing at how suddenly bright it was outside. The heat of the day was already settling in and she sighed at the prospect of another hot day. Making a mental note to remind Ino to keep the blinds closed, she started down the stairs, careful to avoid falling.

The walk to campus was pleasant enough. The sun was unforgiving on her head and she made a mental note to buy a hat some time that week to spare her poor scalp. She took sips of her cooling coffee, wrinkling her nose at the too-warm drink but still swallowing for the sake of the caffeine. Her sleep had been restless, disturbed all night by tossing and turning. The unfamiliar dark room and new sheets that didn't quite smell like anything yet seemed to be enough to throw off her sleep schedule. Before she knew it, her alarm was going off and she was forced to face her first day of classes.

Once on campus, she hurried to find her class, trying to adopt a somehow nonchalant fast-walk and also attempting to not look like the clueless first year that she really was. Achieving these two things at once turned out to be impossible. Finally, with only 15 minutes to spare until her class, she gave it up and asked a passerby for directions. The girl was friendly enough, pointing out the building – one she had passed three times, of course – and warning her that the stairs in that building were particularly small.

Sakura released a breath of relief when the air conditioning swept over her in the hall. She jogged down a few twisting hallways, thanking the signs that told her which classrooms were down which halls, and nearly wept with relief when she saw her room's numbers.

She was still ten minutes early, so she dropped into an empty seat near the front and took a few minutes to cool down and sip at her water. The lecture room was somehow even cooler than the hall just outside. Soon enough, she had goosebumps, and she thanked Deidara for the tip he'd given her at the karaoke bar.

"Bring a sweater to your classes. Professors like to keep the rooms cold enough to freeze you, yeah. No joke."

She'd been skeptical, considering how hot it was outside and Deidara's apparent penchant for drama, but had grabbed a light sweater on her way out that morning nonetheless. Turns out, Deidara had been right. She made a mental note to thank him as she shrugged the sweater on.

Sakura pulled out her notebook and pen, finally glancing around at her peers as the hall began to fill more steadily. Most had computers out while others fiddled with their phones or just stared ahead blankly. Eyeing the computers, Sakura wondered if they were a better alternative to her own note-taking strategy. She had a laptop back in her apartment and no doubt typing out notes on a computer was quicker, but she learned better when she physically wrote things down. She was also nervous to lug her computer around with her on campus all day. Humming to herself, she began formatting her notes, folding the paper carefully as she kept an eye on the time.

Ten minutes after their class' start time, the professor still hadn't shown up. Sakura shifted in her seat uncomfortably, the restless whispers of the other students growing louder every minute that went by. She was slightly annoyed by her own panic earlier; what was the point of being so early when the professor themselves was going to be late?

Finally, nearly fifteen minutes into the class, their professor strode in. He was a tall man with grey hair that contrasted with his relatively youthful face. Well, it looked youthful from what she could see, anyway. He wore a mask that covered most of it, strangely enough. He took a moment to set up his own battered laptop and begin projecting a rather basic PowerPoint on the white screen before he turned to face them.

"I am Professor Hatake. Please, call me Kakashi. If you have any questions about due dates, test dates, projects, or what have you, consult the syllabus. If you have any questions regarding my policies on late work, consult the syllabus. If you have any questions regarding my policies on missed lectures, consult the syllabus. If, for some reason, you are not intelligent enough to comprehend my simple syllabus, you may go to your TA with these questions. Do not bother me with them, I will ignore the e-mail and I will ignore you."

He smiled at them and Sakura felt the bizarre need to laugh. His voice was clear despite the mask covering his mouth and acting as a barricade between it and the small microphone he had clipped to his shirt.

"This is a relatively simple class. Read the text, attend the lectures," he emphasized, narrowing his eyes. There were a few giggles that faded quickly as he continued.

"You get out what you put in. Now, let's begin."

And so, university began.

Sakura had been warned that professors in university were unlike high school teachers. They didn't care. They were a no-nonsense, strict lot that weren't going to hold anyone's hand and were definitely not going to make things any easier. She realized that everyone who had told her this, was absolutely right.

