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dropsofletters · 4 years

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the one real thing

title: the one real thing pairing: yoo kihyun/reader genre: baker!au/neighbors!au summary: the deliveryman of the bakery beside her own normally presents himself with a serious expression, trying to get his job done as quickly as possible, but when their bosses start to rival against each other, they are left in a limbo of hidden laughter and new friendships. it’s innocent, it’s sweet and it’s the one real thing in their lives. type: angst/fluff/romance/humor word count: 16,802 disclaimer: this is part of my august special called ‘the anti-love club’. each story can be read individually, however, you’d be getting a little bit more of backstory along with some easter eggs if you read each of them, as well as helping me with support. the masterlist can be found here.

The ways of connecting with people are endless—the phone, an email, a call, physical touch, emotional relations…all matters of being practically touched by the personality of another individual, whether for good or for bad.

Nowadays, in this rushed state of life she constantly goes with, she can connect with individuals in two ways the majority of the time: through her pastries, baked by her own hands, dough sticking in between her fingertips, hands mixing with the utmost desire to please the foodies that exist in the bakery she works in; the second option would be through that window in the middle of the bakery, a bad decision by whoever designed the infrastructure of the bakery…and the one next door. This falls on the fact that there are two rival bakeries placed one next to the other, communicating through a window, practically doing their best to eradicate the existence of their enemy’s bakery, and while her boss’ pride makes her unable to ever cover the window in between the two spots, all in the name of being pompous and stuck up, she doesn’t mind.

How to mind when the only person that accompanies her through her nights of preparing the doughs for the next day is none other than the deliveryman next door? Yoo Kihyun, a man that works far too much for how little he gets paid, who often sports his hair underneath a cap that reads the name of the bakery he works for, most of the time wearing a white t-shirt with jeans, getting on his small motorcycle and delivering as many pastries as he can. Even when the bakers are long gone, he still works on some deliveries—she thinks there are times she has seen him bake, as well, nothing too extraordinarily difficult given that bakers normally left pastries ready to be on the oven, but it took some patience and watchful gaze for the task to be finished excellently.

An ache settles on the lumbar part of her spine, bringing a hiss out of her mouth as she kneads the dough with more force, the hyperlordosis suddenly making itself aware on her lower back, the hollow of her spine something she keeps hidden under her uniform. Not only had it deflated her confidence in her body when she had been diagnosed with it, but it also stopped her from doing plenty of things she loved—going on adventures with her friends, for she can’t stand for too long, or simply standing up while baking, doing the best out of her talent. It’s something a baker shouldn’t be—unable to stand for too long, because no one works while sitting down in that industry. It’s what she hides…or keeps the most secret in her job, the aches that settle on her back, the rigidness of her movements when she works for too long or how she, sometimes, when she is alone in the bakery, has to lay down on the floor and help her back soothe itself with the tough and straight flooring.

Everyone has secrets, she imagines, but hers is not quite as eventful as the one she gets to discover that night. Her ears are blessed by the sound of music, cutting through the silence completed by her huffs of pain, lifting her gaze to look through the window in between the two bakeries, making her presence unknown with the dim lights if Kihyun does not look close enough. Unlike in most occasions, he is not entering from the outside, neither is he wearing his cap only. He has taken it off, actually, sporting a red leather jacket on top of his usual uniform t-shirt. The doors of the cooking section open in a swift motion, almost with a swoosh, dramatically opening his arms as a grand entrance when the beat takes its natural rhythmic elegance.

Like something taken out of an old movie, perhaps in the start of the action part in which the bad guys get away with what they wanted since the beginning, that’s how she would describe the start of the song that she can recognize but can’t quite put a name on until it develops further. Then, the rhythm of the drums has her stopping on her kneading of the dough simply to look at Kihyun snapping his fingers, seriousness taken upon his features as he looks down, an artiste to anyone who doesn’t know him. A smile appears on her features, getting away from the far away kitchen to get a better glimpse of him.

When the guitar joins in, he finally starts to let loose. Kihyun is the type of man to look too uptight, too perfect to be real, so seeing him move his neck to the rhythm of the song, back turned towards her slightly, has her lifting her eyebrows in pure surprise. Only knowing him to certain extent, she thinks they are…acquaintances, as good as they can get with the rivalry in between their bosses, but this side of him is brand new even for someone who barely knows him. His steps are good, not to be misunderstood, taken out of the eighties with Michael Jackson’s voice in the background—

He could have been a back-up dancer back then, bringing laughter up her chest the more she looked at him, suddenly aware of how he starts to sing the song at the top of his lungs.

With electricity in his eyes, his fingers grasp the broom nearby, using it as his microphone as he moves around, letting his red leather jacket fall down his shoulders with his movements, probably practiced in front of a mirror. The title of the song makes itself known rather quickly, with the repetition of Beat It in the lyrics that suddenly has her leaning forward on the window, wanting to see more of this side of the serious Yoo Kihyun she has gotten to know. Also, leaning on something could probably help her case with her back, easing happiness inside her body now that she is not preoccupied about the aches of her body.

The sway of his hips is almost comical, swinging in the air in circles when he turns around with his eyes closed, using his microphone (broom, if she’s being sincere) to sing the lyrics at the top of his lungs. A magical voice, one that she did not expect from him, captivating and enticing the more she listens to him sing the chorus:

“Just beat it, beat it. No one wants to be defeated.” The bent of his hand and his movements suddenly come to a halt when he opens his eyes, ready to give his imaginary crowd what could be the fiercest gaze when he suddenly comes face to face with the woman on the opposite end of the window. His broom falls to the floor messily, his face suddenly growing red when he reaches for his phone quickly and turns off the song quite messily. His lips part at that, running his fingers through his hair and fixing the jacket that had fallen down his shoulders with a shudder in his tone. “I’m sorry. Did I disturb you?”

She leans her elbow on the railing of the window, her hand pressing to the side of her face as she shakes her head. “Not at all,” She admits, suddenly aware of how she has to lean her weight somewhere to feel better. Maybe, she should continue with her back therapy instead of making herself out to be the tough one. “I’m quite impressed. I didn’t even remember that song.”

Kihyun tries to chuckle, but it comes out rather awkward as he runs his fingers through his hair, his nice physique suddenly highlighted by his, the apples of his cheeks lifted when he smiles softly. “Yeah…I thought I was alone…Sorry, you had to see all that—”

“Did you take it out from the music video?”

“Excuse me?” He asks, suddenly getting closer to the window and taking off his jacket, tossing it on top of one of the tables nearby to hear her from up close. Just then, she sees the thin layer of sweat on his forehead, perhaps coming from the heat of his embarrassment.

“The steps, the pushing the doors open scene…I think there’s something like that in the music video.” She retorts, well aware of the fact that this is only making Kihyun more uncomfortable…but it comes from a genuine place of curiousness. She widens her eyes softly, almost innocently, and when Kihyun frowns for a second, he lets the furrow go and releases a soft sigh that welcomes a smile in.

“Yeah…”

“You did great, I mean it. And that voice—where did you even get vocal lessons?”

“I didn’t—”

“And the hip thing. It was so awesome!” Now she’s rambling, perhaps because she has always leaned into the observational part of dancing. She has never danced, to be quite honest, not properly or for long periods of time, pushing the imagery of the aches of her bones away the moment she starts to think about it. It would be nice, for once, to let go and not worry about the consequences later—to stop being so insecure of something that she had not even opted to have and just live for once. It’s not as easy, either way. “How did you do it?”

Kihyun chuckles at that, now all tension dissipating from his body when he crosses his arms over his chest. Something about him has always been beautiful, the sight of him on its own or simply that his personality is enough to capture all the eyes in the room. Caring, soft, gentle, with that edge of him when he gets stressed or upset. Definitely the best of both worlds. “What hip thing? What I did back then was ridiculous.” He downgrades himself, something that she is familiar of, and when she pouts her bottom lip, she releases a sigh.

“You were having fun, Kihyun. That’s never ridiculous.” She settles the matters straight, pulling away from the windows and hearing her bones crack obnoxiously, suddenly well aware that the position had stiffened her and made it difficult to get back into a normal stance. “I wish I could do that.”

“Why can’t you? It’s easy.” Kihyun replies, voice soft when he speaks, eyes gleaming under the golden lights of his bakery. “It’s just…dancing. It doesn’t have to be good; it just has to be felt. Fun, like you said.”

Sometimes, she wonders what would have happened had she not gotten her back problems to care about—maybe, she’d be in culinary school, working with all her might, even more than she does right now, doing her best, living her life…but that is not the case. Always settling for less, she does, even in the dating expense. She feels as though she needs to take what is given to her and not give a damn about it. “You don’t know?”

He shakes his head, taking a good look at her face before whispering: “Should I…know something?”

“I have hyperlordosis, so my back is kind of hollow, I guess that’s the best way to explain it. It creates a lot of pressure on my lower back…which is not helpful when standing or sitting for long. That mixed with a few slipped discs, I was never one to be lucky with my bone structure.” She tries to joke around, though a smile is not welcomed in her home the more she thinks of it. Kihyun is a lively person, deep in his way of living, someone who just looks like he had lived what he needed to and tried what he wanted to. She could not say the same. “…It’s not that I can, it’s just that I feel insecure doing it. What if my bones creak or if it suddenly hurts too much and someone sees me? People judge the dance, not what the dancer must be going through.”

“That’s nothing to be ashamed about,” Kihyun replies, leaning forward on the window and looking to her sides before giving her a tight smile. “Actually, is there anyone with you in there right now?”

“The guys left…and my boss is rarely here, so…” She whispers, scrunching up her nose at his words. “Why?”

“Let’s dance.”

“What?” She asks in a rush, rolling her eyes and smiling out of irony, turning around and going over to her spot with the now dried dough to keep working on it. “You’re crazy if you think I’m going to do the whole Michael Jackson thing you just did. No, I’m just not built for that.”

“Please?”

She looks at him, finally, aware of the beauty of him that she has never been able to forget. After all, even one of her coworkers had the biggest crush on him before letting it go completely. Kihyun’s brown hair is ruffled from how much he had touched it and from the dancing, parted in the middle delicately, face heated and with patches of red, sweet eyes looking at her that could only match the pastries that she bakes early in the morning. Her wide-eyed gaze must have brought that smile upon his features, hands resting on the dough and digging her fingers inside of it before nodding. “Not tonight, though. I owe you the dance and you’ll get to choreograph me.”

The deliveryman seems happy, looking over at her before releasing a laugh, one that shakes his shoulders even when she was the one laughing at him earlier—this is a memory that she doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to forget, not when Kihyun made a stage out of a bakery. “I’ll make sure to think of a good dance.”

“Crack my bones, if you will.”

“I would never do that to you.” Kihyun replies, sneaking out some air out of her lungs without noticing, finding herself looking down and biting down on her bottom lip to release a smile. “Uh…are you going home now?”

“I have to leave the doughs ready and I still need to finish the dough for the bread so…no.” She says rather too quickly, moving her legs back and forth to ease some of the ache there. “Why?”

“I planned on waiting for you…maybe, give you a lift?” He asks, only to have her shaking her head.

“No, no worries. I always catch the bus at nine, it’s nothing to worry about.”

“Are you sure?” He questions, suddenly hyperaware of the fact as to why one of her coworkers was so deeply entranced in him. A nod is the only thing she could give him, knowing far too well that her voice would probably be too dreamy for it to be friendly. Kihyun lifts up the helmet he wears when in his motorcycle at that, not aware that he waved goodbye with it as he says the word softly.

“Bye, Kihyun.”

That is the end of it, or so she thinks, bitten by pain and coldness the moment she steps out of the bakery, closing the door after turning off the lights and blowing on the air just to keep herself warm. Her baker uniform is changed for something simpler, a plaid shirt and leggings, nothing interesting or cute, simply something that makes her feel comfortable and hidden. The moon and the lights of the street are her illumination as she steps away from the door to go back home. It’s only then that she gets to hear the roaring of an engine, watching as a motorcycle appears right in front of her, the helmet reading the enemy bakery’s name on it fairly common as the driver speaks to her.

“That ride back home is still up, if you want it…” Kihyun whispers, looking up at the moon for a moment, only showing his eyes from behind the helmet. “I don’t know, I just can’t leave you alone to go home on your own. Besides, it’s almost nine and the bus stop is not too close from here, you won’t get there.”

Her eyes trail over the watch that rests on her wrist, realizing that he is not wrong and that, sincerely, she should just take the ride to get home faster and just lay down for a while and sleep. “I’ll take it, then.” She replies, plopping on the small spot behind him on the motorcycle. She wraps her hands on the box on the back of the motorcycle, clear as day that it is for deliveries.

“Are you safe and sound in there?” Kihyun puzzles.

“Yes,” She says, instructing her address to him in a quick mannerism before hearing him hum.

“Okay. If it gets too hard for you to keep still in there, you can hold onto me.”

She almost wants to scoff, because Kihyun treats her like she is made out of paper, but this completely changes when she starts driving and the wind blows on her hair, quickly grabbing onto his waist and pressing her helmet to his back for reassurance. She swears she hears Kihyun laugh, something less melodious than his singing earlier now that it is thrown towards her, but it is not an uncomfortable position. For the first time in a while, even years, she doesn’t have to walk home alone.

###

When her shift is over, she loves leaving the door of the kitchen open—it makes her feel accompanied, free, as if the bakery is her own and everything becomes dreamy. Sometimes, she’d get a glimpse of Kihyun, as well, or a small conversation that naturally flows after conversating that one night she had caught him dancing, but nothing more happens. A ride home, perhaps a smile here and there, it feels like the blooming of a friendship more than anything. After all, there are matters that they need to care about: their career, and on her case, not to hold too much hope on that supposed dancing class that he wants to give her.

In the mornings and afternoons, however, when her coworkers are there, the people are visiting the bakery and her boss is sometimes hanging around, as well, she likes to keep the doors closed, that way she can concentrate on what actually matters: baking. The heat is insufferable, sometimes leading her to roll up the white sleeves of her uniform, basking on the natural light that seeps through the windows, doing her best to keep time and check the temporizer, not wanting anything to be under or overcooked. The smell of honey and mangos are prominent today, trying out one of the new recipes that her boss had pleaded her to bake and it was going good, until she heard the sound of the doors of the kitchen opening loudly, enough to have her jumping on her spot in front of the oven and widen her eyes at the person in front of her.

Her boss.

Degrading and obnoxiously childish would be the best way to describe her boss because, surprise, she really is both of those adjectives. Choi Haeun, a well-known baker and businesswoman that had put everything and anything on this one bakery, leaving her days of being in front of the oven behind and simply investing on other people working for her. Everything has to be pristine to her, which is not wrong, but she didn’t like spending money for the best of products…much less did she like paying on the exact day towards her workers, no matter how safe she was economically. There was a reason for someone like Haeun to hire her, and it was well voiced out by the older woman, that she was cheap—talented, too, but no one would want a baker or a cook that could not move with expertise, quickly, without complaining of pains and aches.

“Someone stole our recipe!” Haeun exclaims, taking her by the arm just in time for her to turn the oven off and walk along with the older woman. The least she wanted was to have the casually cruel Haeun scolding her for burning her precious kitchen.

Our recipe, at least, Haeun had done something to include her…but she knows better than to trust the woman with the suit and the white head of hair, simply because she had done nothing for that recipe to start with. She doesn’t like to believe that there are recipes that are unique in this point of time; after all, most things have already been tried and a cook only twists things sporadically to add their own flavor to the meal, but Haeun thinks otherwise, much more when she pays no attention to the clients around them, leaning over the window and screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Lee Kwangho, you stole my recipe!” Haeun said with certainty, having her eyes inspecting the place to see that she is being looked at, along with her boss, her body brought forward and towards the window for the owner of the other, rival bakery to look at her with a surprised look on his features. “Look at how overworked my poor baker is with the release of our new pastries only for you to be selling them at the same time. And you consider yourself a businessman with that attitude?”

Her eyes settle forward, catching the surprised expression on Kihyun’s face as he stands beside his boss, stopping his movements on holding the box of pastries on his hold to concentrate on the argument. Apparently, Kwangho is not so happy about the allegations, because he immediately rushes towards the window and speaks just as quickly.

“Look at that, you are always taking the credit of recipes that are not even yours. I found it in a blog, just like you did!” Kwangho adds as a matter of fact and she knows the reality of it, mainly because her boss had been the one to send her the link, but her lips part simply to ask for help.

“A-Ah, I think I shouldn’t be here on the first place. Can I get back to—?”

Haeun tugs at her arm a little harshly when she tries to pull away, keeping her in between her and her ex-boyfriend like the daughter they didn’t have. Kwangho and Haeun used to be a couple around the nineties, long ago…over twenty years in the past, and yet they can’t seem to get away from it. “No.” Haeun tells her in a low voice before returning to her confrontation. “So, you admit that you don’t think of real recipes and simply look them up online?”

“There are no real recipes in this world, Haeun.” The man with the long beard adds, something that she nods along to but her boss pays no attention to, speaking through gritted teeth.

“That’s something a fake baker would say.” She replies, opening her mouth to speak even louder. “People who are eating in that bakery, come over to ours, at least we don’t have cockroaches in the kitchen.”

Kwangho frowns deeply, clearly moved by the way she spoke as he retorts: “We don’t have cockroaches. Stop lying. That’s what you always do—”

Why?

Just why?

She tries to get help from Kihyun, mouthing the word just in time for him to let the box rest on the counter before placing his hand on top of his boss’ shoulder.

“Boss, I think you’re making a scene. We should—”

To no avail, Haeun keeps talking over the young man, her chest pressed to her back, asking for too much out of her. She deserved a normal job, a normal boss, the only thing that keeps her there is the opportunity of something better—maybe, this is how every baker starts their life in the industry. “The first cockroach would be yourself, Kwangho. Or should I say the man that slept with another woman while I was away in Rome?”

Kwangho’s ears perk up at that, gleaming in the red color of them when Kihyun tries to tug him bag again, his breath caressing the window uncomfortably, having her move her face away absentmindedly. “…It was a mistake, get over it.”

Kihyun gets in between the window and his boss, extending his arms and speaking a bit louder than his tone. “Get this over and done with, you two. You’re making a scene and putting our clients and your staff in an uncomfortable position.” The seriousness of his tone is almost scary, in the way his chest expands and his nostrils flare, the peacefulness that he brings her enough to have her lungs filled with air when her boss pushes her out of the way, turning around to look at her clients and apologize with a frown over her features. The stomps of her heels towards her office do not match the sound of her door closing with a loud thud. Some people never really get over a messy, toxic relationship, as it seems, much more when the two of them are bad towards one another.

“I’ll apologize on behalf of my boss, please, keep eating.” She says in a soft tone, the silence around the room cut short as people started to talk in between them about the scene that developed just then. Weak, she feels, like she doesn’t belong in such place and she has to bear with it for the sake of her career. For some reason, she feels like she’ll never be good enough to get out of there. Her steps are dragged when she tries to move towards the kitchen, looking over her shoulder and past her worried coworkers to see Kihyun lifting the hand he holds his helmet with waving at her, per usual, though his smile is small, saddened, a bit angry, like he can’t believe the issues that developed just now.

She can’t believe them, either.

The reason as to why she had learned how to bake was quite funny—with burnt thumbs and the stench of equally as burnt food had been her initiation, seeking for something that could be hers in a world of limitations. Lots of free time, she had, all thanks to her own judgement of being unable to live her own life without that shred of embarrassment and now that she is older, she finds the therapeutic side of her work to be the only reason her breathing goes back to normal. Baking is the only place in which she feels like she fully belongs, as if nothing could wrong as long as she is in the kitchen. Solitude is welcome, not wanting to hear anyone as she works through the meals, pushes them on the counter to send them over her coworkers’ way and then, she is off to another baking session.

At some point, she is left alone again, in the same cycle of preparing the dough for the next day. The curtains are now closed, the natural light that normally seeps through the windows, her chef hat long tossed somewhere else, leaving her hair on a low ponytail. Her hands are stained with the usual flour but this time around, the smell of sweet bread on the oven is different. Baking at night is not normally something she does, but out of thankfulness she can only come up with the idea of making something for Kihyun. The man who had read her eyes, wanted to protect her, the reason Haeun did not go further with such an ignorant fight…and really, she doesn’t believe in the concepts of princes that are charming or knights with shining armors…but a reality is a reality. A caring soul, Kihyun seems to be.

Enough for her to notice that he never grabs a bite of anything as he is working, eating something and then leaving it to make his deliveries. Everyone else’s meals are more important than his, as it seems, and this is her way of payment—if he is there, truthfully, she knows that he doesn’t always stay as late as she does, but hoping that he likes the sugar-coated bread should be enough.

Closing earlier and stepping out of the bakery, she is welcomed by the sight of the dark bakery by the side of her own workplace, lively and bright, while his held more of an elegant outlook to modernism. Luckily for her, the lights are on, leading her to push on the door only to let herself inside. Kihyun’s face is practically glued to a notebook, eyebrows drawn together and small lips pouted as he writes something down, perhaps the orders of the day to make sure his boss checks up on them earlier in the morning. All it takes is for her to let the door close behind her to have Kihyun looking up, sending a smile her way as he breathes out her name happily.

It’s enchanting—charming, in a way, to have someone like him going over to her to get closer and establish a conversation. “What are you doing here? Do you want me to give you a ride home? Uh…I haven’t kept track of time, is it past nine?” He asks, already searching for his phone in his pockets when she chuckles softly, pressing the box on her hands to his chest, causing his brown eyes to trail down and connect his gaze to the box.

“I decided to give you a ‘thank you’ gift for saving me from Haeun’s and Kwangho’s post-marital issues.” The simplicity of it all has him grinning, taking the box in between his hands and lifting it up to see some bread, one that he could slice and eat with something sweet just like chocolate or with something interesting like cream cheese. “…And I may have noticed you don’t eat enough during work hours…which is not good, really, you should eat more.”

Kihyun’s lips wrap up in a smile at that, pointing towards the seat across from him when he sits by one of the tables. She follows his steps, taking the seat across from him when he takes a deep breath of the freshly baked treats. “I’d have more food here if I actually got to eat warm, soft, delicious bread. I only get the old pastries.” He tells, already spreading the bread in two parts before trying to give one to her, to which she shakes her head.

“No, no, it’s all for you.”

Kihyun quirks an eyebrow at that, releasing a soft breath when he puts the slice of bread down. “You really are a handful,” He utters, taking a bite of his food before trying to give her the piece once again. With an eye-roll and a sigh, she takes a bite of the slice he had given her, watching how his eyes shine at the mere sight of her eating. “Which, by the way, I was doing some research…and don’t you want to lay down?”

Confusion, she feels almost immediately, accidentally biting on her bottom lip when eating and hissing at the action. She looks up at him, eyebrows furrowed when she asks: “Wait, what? Why?”

“Your back, I read it’s worse for you if you stay seated or standing up for too long—”

She smiles at his words, because no one had ever given two shits about what she feels or doesn’t, not that she has ever done the most out of it to tell how she really feels. Instead, she shakes her head. “I’ll be alright, you don’t have to treat me as if I’m made of a paper.”

His cheeks flush at that, shaking his head with parted lips. “I didn’t mean to. Really. I’m sorry—”

“…It’s good, thanks to you I got out of that situation with my boss.” She sighs, moving her legs under her seat when she leans her weight on her elbows over the table. “What do you think they’ll do if they knew we talk?”

“They’d lose it, probably. No, not probably, certainly.” Kihyun adds, laughter in his tone when he leans forward as well, moving his head to the side when he whispers. “We should pretend we hate each other.”

“No, I can’t.” She replies, shaking her head before watching as he slices another part of bread and plops it inside his mouth. “…Should we?”

“I mean…for the sake of our jobs, maybe.” Kihyun replies, shrugging his shoulders before leaning back on his seat. “Haeun is…clearly hurt that my cheating boss is still the only man she has ever gotten to love, it’s clear.”

With a gasp and yet, interest in his words, she slaps his arm softly from over the table. “Kihyun!”

“I mean it!”

“I know!” She replies, lowering her voice to a whisper so they can talk to each other, even when they are alone. “…I mean, talking in between us both here, who do you think had the blame in between the two?”

“Kwangho, definitely.”

She puckers up her lips, the bite on her lip making it difficult to do so. “Yeah, but Haeun is…I mean…she needs to get over him, too. They were crazy the moment they decided to make bakeries, one next to the other.”

“Not so crazy.” Kihyun says, standing up from his spot and closing the lid of his box before grasping the keys that settle over the counter, ones for his delivery motorcycle. “Because had they not built the bakery, I would not have gotten this job and…you know…” He lifts his gaze, sending one of those smiles that reach his eyes towards her. “Gotten to have someone to accompany me to my drive home almost every single night.”

Warmth, that’s something that she had always considered to be Kihyun’s word. He spoke with warmth, lived with warmth, as if he was summer itself. Some people didn’t like it…and even she had considered herself to be someone who liked colder weathers rather than hotter ones, but this thing that he brings upon her in the sense of friendship is not so bad after all.

Voicing it out, she does, when the heat on her face is clear and she grabs the helmet that he tosses towards her. “That makes two of us. I’m also very glad.”

###

It’s fantastic how the world has become so small now with the existence of social media. Planes are not necessary, much less phone calls when the swipe of fingers against a keyboard can make the distance less palpable, laughter more heartfelt, worries of being awkward thrown out of the window and suddenly, creating a pattern—a routine. She had never thought that one day, that number that she had saved as Yoo Kihyun on her phone would be the contact she’d see first in the morning and last at night, that she’d have a companion for when the night is too quiet…even a pin falling to the floor makes a sound along with the roaring of his small motorcycle, pure and static in her memory.