Her math teacher was a great bear of a man, with a mane of white hair and broad shoulders.

"Do not come to me for questions unless you've tried every other option," he warned. He had told the class to call him Jiraiya and was giving them a summary of his syllabus. Sakura was quickly coming to learn that professors really loved their syllabus.

"This is university. Which means it's time for you guys to start figuring shit out."

She'd smiled nervously at the small joke. Because she had a feeling it was going to be reality sooner rather than later.

She learned later, in her last lecture for the day, that her professors thus far had been angels compared to what lie ahead for her. While Kakashi and Jiraiya were stern, they had also cracked jokes and helped put their students at ease.

"You first year is a confusing time," Jiraiya had informed them with a grim smile.

"But if you work hard, you'll become a better person from it."

Sakura's chemistry professor, on the other hand, was a demon woman.

When she had swept into the lecture hall, hazel eyes hard and red mouth pursed into a straight line, the class fell silent immediately. Sakura instinctively sat up a little straighter, never taking her eyes off the woman as she began speaking.

"I am Doctor Tsunade. That is how you will refer to me. Not Professor, not Miss Tsunade, and no, I do not accept Doc either. You will call me Doctor or Doctor Tsunade."

She paused, surveying the silent, breathless class for a moment before she continued. Sakura had looked her up, of course. Tsunade was a legend on campus and in hospitals. A renowned cardiac surgeon, she had been the first female Chief of Surgery in the biggest hospital in Japan; her teaching was a side job and somehow the woman still managed to publish research after research every year. Students came from all over the world to learn under her. Sakura had been surprised to see her teaching a first year class, but alumni on the forum Sakura had scrolled through had warned she did it for the sole purpose of cutting down numbers. Tsunade was known for weeding out the weak and she started with first years, the easiest prey on campus.

"Every year, I look for students with potential. Most years, I am disappointed. If I come to remember your name by the end of the semester, you can consider yourself a student with rare potential. If I request you to be put in all my classes by the end of the second semester, your peers can look to you as a rival. And if I personally extend an invitation for you to be one of my TA's by the end of your third year, your peers will see you as a god."

Sakura felt her chest tighten, her breath shorten. Fantasies of her, in a white coat, learning from this legend, being acknowledged by her, filled her head. She nearly didn't catch Tsunade's next words.

"The number of students this has happened to is precisely one," Tsunade said with a feral smile. Her bared teeth glinted in the light. A hunter who knew exactly how to discourage her prey. A collective breath was released by the class and students looked at each other, bewildered, fearful.

"My classes are difficult. Do not email me for faster grading, I barely have time to eat. You brats are my lowest priority class. You're first years, nobodies. The upperclassmen will eat you alive at the first hint of weakness. I will eat you alive. The medical field is for the strongest of the strong, for the ambitious, the smartest, the best. I will not go easy on you because this is your first year of university. I will not go easy on you because you are young. My classes are difficult and it is because they are difficult that your potential, or lack thereof, will be exposed. If you have the determination, my classes will challenge you, they will help you grow, flourish."

Sakura was leaning forward in her seat, mouth slightly open. She could almost eat Tsunade's words, could taste them on her tongue. The woman looked around slowly, eyes hovering ever so briefly on Sakura's face before they moved on.

"Welcome to your life. Do not disappoint me. The lecture will begin now."

Sakura sat on a bench, filling out her planner carefully, triple checking the four syllabus papers spread across the bench next to her to make sure she had the dates correct. She only had one project that semester, thank whatever gods existed, but she had a crowded schedule of tests and assignments due to make up for it. Her eyes scanned over the required readings, face paling as she mentally calculated just how much she would be reading every week.

"I'm gonna die," she muttered to herself, checking the time on her phone as she closed her planner. Tsunade's class especially had the equivalent of about a book a week, and the readings increased in quantity as the semester went on.

Sakura would be drinking a lot of coffee.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Ino.

school is hard and unfair!

Sakura snorted softly as she typed her message back.

It's only the first day, Ino-pig.

Her phone buzzed again, but this time with a text from an unknown number.

Art club is TODAY in just 20 MINUTES can't wait for you to meet everyone!

The text was ended with a superfluous amount of emojis and it wasn't very hard for Sakura to guess who the sender was.

She mulled over her possible responses for a moment before sending back a simple text.

Already on my way.

Finding the building and room for art club was somehow easier than for her classes. Of course, Deidara had given her very specific directions and had even drawn her a map the night before on a napkin in that karaoke bar. The building was a little smaller than the others, slightly more run down. The paint on the walls was peeling in some places and there were cobwebs in the corners. The lights were dimmer and the AC didn't seem to work quite as well.

Sakura peeked into other classrooms, seeing what looked like Dance Club practicing in one room and half-erased history notes in another. She guessed this building was where most of the clubs gathered and the classes that weren't sciences or business were held. She wondered briefly at the more run down state of it before realizing she had almost walked past her door.

As she reached out to push it open, it flew open with a bang and Deidara's face was suddenly beaming down at her, blue eyes wide and sparkling.

"You made it, yeah! Did you find it okay?"

Before she could reply, he had whisked her into the classroom, shoving her to the center of the room and throwing his arms out in front of him, fingers spread to gesture to her.

"Everyone, welcome Sakura," he declared triumphantly.

Sakura managed to wave, too dazed to really absorb anyone's greeting.

"Deidara, you go overboard," a deep voice murmured from the door. Sakura turned her head to see Itachi Uchiha lounging in the doorway, shoulder pressed to the frame in a strangely elegant pose. Anyone else would look lazy; the elder Uchiha made it look fashionable.

"Silence, Uchiha," Deidara growled, hands on Sakura's shoulders. "I'm excited and I want everyone to welcome her warmly!"

Sakura frowned at Itachi, confused by his presence. He paid no heed to her, instead choosing to bicker with Deidara quietly as the other club members began to step forward to introduce themselves.

A girl stepped forward first, blood red hair strangely familiar though Sakura couldn't quite place it. Her unvoiced question, however, was answered merely seconds later.

"I'm Uzumaki Karin," she introduced herself, in a much quieter tone than Deidara. Her red glasses glinted in the light. "Welcome to Art Club."

"Uzumaki?" Sakura blurted. Horrified by her lack of manners and tact, she covered her mouth with her hands, green eyes wide.

"I'm guessing you know my idiot cousin?" Karin replied smoothly, paying no heed to Sakura's awkwardness. "Yellow hair and a big, loud mouth?"

"That's the one," Sakura sighed with a roll of her eyes.

"An unfortunate relation," Karin sniffed.

Sakura narrowed her eyes. Karin's chin was lifted, her eyes sharp behind their glasses, thin mouth drawn into a straight line. Her hands were behind her back and she regarded Sakura coolly, eyes dragging up and down Sakura's body until they finally came to rest at her face, no difference in their warmth.

"I'm Vice President," she informed her seriously.

Sakura nodded.

"Thank you," she murmured.

The others introduced themselves, their names and faces blurring by Sakura until nobody was left. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief as the introductions ended and she was allowed to take her seat at last. Itachi settled next to her and she focused on not breathing in too deeply; his cologne or body wash or whatever it was smelled way too good. It was unfair, really. She just wanted to bury her nose in his shirt and inhale.

She flushed, embarrassed by her train of thoughts, attempting to focus on Deidara's speech instead.

"New year, great change!" he claimed, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he did. "You'll observe that Itachi has chosen to grace us with his presence once more; he's just here to observe so if you have any questions, bring them to me."

Sakura turned questioning eyes on Itachi, who smiled effortlessly at her.

"Deidara asks Kisame and I to pose for them sometimes," he informed her, lacing his fingers together and bringing them to the back of his head before leaning back in his chair. Every movement he made was completely unfair, graceful and poised and much too perfect. Sakura felt herself bristle at it, instinctively shying from it.

"I see," she replied curtly. She turned her head back to Deidara, who was writing that day's inspiration on the board. It was a simple word, one that made her stomach churn uncomfortably.