Nonetheless, there is still someone that bites at the back of her brain, that dings a bell and reminds her to stay away from Kihyun. Haeun. What would her boss say if she got to know the reality of their relationship? That, what started as simplistic conversation, had now turned into bravery as she tries to step a foot into flirtation. Sometimes, she’d catch herself smiling at him through that window and trying to avoid the glare that Haeun would send her way. A terrific lullaby, she’d say it is—someone like her could not just lose her job thanks to someone else, much more when Haeun is such a person of power in the baking industry.

No one would ever hire her as a baker…

The thought makes her sigh, seated next to the counter in the kitchen as she inspects the messages on her phone—Kihyun has taken pictures of this cute dog he saw while delivering some of the pastries for the day, and now they are embarking in a conversation of all the pets they’ve had. It’s simple, sweet, it’s realistic, for everything to feel like it’s going smoothly, because that’s the type of person he is. This warmth that he brings, like the moment of settlement after a storm, when not a single thunder rakes through the sky, is what has her back into conversating with him. That, and the clear attraction that she feels towards him, feeling forgiveness for that one person in her team that had been crushing on him a while back.

A smile graces her features, clicking on Kihyun’s picture to inspect him. It was one of the first pictures they had sent each other in the weeks they had been talking, one she had taken of him when laughing after he had dropped her off at her home. Kihyun had a frown on his features, probably from the endless teasing, and a middle finger up in the air that could never compare to the sweetness that followed the picture after that—a smile her way, clearly because he had given up on being the joke of the night and accepting his reality. That night was one of the many where her world had stopped being silent, stiff, achy, and had simply let go.

When she is about to respond to his text, however, she hears the sound of the door closing and she half expects the youngest of the team to be tagging along with her, for he is her pupil of sorts. However, the young man was nowhere in sight when she turns to look at the door, instead being met by Haeun in all her glory. Her hair is put in a bun on top of her head, looking as professional as ever as she nears her with a smile on her face. That is never something good, for Haeun is never the type to enter the kitchen with a smile—it’s always to complain about something, but a smile must mean that she is asking for a favor.

Silently, but she gives him a few seconds before she voices out what really is bringing her there.

Haeun wraps her fingers around the edge of the white hat over her head, putting it in place to cover the small baby hairs on the roots of her hair before clicking her tongue. “Silly, you shouldn’t let your hairs show. You should know this.” She tells her, that familiarity and warmth on her tone one that could never compare to Kihyun’s. It’s not genuine, it feels gut-wrenching if anything, swallowing thickly and nodding her head in favor of her boss.

“Y-Yes, sorry, I must have not tightened it enough.” She replies, already reaching up for the back of her hat and tightening it. Haeun smiles at that, leaning her weight against the counter she is seated by before sighing.

“You know, you should change that. Be more…assertive, in a way. Be braver when talking.” Haeun replies, a jinx with the way she moves around her words before lifting an eyebrow. “Just like how you are when you talk to the deliveryman next door. What’s his name…Kihoon?”

Kihyun, she wants to correct, but her heart is already at the pit of her stomach, having dropped at the mere realization that Haeun is not blind and she has completely caught her staring at Kihyun, perhaps going home with him every single night and having him drop her off. It wouldn’t surprise her, really, if Haeun was able to catch Kwangho cheating back then, she’s perfectly capable of catching her imminent crush. “Boss—Ah, I doubt you’re getting it correctly. I know who he is but we don’t hold any type of correlation towards each other—”

“I know, I know, you’re the most loyal of my team.” Haeun speaks, all too highly because, if anything, she is the least loyal of them. She is the one that has started this friendship with Kihyun, with a second-nature of flirting with each other, and that’s the exact opposite of what Haeun is looking for in this thought that she is about to voice out. “…But Kihoon, he really seems to be into you. That window has served its purpose, I’ve finally found the way that we’re going to stab Kwangho’s business right where it needs to be. The deliveryman likes you, let’s start there.”

It’s not an impossibility, but it’s not confirmed that he likes her—they are just having fun, thus far, planning to go on a date to test the waters of their connection with each other. A date that has not been clearly stated as a date, but two people going out together while flirting and meticulously trying to look better in the eyes of the other sounds like a date. Still, what Haeun seems to be thinking has her frowning and straightening her back on the seat she is on. “I don’t get what you’re saying…Boss.”

“It’s simple, honey.”

“…What is?”

Haeun’s whitened teeth become more prominent with the huge smile she gives her. “I’m asking an eye for an eye here. You give me something, and I give you something.” The sound of that is already difficult to comprehend on its own, but she keeps listening to Haeun. “If you…use your power over the deliveryman to ruin Kwangho’s business in any way, I’m thinking avoiding Kihoon—”

“Kihyun.”

“Same thing.” Haeun shrugs, continuing with her rant. “Avoiding that Kihyun delivers on time, for the matter. That would make a huge difference and people would stop ordering from them.”

“Boss, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” She whispers, looking down and jutting out her bottom lip out of pure awkwardness and uncomfortableness. She doesn’t feel at ease, the overpowering existence of Haeun suddenly wanting to manipulate her is the least she needs right now. “I’m—I’m not a good actress at all, I don’t think it’ll be good.”

Haeun pats her shoulder, weight that is not welcomed before she says. “ But…let me tell you about the catch, don’t get too ahead of yourself. If you make their sales drop, I’m going to pay for your dream of culinary school in the school that I went to years ago. They’d be more than happy to have my best baker in there.”

Culinary school, the only place that she has been unable to go, both for monetary and health reasons, and now the idea of being in it is enough to perk her up in her seat. To betray someone simply to get exactly where she wanted, that’s nothing like whatever sin she has committed in the world—sure, she has told white lies, but that could not equal to whatever Haeun is asking out of her. “I don’t think I can do it, still.”

“Do it and I get you to culinary school. Don’t do it and…” Haeun pulls away from the kitchen, walking backwards as the worst words that could escape her mouth touched the thick air. “I’ll see how long I’ll keep you here for. Think about it, honey, not a lot of people would want you in their kitchen…and I’m planning on giving it all for you.” The doors open, her hands grasping the material of her pants to keep her sanity intact, only to hear Haeun chuckle. “I’ll wait for those sales to drop.”

This is the reason as to why, two days later, she can’t even look at Kihyun in the eyes on their date.

A night out drinking—it sounded simplistic enough, something that could lessen all the tensions of the past month of work dealing with insufferable bosses and a lot of late-night laughter from the two of them, mixed with spilled sessions of talking about their biggest worries in the job (or just a night of complaining about the racers that make too much noise in the street). It’s not a club, thankfully, just a bar that Kihyun said frequented when he is looking to let go with his group of friends. Nice music, not too hectic, neither too soft—after all, she is a bit of a sulky drunk—, with love seats and soft cushions on the chairs, nicely decorated drinks and some kind of entertainment, a comedian that is not half as interesting as the red-faced man in front of her, now laughing with more glee, smiling with all the might in the world. He’s infectious and the best kind of it, in a way, Kihyun seems to be having the time of his life as they share a bowl of fries, coated in cheese and a few vegetables, and talking about deep thoughts, embarrassing stories, whatever crosses their heads…

Though, her mind is only filled with masking the insecurity that pools at the back of her brain, hits her badly for ever wanting to go to culinary school and for hiding from him that Haeun, the crazy woman herself, had asked her to betray him, seduce him in a way just to get in between his line of work. Looking at him, listening to him should be a blessing, much more when he has taken off his denim jacket because of the heat and now he’s rambling excitedly about a movie, something that she should have put her input in had she not been completely conflicted.

Kihyun is…well, candid, and real, and not obnoxious in any way but the type to sit anyone down when he doesn’t like what is being told. If he got to know Haeun or worked for her, he would have probably dropped out of the job in a second…but she’s not him. That’s their difference, she realizes, how he takes his drinks with ease and poise, only a bit tipsy while she is already on the highway to hammered with how the rose gold cocktails had her with her vision blurry, mind too clouded with guilt and this weight on her chest.

“…We should have a movie marathon sometime.” Kihyun says, legs parted, the necklace around his neck taking her attention when she looks towards his Adam’s apple, up to his chiseled jawline, his reddened and thin lips, his nicely shaped nose, pretty small eyes and his tussled hair.

“Are you meaning to say you’d go out with me again?” She asks, braver than ever and playing with the edge of her oversized shirt as she says that. The corner of Kihyun’s mouth lifts at that, smirking when he nods his head and finally connects his gaze with her. The drunkenness and the hyperawareness of her active persona when drunk keeps her looking when he says:

“Of course,” He utters, turning on his side until they are face to face. “I’ll tell you something.”

“Mm,” She hums, fluttering her eyes softly at him, trying to capture a picture of how he is with her right now—how he is friendly and nice, captivating in a way, and she is thinking about the possibility of going to culinary school while destroying this man’s career. No, she couldn’t do such thing. “Tell me.”

“I’ve been trying to go out with you since the moment I met you.” Kihyun instructs, bringing a big smile to her face that she can only hide by bringing her cocktail up to her lips and taking a nice, long sip.

“And why didn’t you ask?”

Kihyun snorts at her words. “Did I just have to enter the bakery, ask you out and be like: ‘Hey, from the window I get a good sight of you baking and I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful’?” Those words bring a flutter to her chest and a pang to her stomach. Haeun wants to ruin someone like him, and now it’s clear in his eyes, in the way they glisten and stare at her, in the way his skin forms goosebumps when her hand reaches for the collar of his shirt to fix it from falling down his collarbone, that he really feels something. Attraction, just like her, perhaps something strong, like the tip of the beer that goes down his throat when he leans his head back. “Yeah, no. You were always…in this bubble, almost unapproachable. I said to myself I would do it, but if you hadn’t discovered me dancing to Michael Jackson, I’m sure I wouldn’t have done anything.”

“Kihyun, don’t put me on a pedestal.” She replies, looking up at him and blowing out some air from her lips in the form of a sigh, touching his skin softly, coating his lips in warmth. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. “I’m not…the most dateable person out there, you know. Once you realize how much I stop myself from trying new things just to live in this bubble of mine, you’ll notice I’m not the type of person you want.”

“…I didn’t say you had to change.” Kihyun tells her. “Besides, don’t say shit like that. I’m not perfect at all. I’m obstinate and a perfectionist and I always have something to say—”

“But I like all of those things.”

“And why can’t I like you as you are?” That’s the tipping point, the last thunder in the sky before the rain falls miraculously. Maybe, she had wanted to know him best—to learn the shape of his lips better, the aches on his soul to fix, the memories of him to fill with more and more happiness, or the alcohol was speaking—she is a sulky drunk just like how she is an emotional one, and breaking Kihyun almost feels like breaking a promise. It’s tough, it’s heartbreaking, it’s enough to light a fire in the root of her bones, bring so much electricity to the neurons in her muscles to contract, bring her forward, take the strength she lacks and send a kiss his way in the form of the touch of their skin. It’s not an intimate kiss, but it feels warm—somehow, like she belongs there, like Kihyun hands is supposed to gravitate towards her leg and rub up and down as she softly lets his lips caress hers after taking the initiative.

Though, she’s drunk, and the feeling of him breathing in and out only makes her feel worse because…he doesn’t know in what kind of predicament she is in. Losing her job or losing him. It shouldn’t be complicated, not in that little-street bar, not in the way he holds her, in how suddenly she feels his hands going to her spine and the depth of her back, those spots that she feels the most insecure about and covers with big clothing, and he doesn’t utter a word, doesn’t pull away. He feels her, in soul, in depth, in what is romance. A soft breath leaves her lips, pushing at his chest and laughing against him, closing her eyes tightly as she gets lost in the feeling of him. “I’m sorry, I’m…so fucking drunk.”

“It’s okay.” Kihyun mumbles, chuckling along with her and fixing the hairs around her face, looking into her eyes and when she opens them, she’s welcomed by that smile that she has grown to like. No. Adore. “I never thought you’d do that. Or that you’d be the one to initiate it.”

“I didn’t know I could do that either.” She continues laughing, drinking the last remaining bits of her cocktail before settling the glass down. Kihyun is still looking at her, she can feel it, but what completes the masterpiece of them is when Kihyun’s hand reaches for hers and interlocks their fingers together, breaking her apart more than she is supposed to do to him.

Silence settles around them. She spares him a glance and he looks at her from the corner of his eyes, the apples of his cheeks lifting until he trails his gaze down. He reminds her of confidence, something that she hasn’t had in a while—if ever, actually, and if being brave is being with Kihyun, she wants to do just that.

###

“One day, I’ll bake something for you.”

Her chest vibrates with a laugh, elbows resting on top of the railing of the bridge they had just come across of, part of their walk together after a dining date. “…Mm, I’d like to see you try. Bake whatever reminds you of me.”