Love.

"I thought I'd start with something easy this year," Deidara said cheerily, placing his marker down and turning to beam at them.

Easy? Sakura thought, feeling her hands begin to shake and her skin grow clammy.

What the hell did she have to draw about this? Love was foreign to her; any love that didn't include her mother or her friends was practically nonexistent to her. She couldn't have identified romance if it smacked her in the face, something that Ino teased her for mercilessly.

While she panicked, Itachi glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, noting her suddenly pale complexion.

He opened his mouth to say something, interrupted instead by Deidara, who appeared out of nowhere and placed a hand on Sakura's shoulder, somehow understanding her need for comfort.

"Love comes in many forms, yeah?" he said with a smile. "Think about what it is to you."

Sakura breathed through her nose, accepting the plain paper and simple pencil from Deidara. She'd nearly forgotten that she'd joined to improve her sketching skills – and to appease Ino. She thought carefully for a few minutes, hands hovering over the paper, tracing imaginary shapes, filling in colors only she could see. Finally, she set the pencil to the paper, beginning her sketch carefully, breathless.

She was unaware of a certain Uchiha's dark eyes on her as she worked, seemingly emotionless even as they watched her intently, not missing a single movement. For lack of something better to do, he observed her, interest piqued by her friendship with his brother and apparent lack of attraction to him – an odd occurrence. He wasn't the boastful type but it was simply a fact: women tended to be attracted to him. Itachi's eyes traced the way her hair fell behind her ear, pink and soft-looking, draped over her shoulder and spilling down her back. Her pale, long legs swung restlessly beneath the table as she worked, mouth moving as she drew, pulling into a concentrated frown or frustrated purse of the lips. Her hands moved slowly but steadily, carefully outlining what looked like a loaf of bread to him. Her fingers were long and slender, grasping the pencil gently and she hummed to herself quietly after a short while. Itachi couldn't tear his eyes away from her.

Years later, he would tell people, This is when I fell in love.

Because he did, in that moment. Watching her hands move and her face contort and her body quietly adjust to her mental rhythm, he fell in love.

Sakura remained blissfully unaware, however. She was focused solely on her drawing, suppressing her mounting frustration with it. It was so average, so plain and simple. But it was all she had so she kept working, trying not to growl as she did so.

Half an hour later she leaned back, frowning. It looked off to her and she had no idea why. She wiped at the smudges on her fingers absently, chewing on her lower lip. Deidara appeared in front of her, fingers tracing her drawing as she stretched, taking distant notice of the fact Itachi had not moved from his spot beside her. He didn't look the least inclined to relocate either. Sakura ran a hand through her hair, huffing. She hated being watched as she worked.

"Why the bread?" Deidara asked, interrupting her thoughts.

"My mom's a baker," she explained after a beat. For a moment, she had forgotten why she'd chosen to draw what she had. "Whenever I had a bad day or for my birthdays, she'd make me a loaf of this nut bread I really liked. It always made me feel…happy."

Her words were halting, tongue stuttering over them. Her hands flapped uselessly in front of her as she attempted to explain without really explaining. How could he understand that the bread was merely a small apology, a gentle reminder that her mother loved her, despite the past? How could she describe the way her chest tightened when she ate it, the way it turned to ash in her mouth as she consumed the whole loaf, thanking her mother as she did so? How could she tell him all this and then say, "I stopped liking this bread when I was nine years old." It didn't make any sense, not even to her. But every year she ate it and hugged her mother and loved her tired, weary mother. And every year she told her she couldn't wait to eat it again.

This, she thought, was love. Silent apologies and nearly invisible sacrifices. All things small and quiet and unheard.

Itachi watched her, eyes and face as immovable as ever. Irrationally, Sakura wanted to throw cold water on him, if only to see some kind of change of expression in him.

The exact opposite of Deidara, who was now looking over her work with a critical, expressive eye. The hand that was not tracing her drawing was twisted in his long blonde hair, twirling the ends as he frowned at the drawing.

"Your shadowing," he suddenly said, using one long finger to gesture to the corner of her drawing. "It's off; with a pencil, you don't need to apply a lot of pressure. Let me show you."

He began to draw on his own blank page, explaining all of his steps as he went, eager to teach to an equally eager student. Sakura leaned forward to watch, forgetting Itachi's existence as her entire world became made of art.

When the clock turned four, Sakura rubbed at her eyes wearily. The page in front of her had begun to blur. She couldn't remember the last time she had focused so intently for so long on her drawing. It was Deidara's fault, really. He had essentially rambled the hour away, giving her an entire lecture and completely adjusting her original sketch. Sakura clutched it desperately as she moved to put it in her backpack. It had come out half-decent for once. Her mother's hands still weren't quite right and the bread's proportions were off. But it was a start.

Next to her, Itachi cleared his throat, gently. She stopped herself from gasping, having entirely forgotten he was there.

"You live in the same building as Sasuke, right? Is it alright if I walk with you? I have something I need to drop off to him."

Sakura nodded numbly, shoving her planner into her backpack and standing unsteadily. She tried to ignore the insinuation that he had asked where she lived, that he had thought about her outside their one interaction. Sakura waved a quick goodbye to Deidara, who flashed her a brilliant smile, and she started her trek home. Stepping outside, she was grateful the day was staring to cool down, even marginally. She had drank all her water and wasn't keen on trying not to pass out from heat stroke in front of Uchiha Itachi.

"How'd the first day go?" Itachi asked as they started walking. His hands were tucked into his jeans' pockets, and he walked easily, lightly almost but surely. After failing at coming up with different synonyms for how he walked, she realized he was actually waiting for an answer.

"Oh, um, good. I think," she stammered, cheeks flushing. "I have Tsunade for chemistry so we'll see how that goes."

Itachi let out a low whistle.

"I knew someone my first year who had her class. It was brutal. I think they were close to being hospitalized during finals," he admitted. He ran a hand through his stupidly perfect hair, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Sakura swallowed, forcing herself to turn and not think about his mouth.

"Yeah, she has that reputation," Sakura muttered. Her stomach churned at the thought of the amount of work she would be given. The image of the six page syllabus was burned into her brain, haunting her.

"Good luck," Itachi said. It was genuine, accompanied with a gentle yet real smile and Sakura couldn't help but smile back.

"Thank you," she replied simply.

Their walk was quiet and uneventful, save for their hands bumping together and Sakura awkwardly stuttering about a million apologies. She was gratified to see the tips of Itachi's ears were pink, at least, as he struggled to assure her it was fine.

When they got to her building, she started up the stairs, praying she wouldn't start panting halfway up. They got to the second floor no problem, Sakura sweating minimally and uttering a thousand silent thanks for it.

"Sasuke's is the fourth door down to the left," she informed him, using an arm to point. "I'm a floor above so this is where I leave you."

"Thank you," Itachi answered distractedly. He started down the hall, turning to wave at her.

"I'll see you next week," he called.

Her brow furrowed in confusion and he mimed painting. She laughed suddenly, surprised by the sound even as it escaped her. Art Club. Of course.

"See you," she replied, giving him a small wave and even smaller smile in return.

She started up the rest of the stairs to her floor, feeling somehow lighter than before.

Ino had always had a certain penchant for drama and gossip. Even so, Sakura was unprepared for the rather intense interest Ino attached to her dealings with the elder Uchiha.

"Think about it Sakura!" Ino cried, arms waving emphatically over her head. She was on the floor in front of the couch, the bottle of sake resting on the table. Sakura regarded her from the couch, legs tucked beneath her, waiting patiently for Ino's next stroke of genius. Her cheeks were rosy, probably having to do with the sake she had downed, a precious commodity swiped from her father's liquor cabinet.

"Why would he keep going to Art Club if he isn't even interested in drawing? He's not one to be self-absorbed with his looks, so he can't be constantly modeling. He can't draw, he's busy but still makes time for a useless club," Ino listed the rationale, ticking them off on her fingers as she went. Her voice grew louder with each point, teal eyes wide.