If violins could play in the background, they would, for such complicatedly beautiful scenery could only be found in a bridge like this one, part of their home. The moon seems to touch the lake, a few houses illuminated in the faint distance, some buildings that take most of the spotlight mixed in between there. On the other side of the bridge, the cars pass by quickly, rushing through life like most of us do. She remembers the times in which it was easier to breathe in, as something more than just the necessity of continuing to exist, when there weren’t sins in her head or thoughts to crowd her. The moments in which she was younger, with snacks in her pockets and a smile on her face, rushing towards her friends, not caring about whether or not they were going to think less of her. Sometimes, she wonders if she is nostalgic of what she didn’t have or she’s just seeking for memories of a past she never decided to take part of. Enjoyment is not for her, neither is work, her life simply consists of what is given to her. Haeun or nothing. The bakery or nothing. Her friends or nothing.

But Kihyun…Kihyun is an option she had taken herself, and to be picked as well feels like the damned most joyful feeling she has ever been captivated by.

What is it about him that suddenly reminds her of her purest moments? With a soul that is not stained, a heart that has forgotten and forgiven. To be happy is possible by his side, much more with his sly jokes, the smile that is always plastered on his face and those comments he makes that make her feel heat around her face, the waist that she has held for the past few weeks, over months now, simply reminding her that Kihyun is real…the one that would accompany her in this tough moment of her life. Not that he knew anything, for Kihyun everything around them was peachy, excellent, bursting with excitement and the newfound romance that they are taking their time with—if she doesn’t count the few kisses that they never make comments about.

It’s difficult when they work most of the time, and they only get to see each other when he takes her home, or in some weekend in which they do their hardest to finish their shift earlier. Underpaid, perhaps into each other, she finally realizes that this warm feeling that she feels for Kihyun has been burning nowadays, much more with the constant glares from Haeun inviting her to talk to him and while he had been delighted to be able to talk, even through the window, but also slyly weirded out. After all, they are supposed to be acting like they don’t even acknowledge each other as another human being in this world.

Reaching forward, with this habit she has of fixing Kihyun’s collar or scarf, she helps him with the badly done scarf that wraps around his neck, making sure that it is fluffed out, not covering his chin too much and that it isn’t too tight, when she avoids his gaze as he says. “…That reminds me of you? I was thinking a cake. Is vanilla a way of me to call you bland? Is chocolate…a way of calling you bitter? What does that even mean?”

“Don’t overthink every cringy thing I say, Kihyun.” She replies to him, though the comment makes him laugh and she simply gives him a tight-lipped smile. He notices, apparently, pressing the warm drink on his hand to her cheek, heating her skin slightly before asking.

“What’s in that pretty head of yours?”

“You.”

“Apart from me.”

She rolls her eyes, finally giving him a big smile and a tug to his red scarf before speaking softly. “I mean it, I’m thinking of you.” Though, it’s lingered with the thought that rummages through her head and tells her that if she dares voice out what has been going for the past two weeks, of Haeun practically pushing her to be Kihyun’s seductress before stopping him from doing his job. His cheeks heat up at that, looking over to the side when she says: “Kihyun, I seriously have to tell you something and I hope you don’t get mad at me for this…”

His smile falters, vanishes, disappears, becomes a memory of the dull moonlight in that eventful night when he tilts his head to the side and says the most truthful thing, typical of Kihyun. “It depends on what it is. Tell me and we’ll judge from there if I get mad.”

Okay, so that much is expected. Honesty is his policy, the only reason as to why Kihyun has always been…a gush of fresh air, so with shaky hands while trapping her fingers around the railing, she finally decides to be truthful. “Haeun said to me a few weeks ago that I either had to seduce you and make you do your job badly or she would fire me—” She cuts herself off, lifting her hands in the air when Kihyun’s frown deepens. “But, before you think I was just playing with you—I wasn’t, I’m not. The day of our first date, she told me she had seen us get close and that she’d give the opportunity to go to culinary school if I broke your heart, and if I didn’t, she’d toss me like I mean nothing.” Once again, she squints her eyes, wondering why the words can’t leave her mouth properly, why they don’t sound good at all. “…And that night, I kissed you because I meant it. I have meant everything that has happened between us, but I don’t want you to think there’s some other hidden reason…I don’t want to break your heart, much less for my job, so I’d rather just let you know before anyone else told you and gave you the wrong idea.”

Kihyun raises one of his eyebrows before scoffing. “Your boss really put you in that position?”

“She has never been a good boss…”

“Clearly, and not a good person either.” The soft wind hits them, her hair moving under her beanie, inspecting his face as he looks ahead to the scenery past the bridge, fixing his position until he is not facing her but instead to the front before sighing. “Tell me…everything has been real so far, right?”

His question tugs at her heartstring, nodding frantically at his words. “Yes, of course, I—Everything has been real, which is why I’m telling you. I don’t want to interfere in your job for culinary school, no matter how much I desire to go there—”

“She threatened to fire you?”

“…Yeah, kind of.”

Kihyun rolls his eyes, looking ahead with a tight jaw before releasing a thick sigh. “Maybe, there’s a way around this. We could really…pretend that you’ve done something to my job or something.”

“No, Kihyun, that’s—no.” She cuts him off, taking him by the cheeks and making him turn towards her. Looking at him, pushing his hair away from his face, everything heightens when she reaches forward and traps his bottom lip in between hers, kissing him softly, barely audibly, before pulling away from him, cheek now pressed to his shoulder, arms wrapped around his neck. “I can’t do that to you. You’ve been nothing but nice to me…and I’m just not that kind of girl.”

Kihyun’s fingers end up over her back, tracing the skin softly, filling her with warmth when he says: “But it’s your only chance to get to culinary school.”

“Not if I save money.”

“You can’t save money if you don’t have a job.”

“…Kihyun…” She threatens, some depth in her voice when she pulls away from him, taking the scarf in between her fingers and bringing him closer, pecking his lips once before shaking her head. “I won’t lose my job. It’s just an empty threat, I’m sure of…let’s just not think of this again, okay? Let’s continue as if this isn’t an issue.”

Kihyun breathes in through his teeth, letting a cloud of dense air out as he takes her by the face, shaking her head from side to side. “You’re so caring, it’s going to kill you one day.” He points out, eyes inspecting her features and looking for something she doesn’t know if she is giving him. It’s a cliché, what she feels for him, but she holds onto it—something about him feels like reality, like the one moment she had to live, all the hardships in love coming to his conclusion. Romance is dead, some say, but she is simply enjoying the dulcet one that grows in their hearts, much more when Kihyun accepts her as she is. For once, there is a person that she doesn’t feel like she needs to settle with, but that she gets to grow with…and that’s magical.

###

Resting her back against the cushions of Kihyun’s sofa, his fingers scrolling through his phone, his other hand settled on her waist as he lays sideways, over the center of her body, barely getting the corner of the sofa and seemingly not bothered by it, she really considers falling for him. Really, with all her might, much more when he had done his best to prepare dinner for her, fueling her stomach with more and more dishes, all from his plethora of unknown talents that she has gotten to know with the passage of time. Music softly plays from his phone, something that has to be ever present in their lives, because it relaxes her and because it is part of him.

It’s only when he locks his phone and rests it on top of the coffee table that he captures her gaze and catches her staring. He gives a smile, one that she’d frame if she could—sometimes, she thinks she has forgotten how to smile properly. It has always bit her in the back of her brain, smiling is an insecurity thing that she rarely gives herself the pleasure to give up to, but Kihyun crawled on the thin walls of her heart and kicked the door to get inside, just something that he was bound to do the moment they met over a year ago. It took months for them to even take the first step towards a romantic setting, but now that it’s here…she doesn’t want to let go.

“I have something for you.” She almost doesn’t catch his voice, tiny, soft, unlike how he usually speaks—he’s not loud, per say, but he is loud enough to be heard. In her heart, she knows everything he says comes from the depths of his soul, his beliefs, always voiced out with certainty.

“What was that?” Her voice is more levelled than his, letting her hand caress his hand as a smile blooms on her face from the blush on his cheeks. It’s not usual that he blushes—ever, for anyone, but for her…she’d get to see it a couple of times.

“I have something for you.” Kihyun says in between a groan, leaning back until his weight is resting over her abdomen, bringing a hiss out of her body before he fixes his position. “Sorry. It’s actually two somethings.”

She sits up then, being dragged away with her hands settled on his shoulders, surprising her by his hands resting on the lower part of her thighs and lifting her up to be half resting on top of his back, his weight leaned forward, barefoot and tapping away on the flooring the more he neared his small kitchen.

Never had she thought that resting her head against someone’s back would give her such leverage, that hearing the patterns of his breathing would become even more numbing than a night of sleep…and that she would like it. Someone would accept her, just like she is, with the spots she dislikes and the ones she wants to highlight, with the stories that have her shredding tears and the ones that have her wanting to go back in time, they all built the person that Kihyun likes today…and that’s something to be thankful for. Once he lowers her, softly and in front of his refrigerator, she watches him wrap his fingers around the door of the refrigerator, looking at her from over his shoulder before huffing.

“You’re not going to laugh, okay?”

“I never laugh at you, but with you.” She explains, something that has him opening the door in a hassle, standing in front of it and taking out what seems to be a cake, perfectly decorated in strawberries and whipped cream, a bit big for only two people eating it, but Kihyun licks his lips and talks about it as he closes the door with his foot.

“I baked something for you. It’s one of those wet cakes, it has cream in the middle and I don’t know if I undercooked it, but…also, I had to learn how to prepare meringue and I’m not sure if I got it down.” The man makes the most out of rambling, taking a knife with him and slicing a bit of the cake, just in time for her to grab two plates and let him place the slice down for her. “…But, I wanted to do justice to who you are as a baker and the reason why I started to look at you…so I hope you enjoy it.”

Would it be stupid to confess that no one has ever done anything like this for her? It would, but it’s something that she keeps thinking about whenever Kihyun does anything. No one has taken her home every single day without pointing out how annoying it is, much less has someone looked at her as if the world was held on her precious hands—no one has taken off their jacket to give it to her, much less have they kissed her with such casualty that it almost feels like they have been together for a lifetime. Once she takes a bite of the cake, she wonders if this is what normality is going to feel like for her as of lately. Like she deserves to be loved, past the physical aspects that she dislikes and the doubtful nature that coexists beneath her.

“This is spectacular for a first try, Ki.” She tells him, licking her bottom lip when he finally decides to dive into his own food. “You spoil me rotten.”

“…You really think I’m spoiling you?” Kihyun asks, something that makes her nod and the man can simply sigh deeply. “This is just…normal. It’s what you deserve, to have someone that gives you as much as you give.”

The words deserving rarely crossed her head, for she thought all the bad and the good in her life had happened because…it just did. There was no more answer to it, no seeking for better options, simply wishing for another day in which she can exist. The music still plays in the background when she takes a big bite of her meal, chewing while she speaks. “So, that means you’d do a lot of things for me, right?”

Kihyun moves his head from side to side, pondering. “A lot, not all, of course…but yeah, why?”

Bashfulness, typical of her to feel but not around him, only in certain occasions. After all, everything still feels damn fresh with him. “…Well, when I caught you dancing and all, you said you’d teach me how to dance…”

His lips part in one of those big grins of his. “You want us to dance now?”

“…If you want.”

This is all he needs to stand up, taking another bite of his cake before extending his arms towards her and sweeping her off the chair that held her weight up. Kihyun finds gravity in her waist, usually going a bit further until his fingers are splayed on each side of her spine, directly in the spots that have always hurt like hell…but feel cherished and loved when around him. The oxygen is taken out of her lungs when the song plays some ballad, one from a show she remembers Kihyun saying he doesn’t even watch—or maybe, he just hides some things. “Actually, dancing is pretty easy.” He instructs, her hands resting on top of his shoulders, a bit stiff when he moves his left leg to the side. “A step to the left, a step forward, a step to the right, a step back. It’s simple, just do a…square? Yeah, a square.”

Kihyun’s eyes lower to look down at her lips and she notices that she is not following his steps, staying still while she presses her chest to his. “…Am I going to look dumb?”

“I mean…dancing in the kitchen is quite dumb.” He admits. “But the point here is to be…dumb and cheesy together.”

Finally, her feet move with his, enjoying the fact that this is not as difficult as she thought it’d be. A bit awkward, yes, but still enough to have her smiling in his embrace. “Since when are you the cheesy type? I’d never take you as that kind of man.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re the epitome of cheesy with me.”

“…That makes you special, then.” Kihyun points out, making her hide her face in his shoulder, hearing the sound of his breathing while he chuckles, hands playing with the fabric of her shirt. “I never thought I’d end up like this with you, either.”

Not boyfriend and girlfriend, still, but she wouldn’t be surprised if she ended up asking him if he doesn’t take the first step soon enough. “I also didn’t…think so.” She replies, looking up and resting a faint kiss on his chin, one that leaves her lipstick splayed on his skin before humming. “But you’re the realest thing I’ve ever lived.”

“What does that even mean?” Kihyun asks in between laughter, throwing his head back slightly before looking down at her.

No one has ever had stars in their eyes when looking at her, though she has dated in the past—it has always felt like she has had to, not that she has wanted to. Breathing with him comes with acceptance, coexisting at the same time as him feels like a blessing—to hear such mindsets, to be held with such tenderness, such delicacy, and yet such empowering nature that comes with him, with the energy he brings her, is the reality she has always looked for. “Oh, you know,” She tries to shrug it off, but he doesn’t settle for that, keeping the moment going when he shakes his head. “I—No one has ever liked me…you know, for the real me. And I have never met someone as realistic as you: kind but also rough, torn at the edges but yet so complete. That’s real, that’s you…and that’s who I want.”

Kihyun lifts his eyebrows, perhaps a bit emotional but not showing it, wrapping his arms around her and stopping any dancing they had started to simply cage her in his embrace. Kihyun kisses her cheeks, her shoulders, takes her hands in his and presses soft kisses to them before looking up at her, from behind her knuckles, sunlight in him even when moonlight seeps through his windows. “…And then, I’m the cheesy one.”

“Sorry, that’s how you make me.��

“Come on,” Kihyun says, clearly enjoying the attention before letting out a shaky breath and reaching forward and pressing a kiss to her lips. No one has made her feel like the rain in her heart is making flowers grow instead of making her sulkier, but there he is, the reality that she has always looked for in the form of a deliveryman—of someone he should technically not be dating. “Do you want to keep dancing or…?”

“Just kiss me, Kihyun.”

“I can make that happen.”

###

Aroma of coffee, nicely decorated tables and perhaps a man who is ten minutes late.

It sounds far more interesting than it really is, but the romanticism of the place has brought her to be thankful of finally having a free day and to be able to spend it with none other than the deliveryman that should have started his lunch break ten minutes ago—hence, he is still probably delivering around the city and leaving her waiting. While looking down at her nails, she wonders when is the last time she has done them…probably before she even got into baking, and when she takes a sip of her coffee, already a bit lukewarm, she realizes just how much she has missed since she started her career. A coffee date shouldn’t be such an impressionable part of her life, much less to Kihyun, but it is—spending money on herself, on having a nice afternoon, suddenly has turned into something that she should appreciate, and she does, but the lack of enjoyment that she had gone through in the past is almost…impossible to think about.

Everything feels right for once, like hiding is not so wrong when she is her happiest. It only took a few days after her encounter with Kihyun in the kitchen, dancing like two madmen, for him to ask to be in a relationship, perhaps not long-lasting, that much she doesn’t know, but productive, serious, eventually fulfilling for the two. This romanticism is not necessary to exist in someone’s life—but hey, fuck it, she wants to enjoy her life for once, feel like she can be loved and worshipped just as much as she can love and worship someone else. It is then that she realizes that not having Kihyun by her side would be too much of a strain for her heart.

Sometimes, she imagines what Haeun would say if she got to know the truth, or she’d think what would happen when…eventually, in the future, she has to come clean about it. What happens if the relationship becomes more serious, if one day they decide to take a step into marriage or living together, of making it less than juvenile dating and more of profoundness, when she gets to work for the first time and can’t simply stop looking at him or when they go home together, and it could happen that someone could simply have forgotten something and encounter the couple. Damned, she is, to ever think of such a thing…of the end before the beginning, of the culprit of their break up, but it’s something that clouds her brain in judgement.

You have to ruin him.

…Haeun had said so, and while the subject rarely came back up, and if it did, she changed the subject, it is only a matter of time before Haeun notices. It settles uncomfortably on her chest, it has her clinging onto the cup of coffee and wishing things were different, that she could find a job just as easily as anyone else, as if her world was not going to be destroyed by some top baker in the continent.

Nonetheless, her train of thought is changed when she sees someone rushing through the streets, hands raised in the air, making some of the cars honk at his mere presence, wind blowing on his hair and almost knocking off his typical hat as he finally crosses the street and makes his way inside the café. His breathing is raged, cheeks tinted pink, lips connecting in a smile when he goes over to her. Kihyun does this for her, and for him too—because he likes her so much that he has decided to be with her, even when he could also potentially lose his job if his boss knew who exactly he was dating…or where she worked at.

“Kihyun, don’t do that ever again.” She tells him, pulling him by the sleeve of his t-shirt and placing a kiss to his lips, the taste of coffee exchanged from her to him before he pulls away with a smile. “Hey, don’t be smiling about that, I mean it. You could have gotten ran over—”

“I put my hands up for a reason.” He says, perhaps not thinking straight before he sits down, letting out a big sigh along the way. “…And I definitely won’t do it again because I feel like my balls are now in my throat and…yeah, it was scary.”

Her hand comes forward to feel over his heart before hissing near his face. “Don’t be saying stuff like that in public. People are going to think we are into some…questionable shit.”

“Like eating my own balls? No one is going to think that.” Kihyun whispers, chuckling at her words before pressing a sweet kiss to her lips. Maybe, it’s worth trying simply hiding the most precious thing she has had in her life, better than the aroma of pastries or baking, better than some culinary school. Maybe, she’d get to have both worlds—her reality and the one that is more-so like a nightmare and a dream at the same time. “I’m sorry I made you worry.”

With a squint of her eyes and a push of the small plate that holds his favorite muffin towards his way, she speaks through gritted teeth. “It’s okay. I’m going to make fun of this moment someday, but that day is not today.”

“You know, some girls would think it’s cute.”

She frowns at that, smacking his hand that has reached forward to interlock with hers. “…Oh no, baby, which girls? Ones that are into ghosts of their boyfriends?”

The sound of his laughter, joyful and loud, is the only acceptance she needs to get ready for. As long as he is there, the future could only fall into place, connect into perfect puzzle pieces, promises to be mended, lives to be lived. No one could stop her, or so she thought.

###

Macaroons are such simplistic, necessary, craved for pastries that she is used to making, but she finds herself having a difficult time today, out of all days, to prepare them when she feels a set of eyes landing on her. Her boss, typical of her to be a judgmental person even from afar, seated by the door, phone resting on her lap and inspecting her every move. She should get used to this—bakers and chefs alike are supposed to get used to being watched, but Haeun is there for other reasons. She can sense it deep in her bones, wanting nothing but to get out of there and pretend that her boss doesn’t exist.

Just when she is happy, there is someone talking in the back of her head—the voice belongs to Haeun, most of the time, and it reminds her that it’s either Kihyun or a job, Kihyun or culinary school. As much as she likes the man, dating him is a risk she is taking because she wants to…even if it would cost her the career that she has worked so painfully to craft. Haeun has said it a thousand times—who even wants a worker that can’t stand up for long periods of time? That sentence had been told long ago and it still bothered, irked her, mostly because she knows she’s not broken. With predicaments? Yes, just like everyone else in this world, but a condition should not be a matter for her to be judged as a worker.

Her name is called, making her hum but keep her attention on the bowl in between her fingers, whisking and mixing just in time to hear Haeun’s voice. “You haven’t updated me with our little seduction plan for Kihyun.” Our, because suddenly Haeun wants to drag her into this, make her an ‘us’ problem instead of something that she has thought of on her own and wanted to manipulate her to do. “The sales seem to be going fine for them…”

“I’d know if I worked for them, Boss.” She replies, wanting nothing more than to shape the mixture, plop it in the oven, and simply forget about Haeun’s existence. The woman continues to pry, however, like the people she has always been used to…sadly, her reality, those who cling at her, dig their nails, take the best away from her and leave a broken part on her soul. Destructive, in a way.

“…Fair enough.” Haeun says, releasing a big sigh into the air, chair creaking under her weight. “He’s still very into you.”

Silence. She doesn’t want to say anything, much more when she is into him, too.

“And my offer stands. The booking for culinary school will be in a month. I think you have until then to do something about—” Culinary school, Kihyun, her boss, everything seems to be too much, enough to bring a headache that no number of painkillers could suffice. “Kihoon? Kihyun? Honey, culinary school is difficult to get into, not to say expensive, I really think you should just give it a try. Besides, it’s not like you’d like him all that much. I have never seen you like anyone, to start with.”

But what does she know? What does an old woman that has never really gotten over her nineties love affair know about her current love life? The only thing she has known in her life is manipulate her, twist her and turn her into the little marionette she wants to play with. “Ah, Boss, I don’t know…I really don’t know the guy.”

“But you do.”

“Huh?”

“He talks to you sometimes, that should be enough.” Haeun replies, not standing by her side and contrasting her with her height, a tad smaller than the baker. “You know, these insecurities you have will take you nowhere,” That much she knows, it’s second nature for her to know that she has stopped herself from being just because she fears existence itself. “You need to make more decisions. Don’t worry, it’s something that can be fixed. The moment you learn how to grow up, how to take matters into your own hands and turn into the woman you have always desired to be, it’s the moment you finally realize that no one is worth your career.” She claims with pride, chest puffed out, letting out a dreamy sigh that had taken away any concentration she had on the macaroons. “I did that, and look at me: great car, great bakery, great…life. I don’t mind stepping over a few people to get to the top.”

The top, she had never imagined ever being one of the best. That’s just not her. Shaking her head, she looks towards the mixture once again, taking the dough in between her hands and rolling it softly. “Sorry, Boss. I’m afraid…I could try but I don’t think it’s going nowhere. Kihyun and I hold no type of relationship.”

“…Are you really that willing to lose your job?” She asks, tapping her fingers against her back. “Don’t make a bad decision. Don’t disappoint me.”

“I said—”

“…I don’t care, I said don’t disappoint me.” Haeun points out softly, giving a pat to her back before turning on her heels and getting out of the kitchen.

The waterfalls would have started if only she hadn’t given a deep breath, scared of the situation she was placed in. As long as Haeun did not get to know the reality of the situation, then everything should be alright, she promises herself, knowing fully well that Kihyun is also getting scolded by his boss—for even looking towards the bakery or smiling her way. It seems as though being in a bad economic state suddenly makes the rich people in the world willing to destroy their lives. She closes her eyes tightly, smacking the dough back into the bowl and leaning her weight forward, limbs shaking when she covers her face and lets out another sigh. Breathing, that’s all she needs to do, she’d keep her job and her boyfriend, her job and her boyfriend, there shouldn’t be ever a decision, she doesn’t have to pick something in her life for once and simply enjoy both worlds.

Worlds that are colliding, crumbling, falling apart. Worlds that she had never imagined on having, that had once been happy but now seem to want to break each other apart, even when she is the most at ease she has been in a while. Tears fall from her eyes, a loud sniffle and her back straightening her actions to stop them, leaning her head back and wanting them to go back into their place. If Kihyun knew about this…he’d probably say something to Haeun, he’s honest, he would totally eat her boss alive, so she’d rather stay quiet. For her sake.

If she wants to have him, she just has to stay silent. A secret, maybe Haeun will forget…

Before any of her coworkers could barge in, the youngest to be exact, and catch her in such a state, she pats a napkin onto her face, not caring that she rubs a bit of her makeup off, letting out a deep sigh and returning on her task of making macaroons. Maybe, this will clear her mind.

###

“Kihyun, you know I really don’t like the whole ‘covering my eyes’ thing—”

“Is that you saying you don’t trust me what I hear?”

She grabs onto the hands that are latched over her eyes before sighing. “I trust you, baby, I just don’t trust your intentions with the obvious surprise party you’ve been preparing for two weeks.”

Though, nothing eases her heart more than knowing that this birthday she woke up to the sweetest message from Kihyun, and that he has been running around for the past two weeks, obviously leaving some trails of his preparations in his apartment when she went to visit him. It’s a different celebration, of course, but she doesn’t know why someone like Kihyun would even bother preparing such a thing when he already knew that she guessed his intentions.

His hands let go of her, wrapping his arms around her waist and speaking close to her ear, taut chest pressed to her back, lips hovering over her ear when he speaks softly, wiggling with each step forward, almost giving penguin steps together. “Listen, there are a lot of people who care about you and love you inside your apartment and I just need, like really need, you to pretend like you’re surprised.” A fleeting kiss is pressed to her ear, the noise making her bend her neck and let out a small giggle. Once standing in front of her door, Kihyun whispers. “Promise me you will at least make the effort of being a good actress?”

Shrugging her shoulders and pressing further into his body even when he is using her keys to get inside her apartment, she hums in delight. “I don’t think I can, just to get you riled up…you know.”

“Please?” He begs, a whine in his tone when he leans his weight forward, opening the door slightly. “I really prepared this with all my heart poured into it, I never do shit like this.”