"He's interested in you!" Ino finally concluded with a wave of her hand. "That's gotta be it."

Sakura was shaking her head before Ino even finished her sentence.

"No way, Ino-pig, you're blowing this completely out of proportion," she argued, throwing back another shot of the sake.

"For all we know, it could just be a favor to Deidara or something. Chances are after next week, he'll stop coming," she reasoned. She was sure her words were a little slurred but she didn't care. Itachi had left her shaken and her classes had left her stressed to the point of tears. She avoided her mother's phone calls, choosing instead to drink with Ino and rant. Somehow, the conversation had taken a rather unexpected left turn and Sakura tried desperately to veer it back on track.

"Tsunade is a devil lady," Sakura growled into her cup. Ino burst out laughing.

"Does she have horns?" Ino asked with a hiccup.

Sakura laughed at the image.

"No, but she should," she replied grandly, arms outstretched. "She should be queen of the demons!"

Her declaration was met with peals of laughter from Ino. Sakura giggled with her, both of them starting at a knock at the door.

"Who is that?" Sakura mumbled, staggering to the door. Nothing like standing to make her realize just how drunk she was.

Peering out the small hole, she recognized Naruto and Sasuke, both looking absolutely murderous. Sakura sighed. Those two would really kill her one day.

After some fumbling, she managed to open the door, waving them in quickly.

"Come, come," she slurred. "Join our future failures club."

"Not the right name," Ino frowned. Sakura just blinked at her.

"The hell is the right name then?"

"You're drunk," Sasuke stated bluntly. Naruto looked on the verge of just about dying from laughter.

"Yes, and you're observant Sasuke-kun," Sakura answered petulantly, drawing out the last part of his abhorred nickname. She enjoyed the way his lips twisted into an expression of disdain, his eyes narrowing.

Naruto sat beside Ino, helping himself to the sake. Sakura sat as well, gesturing to Sasuke to join them. She took another drink, enjoying the burning that made its way through her stomach, right down to her toes. She relished in the fuzziness, in the way her problems seemed so far away just then. What were essays and tests? Who was Tsunade? What did it matter?

She could understand how alcohol made people want to throw their lives away. She wanted to throw her life away. What life was it, anyway?

"A good one," Sasuke said bluntly. Sakura realized belatedly she had said something out loud, though she wasn't sure exactly. Ino lay down, stretching out on the floor and moaning.

"Please, don't give me an existential crisis," she whined. "I'm too drunk for this."

"I'm just saying. You're in school, you have a future, you have a good life," Sasuke defended himself, swiping the bottle to take a drink himself.

Sakura regarded her mug, frowning, inhaling the smell of alcohol and Ino's perfume.

"Bullshit," she finally muttered.

"What?"

"I said," she repeated, enunciating the words clearly. "That's bullshit."

She was met with two blank stares and one confused one in Naruto's case. She continued, grabbing the bottle from Sasuke as she did.

"Achievements don't constitute a good life," she clarified.

"What does?" Sasuke challenged. She snorted, waving her hand in his direction.

"Depends on you," she replied.

"Cop out," Ino sniffed. Sakura glared at her, drinking more. It was growing harder to focus and she struggled to keep talking somewhat coherently.

"It does," she argued. "Think about it. For us, living a good life might be going to college and getting a good job and getting married. For others, it's about having kids. Or traveling the world. Or helping people, I don't know, normal shit you know?"

She never cursed unless she was drunk, and she was definitely drunk. Nonetheless, she plowed forward, enjoying the full attention her friends were giving her.

"But it's not always about achievements or what have you. You need," she floundered for a word helplessly, arms waving emphatically.

"Substance," she finally called out, smiling at her triumph. "Trophies and medals aren't substantial."

"What is?" Naruto asked, face beginning to color as the alcohol settled in.

Sakura took a moment to consider his question, pouring herself another drink as she did so, avoiding Sasuke's dirty look that clearly told her she'd drank enough.

"Tell me when you figure it out," she finally said, swirling the liquid in her cup. Suddenly, she didn't fell much like drinking.

"Because I have no clue."