He really does look like a gift from heaven right now, white button up tucked into some slacks, a few buttons opened that give a glimpse of his chest. While she would have definitely not been mad spending some time alone with him, probably watching movies and receiving all his love and affection, for now she settles for a kiss on his lips and a few thankful words that have him smiling. The moment would have been even more precious had someone not opened the door in a quickened manner, bringing Kihyun stumbling forward—and for this, her body as well—thanks to his hold on the door.

Cheering and clapping fill the air, her lights being turned on and in her small apartment, she just knows she’s going to get a noise complaint and probably some words from the people downstairs about the noise of the immense amount of footsteps that come when people wrap their arms around her. Some friends, some from high school, others from her first job, others that she has met along the way, some family members—or the ones that still live in the city—and definitely some coworkers. The smell in the air is dense with alcohol, mixed with a fruity scent, and the baked goods that she just knows have to be in there. It’s only when she gets some time to breathe and she feels Kihyun pressing a quick kiss to her temple, that she realizes that there is someone that has still not congratulated her, moving forward and looking out of place in such a spot, such casualty and simplicity of an apartment, when she wraps a loose arm around her shoulders, leaving her frozen.

Haeun chuckles against the woman’s skin. “I’m guessing you really are having the happiest of birthdays,” She says, sparing a look towards Kihyun before the man takes the hint. His hand on her waist falters, disappears as he moves away and tries not to look her way. They had been caught, apparently, and in a light that had Haeun really think that she had been able to betray Kihyun’s trust simply to go to culinary school…or to get her job. Once the man is gone, Haeun gives her the biggest grin, jutting her chin forward and chuckling. “You had it hidden, sneaky one—”

“Boss, I—How did you get here?” She asks, looking around before the woman shrugged her shoulders.

“You see, I heard my workers talk about this surprise party of yours, but I didn’t expect to see what I saw. The innocent, sweet baker of mine is getting it on with the deliveryman.” Shame, she has never felt like so, everyone else chatting and living their own lives, dancing and thinking that she is having a great time when her heart feels like it might come into a sudden stop at any given moment, breaths coming in short pants. Her eyes look to the right, seeing her boyfriend making some kind of sign, using his hand to go over his neck in the form of ‘cut it out’. “But that’s…eventful. I was planning on giving you the news that you’d be fired today, but seeing that you were only keeping it from me.”

“Boss—”

“I shall tell you—”

“Boss.” She speaks louder, only to have the woman shaking her head, smiling brightly when she says:

“I got you into culinary school. You’ll be going to Paris to perfect your craft, then become the head baker of my proximal inauguration in Paris, as well.” Haeun speaks with certainty, power, like she has always had—over her, over the world, she’d never take no as an answer. Her chest deflates at that, seeing the opportunity that is suddenly put in front of her. Someone like her has never thought of travelling, much less has she thought she’d be good enough to go to a Parisian culinary school, being the head baker of a place is also something that in her solitude would have been impossible to even phantom inside her head. “That is…if you break it off with him. I don’t want to have any connection or…rather, peace offering with Kwangho.”

The world shatters at that, paralyzed in her spot as she tries to remember who she really is—the woman that Kihyun had fallen in love with, the one that he touches with all the love in the world, of lust and adoration, of complete happiness of having her as his and vice versa. She can’t get rid of him, like he means nothing, breaking up would take a part of her away, would turn her into the person that she has never imagined being but always desired to be. Maybe, she is happy as she is—as her imperfect self, that would stutter when speaking to someone of importance and that is a bit on the insecure side. Maybe, there doesn’t need to me strength inside her if that means stepping over other people—hurting others that had done nothing but love her unconditionally.

“Boss, let me speak for a second.” She says, lifting her hands in the air and looking around the room before biting down on her bottom lip. “I don’t think I can break up with him.”

Haeun seems surprised by the news, lifting her eyebrows and fixing the glasses that fall down the bridge of her nose. “Oh.”

“Yes.”

The issue has always fallen on her boss, on how she pushes and pushes until she gets the most out of someone—until she drains them and turns them into someone like her. “Well, I’ve given you an opportunity of a lifetime just in one condition. You don’t know if Kihyun is even going to last forever. Your knowledge does.” Haeun replies. “Loyalty does. If you stay with him, you’d trash all the years of us working together away. All those moments in which I believed in you…gone to waste.”

She should know what Haeun is doing, she should concentrate on the man that is looking for her—or her birthday, god, completely ruined at the situation that is suddenly put over her hands. “I’ll think about it.” She whispers, hearing the sound of Haeun’s giggle when she moves away and goes towards Kihyun, only being able to give him a hug and a kiss on the lips to shut all the words that scream inside her head, that want more answers, that need to decide something to make it her reality.

Kihyun has always been the realest thing she has ever lived, the perfect night, the perfect day, the immaculate in imperfections. The memories, all cherished, all loved by her, all caught in between her fingers after months of dating. Not too many, but just enough. Just enough to love him.

To feel him.

To not want to hurt him.

“Is everything alright?” He asks with his wide-eyed gaze, something that she can simply dismiss with a sigh and another hug to his body.

“Yes, I was just taken aback by everything.”

But that’s a lie. Kihyun may be the most honest event that happened in her life, but maybe she isn’t his.

###

When she started her reality with Kihyun, did she ever think it was going to end?

From the start, maybe, she had done so…she doesn’t recall. What she knows is that she had never imagined the future with him—she liked to live in their present, in what makes their endless love palpable, how he simply took her out of her shell and showed to her that there was nothing to be ashamed for. The depth of her back, the aches of her body, the sighs that would leave her lips out of tiredness—even what hides underneath those oversized clothes of hers, inside her head in her biggest questions about life. He loved all of those, after all those days, he continued to love those moments in which he could see the magic of her working, when a touch of his hand is enough to electrify something inside her head and a smile to appear on her face.

He even almost got ran over because of her, and that just goes on to show that, yes, Kihyun was scared of whatever they had gotten to…of being their real selves with each other and letting the other love the most intricate of things about the other, but he still kept on. He’s brave, unlike her, not insecure of what she feels for her. He thinks there will be many chances of a job but not a lot of chances of having her—romance can be found, but she can’t be found again, in a way.

After a long day at the job, laying on the flooring of her apartment to keep her back straight, she realizes she has been staring at the ceiling for far too long, thinking of the promises she has made, the times she kissed over his bare chest, right on top of his heart, and whispered that she loved him…and she did. She really does love Kihyun more than she has loved anyone else, with all her might and glory, with all the confidence that she doesn’t have…but the questions in the back of her head tell her that she’d be homeless, rather destroyed if she didn’t take this opportunity up. Haeun would do anything in her willpower to destroy her career, something that Haeun could do in the matter of seconds.

All the tears would not have meant nothing.

All these days of worrying would have gone to waste.

Her eyes close when she finally presses the red button on the screen, calling Kihyun and pressing the phone to her ear. Lately, he has noticed how strange she is acting—it has tipped him over the edge, released the tension from him and made him say one or two things out of pure frustration, he just needed her to speak, but she couldn’t. Now, in a position in which she had to say something, she wondered what exactly she was doing. That’s the answer, she doesn’t know, there is nothing else she can do other than call him and—

“Hey babe, what’s the matter?”

Time won’t fly anymore, it has…with how much she has enjoyed their relationship, but something tells her that this night will go obnoxiously slow. She finally opens her eyes, blinded by the light on the ceiling, by the ache on her chest—it has always been her back that bothered, but now it feels like her heart just no longer wants to function with her, with this body that she no longer proclaims as hers but of life. As always, she makes the decisions based on the flow of time, not on what she wants— “Kihyun, I think we need to break up.”

Kihyun is honest, he always has been, he seriously should have been mad and out of his brain when he heard those words coming from her lips, but with a deep tone of his voice—almost downright coming from his chest, he asks: “Why?”

“That day…that night of my birthday, a few weeks ago, Haeun offered me to go to culinary school—”

“I really can’t believe you.”

“She said I needed to break up with you because she had found me a spot in a culinary school in Paris and—”

He actually sighs, expected of him to do so when she already feels tears threatening to appear in her eyes. No. She’s actually crying by now, aware of what she is doing—or has done. “That’s not an excuse. It has always been about your job and what you could lose, not about what I was betting when getting into this relationship. Because I love you, you get that?”

“I’m so sorry,” She whispers, wanting nothing more than for him to forgive him for the plane ticket that Haeun has sent her and the clothes that she is thinking of preparing just to leave to Paris. “I love you, too, Kihyun, but you know how difficult it has been for me to get a job in this industry and I don’t think I will get an opportunity like this.”

“You could continue dating me, even through culinary school.”

“What if Haeun got to know this? She’d—”

“Haeun, Haeun, Haeun. When will you stop caring what she thinks?!”

Something breaks inside of her, the sound of his voice enraged and torn, much more when she says: “I’m just being honest—I need to be loyal, to my dream, to my boss…you know I will have zero chances of getting an opportunity like this—”

“You know what? Fine.”

The sound of the phone on the other end finishing the call leaves her in absolute disdain, knowing that she’d never live a reality as beautiful as the one she had with Kihyun. Perhaps, reaching a good level in her career would never feel quite as real as the pain tearing her apart, now holding her chest to control the soft sobs that leave her lips.

She had broken all her promises, just in the name of loyalty.

But she had not been loyal to his love for him.

#kihyun scenarios #kihyun #monsta x scenarios #monsta x #kpop scenarios #the anti-love club #writing #monsta x au #monsta fluff #monsta x angst #kihyun au #kihyun fluff #kihyun angst #thoughts?

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liron-ao3 · 3 years

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Read on AO3 here.

Pie-ning

It's in the wee hours and the kitchen worktop looks like after a demon attack.

A thin layer of flour dusts the stainless steel, butter softened by being outside the fridge for too long slowly greases the surface. Scraps of clingfilm are stuck on the bench, and dough sticks to a rolling pin. Formerly ice-cold water reached room temperature a while ago.

Castiel sits at the wooden dining table, his arms folded underneath his head. "This is a disaster," he murmurs.

The plan started easy enough. Castiel waited until Dean, Sam, and Jack were fast asleep. Then he started with the filling, because the recipe said so.

Unfortunately he hadn't read it properly. It asked for ready made pie crusts and well, he hadn't had the time to go shopping and smuggling the apples inside had been difficult enough.

The filling was already cooling in the pot when Castiel started to search the internet for pie crust recipes. They sounded easy enough. Boy, was he wrong.

Cutting the dough with a fork was a drudgery and it took ages to produce something that looked even close to what the photos showed. Why for heaven's sake had a kitchen where Dean Winchester lived and breathed not a pastry cutter!?

The recipe mentioned to cool the dough for an hour, but Castiel was running out of time and hoped it wouldn't turn out too bad if he gave it just 15 minutes in the fridge.

Well, it did. Turn out bad, that is. About half an hour ago, Castiel declared defeat by carbohydrates and fat. Stupid molecules!

Right when he decides to rise and clean up the mess he made, the kitchen door swings open. In comes Dean, eyes still at halfmast, the open bathrobe showing his batman pyjamas. Castiel can't suppress a small smile at the sight. How can a grown man look so adorable?

When Dean catches his gaze, Castiel looks down at his wringing hands, not sure if he can hide the heat he sure feels crawling up his neck. Maybe it's just a phantom blush. He hopes it is just that.

"Whatcha doin', Cass?" Dean asks, looking around the kitchen. He scowls at the chaos.

Castiel diverts his gaze to the messy worktop and opens his mouth to say something, but his lips close again when he realises that the reason is a sure thing to turn into something he will be the butt of the joke of.

He gets up and walks over, scrapes the unsuccessful attempt of an apple pie into the wastebin.

Dean watches him in utter silence. He frowns at the scene as Castiel opens the fridge to save the rest of the butter, walks to the kitchen sink, does the dishes as if he hadn't heard the question still hanging between them.

Dean closes his eyes for a moment and shakes his still sleep-heavy head. This is too much before his first coffee of the day.

He contemplates to walk over to prepare a cup of liquid ambrosia, but the even for his own standards oddly acting angel deems him more important. Dean cocks an eyebrow at that thought. Must be the sleep deprivation talking.

Castiel concentrates on the cleaning. Maybe Dean will just walk away and leave him be. It's not as if he didn't already think him to be weird. Even after knowing each other for so long, Castiel is well aware of the fact that they might be friends, even family of some kind, but that Dean still doesn't see him as a normal man. He is always set apart, but who isn't in this strange, self-made family? They are all freaks in their own ways.

Dean's attempts to dress him up, to make him appear more human notwithstanding, Castiel thinks he still sees him as not really part of this world. Or maybe it's just Castiel's fear that whispers these thoughts into his ear. They've never been good at talking things out. That nearly broke their friendship more than once.

As Castiel pulls the plug and dries his hands on the white apron Dean loves to use, he feels a hand on his shoulder, warm and solid. He wishes it would ground him, but it doesn't. It stirs him up in a very confusing way. It's not exactly hurting. Castiel knows pain. He's a born soldier after all. But on the other hand, it kind of does, but in a more than physical way. Every touch outside a life and death situation sends tendrils through his body, interacts with his grace, lights up every synapse of the human body that is wholy his now. He feels like going up in flames, the heat spreading like a wildfire from his shoulder to every cell of his body.

The hand just stays where Dean put it, a silent question, just a few more unspoken words between them.

Castiel wishes he could just say out loud what it feels like to be touched by Dean. To finally see his reaction. At this point the outcome would be nearly all the same to him. His urge to make Dean happy, to help him with all the crap that is thrown at him won't go away anyway.

"Speak to me, buddy," Dean orders, his voice still rough from sleep, and Castiel huffs a tiny laugh in response.

"I wanted to surprise you."

Castiel can nearly hear Dean's frown now. He turns to look at the other man which is a mistake as they are standing way too close now. But they somehow always do, so what's the point in correcting it?

The soft titillation of Dean's breath dancing on Castiel's skin is a welcome distraction from the thoughts the angel allows himself to think only very rarely in Dean's presence.

The hunter's breath catches and he takes a step back. Of course.

"I thought it would be nice to have pie for the special occasion. I know traditionally it's a cake, but as you love pie, I thought ..."

Dean stares at him in confusion. "What are you talking about, man?"

"It's your birthday, Dean." Castiel shrugs his shoulders nearly apologetically. "Granted, I don’t know the traditions in the House of Winchester, as I never celebrated your birthdays with you before, but Sam didn't buy a cake and Jake won't know that ..."

"You baked me a birthday pie?" Dean asks with barely hidden delight in his voice. His face lights up in the most beautiful way. It takes Castiel's breath away for a long moment.

"Well, ... I tried," he says when he can breathe again. He gestures to the waste bin and presses his jaws together, "but it seems I failed."

Dean starts laughing, a whole body, full belly laugh. He slams his hands on the worktop and shakes his head. Castiel looks at him, a tiny smile forming on his lips. He could hear Dean laugh for all eternity. It's not often enough that he has a reason to do it. The lines around his eyes are at least 50 percent made of grief and pain. Castiel would give everything to let them grow deeper only from laughter from now on.

The sparkle in Dean's eyes catches him off guard. There was a time when Castiel had seen the beauty of Dean's soul, the goodness of his heart. He still sees all of this despite the things the hunter has done and what others did to him. But there is even more he sees now.

Maybe it's because he lived with humans for too long or it's just Dean, Castiel isn't quite sure. But what he is sure about is that Dean is beautiful on a purely physical level, scars, wrinkles, and all. It's the greenness of his eyes and the curl of his lips, the slight curve if his nose and the freckles dusting his cheeks. Castiel can barely keep himself from staring. Not that any of them is good at stopping themselves from doing that, again and again. It's awkward for everyone forced to watch.

Dean grins at him with that boyish look that makes him seem a decade younger and that turns Castiel's legs into jelly. Dean Winchester will be the death of him, most likely literally. The angel doesn't even care. It would be worth it, if he saved him instead.

"That's ...," Dean trails off and blushes a little. Adorable and beautiful shouldn't be looks that go hand in hand together, but the hunter somehow pulls it off. "I don't know what to say, buddy ... Thank you."

"There's nothing to thank for. Filling doesn't make a pie." Castiel waves his hand into the stove's direction and Dean straightens to walk over. He sticks his finger into the mixture and stuffs a piece of apple into his mouth.

Cinnamon explodes on his tounge, the tartness of the apple perfectly balanced with brown sugar. "That stuff is good. I tell ya, I could eat it with a spoon."

The mere thought that Castiel put into this warms Dean's heart in ways that he couldn't admit to anybody. He wished he could speak his thruth out loud just once. How these little gestures keep him from falling apart, how Castiel's kindness rubbs off on him, and how thankfull he is that the angel somehow manages it to keep him human. But that's not possible, not without risking to let even deeper things out. "This is friggin' awesome!" he says instead.

Castiel smiles mildly at the praise. He watches Dean beam at him as if he hang the moon and his heart threatens to leap out of his chest. Human bodies are weird.

"As I see it, we have two options here," Dean says matter-of-factly.

Castiel raises a questioning eyebrow, amusement clearly tugging on the corners of his lips. "Is that so?"

"Mmh," Dean says around another fingerful of filling. "A - We pull out the spoons and share it just between us; the others will never know. Or B - I show you how to make a proper crust."

Castiel's face turns into a countenance of surprise. "You know how to do that?"

"Yeah. It's not as easy as pie. The folk saying is wrong about that. But it's no witchcraft either."

Dean raises his hand to motion Castiel to stay put and returns just a few minutes later with an old notebook in his hand. A women's handwriting says 'Recipes' on the front and Dean browses the pages until he finds what he was looking for.

Castiel watches him in silence, his eyes tightening in concentration. Dean appears almost bubbly. The angel hasn't seen him like that often. It only occurs when the hunter lets his guard down and that's barely happening.

"There it is. My grandma's pie recipe. That's how my mum baked it."

Pain flickers over Dean's face for a second before he schools it. He walks to the fridge and pulls a fresh block of butter from the back of it, then collects the other ingredients.

"It's important to work quickly and then give it a good, cool rest," he says and starts working as if he had done this a hundred times before. Maybe he did. Castiel watches him with awe.

"Help me with the water and the vinegar," the hunter says and Castiel obliges with a soft smile, watching as Dean uses a wooden spoon to incorporate the liquids and then switches to using his hands to form the dough.

"I didn't know you were a baker," Castiel states.

Dean chuckles. "Well, I haven't done proper baking until we moved into the bunker. I used cake mixes before that. One year I stole cupcakes from the store for Sammy's birthday."

Dean's smile falters at the memory. "We aren't really great at celebrations. I tried to give Sammy the holiday and birthday experience, but ... I guess it fell short on what other people have."

Castiel looks at him with sad eyes. "I'm sure Sam appreciated your efforts."

Dean shrugs it off. There is no use in dwelling too long on his fucked up childhood. He clears his throat. "Where is the plastic wrap?"

Castiel reaches under the table and hands it over, their fingers brushing against each other when Dean takes it. The hunter looks at him from beneath his long eyelashes. Castiel remembers when he recreated every single one of them, not knowing what a gaze thrown through them would be able to do to him one day.

He swallows the sudden lump in his throat. Maybe he should just say it, get over with it, see Dean's disgust or delight or even indifference. But, no. That could destroy everything between them. It's enough to be allowed to be in Dean's orbit. It has to.

Dean busies himself to put the dough into the fridge and cleans the surface of the worktop. He dries his hands at a rag and leans against the kitchen island. Castiel's gaze is as unreadable as it is inescapable now and Dean feels a rush of something running through his body.

The softness of Castiel's eyes is warming him from inside out and the feeling is highly disturbing. He can't have these kind of emotions for his best friend who isn't even a real human being.

Dean rolls his eyes inwardly at himself. As if that would be the main problem here. He interrupts his train of thought and walks over to the coffee maker, brewing two cups.

"I wish I could have taken the pain away," Castiel says seemingly apropos of nothing.

Dean sits down at the table, putting one mug in front of him and one on the opposite side of the table. He stays silent for a long moment. "Care to elaborate?"

"When I rebuilt you. My order was to pull you out of hell and put you back into the exact state you were before, past injuries, bad memories, and all. I wish I had known you well enough then to spare you at least some of them."

Dean purses his lips and shruggs. "It's what made me who I am today."

Castiel nods and sits down. "That's true. A righteous man, loyal and caring. The best friend someone could ask for."

Dean blushes under the praise. "Come on, man. Don't turn this into a chick flick moment."

Castiel tilts his head to the side and his eyes tighten in concentration when he scrutinises the other man. "I wish you could see yourself the way that I do, Dean," he finally sighs, well knowing that the stubborn hunter would rather leave than listen to the truth. The truth that he is worthy to be saved, worthy to be loved, worthy to die for.

Dean takes a big gulp of his coffee, burning his tongue in the process. The pain is a welcome feeling. It eases the sadness and melancholy inside him that swarms his guts like an unwanted colony of bees. He can't handle Castiel looking at him like that, so open and warm as if he were the most precious gem in God's vast creation.

No, it can't be that. Castiel could never look at him like this. He knows his very soul, he knows how broken he is inside, how ugly his dark spots are and how rare the light ones. There's no way that he looks at him in adoration.

Dean wriggles about on his chair. He doesn't know what to make of it, of this look, of the way the angel always comes back no matter how often he chases him away. And he doesn't know what to make of the feeling of pure relief every time he sees his angel again, well and alive.

Fuck, this shouldn't be so difficult, right? He is just a friend, his best friend. Dean would bake him a cake too, if the angel had a birthday. Or maybe not. Without Castiel Dean wouldn't even know that it is his birthday, today. Calendars kind of lose their meaning if you're hunting monsters and fighting God 24/7, 365 days a year.

No, celebrations and anniversaries are for normal people, and the Winchesters and their chosen family are anything but.

The two men drink their coffee in silence until Dean starts chuckling. Castiel raises a questioning eyebrow.

"One year, I bought a cheap cake mix for my birthday. I used margarine to make it, butter was too expensive. The cake tasted awful," he chuckles. "But Sammy had the idea to coat it and we built little towers of thin sliced cake and jelly layers. My old man was drunk in front of the tv. I had been so happy that he wasn't gone for once that I brought him the tower I had built and he looked at me in this way, where your insides get all twisted and you think you will throw up."

Dean's fingers run over the rim of his now empty mug. He shakes his head to clear it from the memory. Why is every good one always attached to one tainting it?

He feels Castiel's hand nudging on his own, giving it a squeeze when he lets go of the cup without resistance. They keep the contact, loose and soft. It should bug Dean, but he can't make himself pull away. Castiel's hand is like an anchor pinning him to the presence. It's way too easy to get lost in memories if there isn't something or someone to hold on to.

Dean doesn't know how long they are sitting like this. It doesn't matter. He is so starved of human touch. When did he stop to pick up women for that? Maybe at the same time he started to feel comfortable in the rare hugs he and Castiel are sharing.

The timer pulls him out of his unhelpful musing. "Time to rock'n'roll," he exclaims a little too enthusiastically as he pulls his hand away, missing the touch instantly.

Castiel follows him and watches as he dusts the worktop with flour, much more lightly than the angel did a few hours earlier.

"C’mere," Dean says. "I'll teach you how to roll it out properly."

Castiel walks around the kitchen island and stands in front of the two balls of dough, squinting at them suspiciously.

Dean chuckles. "They won't bite. Flour the rolling pin and roll it over it. Not too timidly and not too slow. If it cracks in some places, we can fix it later."

Castiel does as he's told, but the dough doesn't cooperate. Dean laughs at his failing attempts and the angel swears unholy curses, the scale of his embarrassment rising steadily. For heaven's sake. He should be able to do such a mundane task with ease.

He's just short of giving up when he feels Dean moving around him, his hands gliding past him on either side.

Castiel holds his breath when Dean puts his hands on top of his own and guides his movements. The hunter's breath tickles his ear and the closeness of their bodies is nearly unbearable.

If Castiel just knew that Dean is feeling the same. That he's wavering between joy and dread, that the fear to overstep any boundaries nearly overwhelms him. But it feels too good to lightly press into the angel's body and it would be awkward if he pulled back now. So he decides to enjoy it, a little birthday present that's harming no-one but him.

When they managed to roll both crust out, Dean steps back and prepares the baking tin. It's only when the decorated pie is in the oven that his mind goes fully back to Castiel who just finished the cleanup.

Dean should make fun of his appearance, the apron powdered with flour just like the coat the angel is still wearing underneath. But he can't find it in himself to tease him. Because honestly? Castiel without his trenchcoat would border on nudity and Dean knows better than to let his thoughts go astray. It's too risky. It might make him blurt out how much he loves him, that he wants him to stay. Forever.

But no good would come out of it. Are angels even capable of romantic love? Physical attraction, sure. He had that with Anna. Obsession, clearly, as Ishim showed. But true love? Dean swallows at his own thoughts. He knows by now of what nature his feelings for Castiel are. It's not as if he didn't try not to fall in love with the angel. But he can't help it. Damn it, Elvis, shut up!

"What is it?" Castiel asks softly, his low voice vibrating through Dean's very soul.

"Nothing." Yeah, that sounded totally convincing. He clears his throat. "Thank you. For the idea to make me pie and for spending the time with me to finish it."

That sounded more cheezy than wanted, but Castiel doesn't get that. It's little mercies like these that keep Dean from forming puddles of embarrassment ever so often.

"You're welcome," Castiel says, forrowing his brows in a way Dean wants to kiss away. "I liked spending time with you. Although I still wish I would have managed to do it on my own."

Dean chuckles. "I baked our birthday cakes every year, but the only time I remember is the one with the jelly towers. It's memories like that that will stay with us, Cass. Not the picture perfect ones. Not that I had plenty of experience with those. Anyway." Dean clears his throat again. Why is it so dry?

Castiel nods. "You are a remarkable man and I hope to make many more beautiful memories like this with you."

Dean swallows around the lump in his throat with no success. How can the angel just say something like that? As if it was the most natural thing to say. Maybe it is. Or Castiel is just insane. Dean doesn't know what's normal anymore. Maybe he doesn't want to if it means having the angel at his side.

"Yeah," he agrees tersely, too worried that the truth might spill out otherwise. How Castiel's sheer presence makes his life more beautiful, that he would be happy to just look into his eyes and forget the world as he does right now. But he keeps it inside, neatly packed away next to all the other things he holds on tightly, never to see the light of day. His love is poison. He knows that. It had been for Sam, for Lisa and Ben, and even for Castiel way too many times to count.

He wasn't aware that he was staring again when Castiel moves into his personal space and cups his face tenderly with both hands. It would be easy to just lean in a little, to brush his lips over the angel's.

"Happy birthday, Dean," Castiel says reverently and Dean closes his eyes. It's too much and way too little. And still the best birthday present of his life.

#happy birthday dean #happy birthday dean winchester #dean winchester #fanfiction #destiel #deancas #I miss Dean #Dean deserved better

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letsbenditlikebennett · 3 years

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Who Are You || Ariana & Kaden

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @chasseurdeloup & @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: Kaden shows Ariana how to make proper croissants and they share some real talk about what happened with Lydia. CONTENT: Mentions of sibling death and gun use

If you had told Ariana seven or so months ago that she’d be hanging out at Kaden’s apartment and getting a baking lesson, there was no way she should have believed it. By nature, they were supposed to be at odds. At least, that’s the narrative that the world tried to thrust upon them. Growing up with Celeste, she never fully bought into it, but Kaden had seemed to be a diligent hunter. One who she feared the moment she realized what he was, but that fear was far from her now as she rolled out the dough for the croissants with a determined look on her face. The layering on these required more precision and concentration than she preferred. Cooking had always been preferred to baking, but the latter had started to grow on her. She was careful with the rolling pin and looked back to Kaden once the last layer was rolled out. “You said we chill the dough again after this, right?” With confirmation, she set the dough back in the freezer and smiled at Abel who was diligently waiting by the entrance to the kitchen in hopes of some scraps. “Sh- Putain,” she looked back at the freezer, “Sorry croissants. Are all French pastries this challenging? These make biscuits look like a cake walk.”

“Yes, chill it and we’ll go from there. Oven has to preheat still, too.” It was strange to think that Kaden was willingly inviting a werewolf over to his apartment. And not to kill them, either. If it wasn’t for the pinpricks parading down his spine, he wouldn’t really think of Ariana as a werewolf at this point. She seemed so human. And she was a good person. That much he didn’t doubt, not at this point. Still not something he could have pictured a year ago. It should feel wrong but instead, there was some comfort in having her there with him in the kitchen, to not be alone. “Not all of them, no. Some of them are more challenging than this,” he said with a smirk as he continued to prep their work stations. He wasn’t sure what exactly it was about baking that was so calming, stabilizing in a way. Maybe it was because he could focus on just what was in front of him. And none of it had anything to do with monsters or nightmares or any other bullshit. Just flour, sugar, butter, a recipe, precise steps that had some room for experimentation, but still straight forward enough that there was minimal guess work. And as much as he’d resisted ever becoming a teacher or trainer for hunter bullshit, he was almost enjoying sharing what he knew with others. Another weird thing he never expected. “It’ll be worth it though; the work. There’s nothing quite like a fresh croissant. You’ll see. All others will be ruined for you.”

Ariana nodded along to Kaden’s instructions in regard to the croissants. They were somewhat familiar with her’s and Athena’s previous attempts. Apparently baking with hunters was one of her new hobbies. It was strange, being so firmly planted in the middle of two so very different worlds. Even with Alcher coming around and respecting her way of thinking, everything left her feeling like she didn’t quite belong anywhere despite her dream of finding her own supernatural community. A pack of sorts. But she had to believe she was making a difference. Kaden, a werewolf hunter who by all indications had been good at hunting and believed in what he did, had her in his home yet again. Though he seldom liked to admit it he cared for her. A whole ass werewolf. A small one, but still a werewolf nonetheless. He saw her as a person. He saw Regan as a person. Morgan, too. He even chose not to kill Lydia. His connections had to be making some sort of impact and she had to believe she was helping make things better somehow. The spaced-out look on her face was brief as she quickly remarked, “More challenging? I guess that’s why French cuisine is so renowned.” Still, a question sat on the edge of her tongue, but she smiled calmly anyway though her fidgeting hands likely gave her away. “If these aren’t the best croissants I’ve ever had, I want my money back,” she joked knowing full well she didn’t pay for any of the ingredients. Finally, she bit the bullet and leaned against the counter not caring all that much for the flour getting on her. She looked to Kaden somewhat cautiously. “Can I ask you something?”

Kaden smiled as he watched her try to process a baking process more complicated than what they were doing now. “Hey, there’s a reason I usually stick to pies.” He made sure the counter was sufficiently floured and ready to work, double checked the oven. Yeah, all the could do now was wait a few minutes.”Not that I don’t enjoy a challenge, just sometimes it was nice to work with a little less precision, a little mindlessly, I guess,” he added with a shrug. Especially if he was looking for some relaxation. Pastries where one wrong decision ruined the whole thing was far from relaxing. Stress found him easily enough outside of the kitchen, he did what he could to minimize it here. “Yeah, yeah. You’ll get your heavy investment back if these don’t turn out, Ari. Don’t worry.” He almost said he promised. Almost. He ought to know better than to use that word by now. Somehow the air around them shifted slightly. He couldn’t describe it. At first he wondered if it was just the chill down his back nagging at him once more, but that wasn’t it. “Sure. What?” he responded as he rested against the counter across the way, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

This was easily the most relaxed Ariana had personally ever seen Kaden. They’d spent a good chunk of the afternoon baking and joking around. It felt like this was the way things were supposed to be more often than not. “Well, you make damn good pies and I get to eat the pies so no complaints here,” she said with a small smile. She hoped the question she had to ask wouldn’t completely ruin the mood, but it had been on her mind for weeks now. With how evident it was he cared for her, it was clear something changed and her curiosity had never been easy to keep at bay. With confirmation it was okay to ask, she assured, “I know I’m not supposed to use this word, but you’re not fae and I want you to know I’m serious-- So I promise that no matter what the answer is, I’m not going to judge you or think any less of you.” After all, it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing he chose not to kill someone. She leaned against the counter and softened her features though her eyes were still inquisitive. “Why didn’t you kill Lydia? What stopped you?” It wasn’t a question that could be sugar-coated, but she kept her tone soothing as if to verbally cue that she was upholding her promise.

Kaden’s mouth pulled into a thin line at the word “promise.” Sure, she had a point, but it did nothing but make his stomach churn at this point. The word was laced with so much pain and turmoil now. Funny how much a stupid singualr word could mean. But this was Ari. It was safe. Safe as it could be at least. Weird enough he thought of a werewolf as “safe.” Still, he waited, arms crossed, and nodded, waiting for her question. He didn’t know what he expected her to ask, but it wasn’t that. He pulled back his shoulder blades, shifted his stance and looked away, as if the answer could be found by staring off somewhere in the distance. His fingers pulled at the cloth of his shirt around the crook of his elbows. It didn’t help him sort through anything much. “I don’t--” He bit at the inside of his lip, pulling back his words. Even if he wasn’t sure how to articulate his answer, he knew there was one. Somewhere. He knew. Deep down. It was somewhere. “I just…” He sighed and dropped his arms and rubbed his temples. “I just couldn’t.” He couldn’t meet Ari’s eyes either. “I was there and I had the knife to her chest and I just… I couldn’t do it. Something about…” He shook his head again and struggled to find a way to describe it. Nothing about explaining felt right. His choice felt wrong no matter how he framed it. But at the same time, he didn’t think he’d have done anything different when push came to shove. And what he made of that, he didn’t know. “I just couldn’t, alright. I-- I couldn’t be like her.”

Ariana watched him calmly as he struggled to answer her question. It was a loaded one, she knew that, but it was also important. Kaden wasn’t exactly the most open when it came to verbalizing what was on his mind and even when he did, it was mostly French swear words. Not that she faulted him for as much. The more strained Kaden’s words sounded, the softer her own features became. He needed to know that no matter where he was currently at, she wasn’t going to fault him or abandon him. Something told her he was getting better, seeing other supernatural people as well… people. “You mentioned that before,” she said calmly, “There just has to be a why there. Even if you haven’t figured it out yet.” Then what he said next caused something in her to crack. Her head snapped up abruptly and she looked a bit alarmed by what he said. She quickly assured, “You could never be like Lydia.” Even if in their own ways, they had both been killers, intentions mattered. While Lydia needed to eat, she didn’t need to torture those poor humans. She didn’t need to use her words to hurt others who weren’t even her food source, but Lydia did all of those things with little regard. That wasn’t Kaden. She struggled to make eye contact as his own gaze cast away from her, but she continued, “You’re nothing like her and you won’t ever be like her. I can get that Lydia had to feed, but what she did- she tortured people needlessly. She hurt people intentionally just because she could. To exert her power or whatever. That’s not you. Even if you- You do what you do to help people.”

Still, his answer left Ariana with more questions. Questions she wasn’t sure wouldn’t make Kaden lose any sense of cool he was trying to maintain, but even if he did get annoyed with her, she was sure they’d be able to snap back so she asked, “Do you see her as more than a monster then? It’s okay if you do. I don’t think I could have killed her either as much as I don’t mourn the fact she’s gone.”

Kaden wrung his hands together in thought. So much so that when he looked down, all the flour he’d coated them with had been wrung away. Putain. He turned to wipe them with the white powder, coating them just enough to repel any of the dough they would be working with. Not that he needed to right then, they weren't going to handle the dough for a bit. But he needed to do something. He had to. He hadn’t done anything in that clearing. Well, that wasn’t true. He did something, but it wasn’t enough, was it? A group had to clean up after him, after his choices. Ones that nearly got him killed. A few times. He’d been rubbing his hands back and forth to shake off some of the excess flour, but he’d realized once again that he’d wiped off too much. Fuck.

“I-- It’s not like that,” Kaden started, wanting to run his hands through his hair and thinking better of it, settling to rub the flour deeper into his skin instead. “I know I’d never torture or-- But that’s not…” He pinched his eyes closed and shook his head. He wasn’t sure if this was who he should be having this conversation with of all people. As much as he cared about Ari, as good hearted as she was and as instrumental as she was in taking Lydia down, she was still a kid. Right, sure. A kid who to deal with so much death already. Things no one was prepared for. He looked back at her and tried to remember himself at that age. What Oscar would have thought he was ready to hear, and what Kaden at that age would have thought in comparison. Maybe he shouldn’t use Oscar as a goal post. Still. Maybe this was fine. Right? Putain.

“She nearly killed me, Ari,” Kaden said, looking back down at his hands. Hands that had destroyed as much as they helped create, maybe more. Deadly hands. He took a sharp inhale before looking back to her. “She had a gun to my heart. Point blank. And I got lucky it was out of ammo.” He’d been there on the other side of the gun, of the death. He saw the look in her eyes before she was sure she was going to kill him. The fear had left her from earlier and all that was there was cold determination. The clarity that she was right. The look he was sure so many creatures had seen painted on his face before the twist of his knife or the bullet left the gun. He’d faced death hundreds of times in his life. But he’d never been on the other side of the hunt like that. Not once. Usually it was a kill or be killed that was still the prey fighting back. This was… different. “I was on the other side of it and I-- when the tables turned. I couldn’t choose it. To be what she had intended to be.” It made him weak, foolish. To let her go after all that. To abandon all his training for the sake of some stupid thought of his soul and its fate. What did his morality matter for the greater good? Apparently more than it had in the past. “I don’t know if I see her as anything other than a monster. She was-- That wasn’t the point. Not-- I couldn’t be on the other side of the knife. For some fucking reason.” The dough had to be ready by now. He swung the freezer open and pulled it out and placed it on the counter. Like it was of any importance. Like he was allowed to play at being normal.

Ariana watched him intently as he processed what she’d asked him. The way his hands couldn’t seem to keep still was more than indication this wasn’t an easy topic. She’d never been under the illusion it would be, but it was still difficult to watch Kaden struggle all the same. His hands kept brushing the flour away only to re-coat them in flour moments later. As if the physical movements could tie any of this together in a nice, simple way. But that’s the thing, this wasn’t simple. There was no way it’d ever be simple, but it was important. She wished Celeste was here. If anyone could help Kaden figure all of this out, it was her. But she wasn’t here. She wouldn’t ever be here to offer her wisdom again, so Ariana would try to bring some of her energy to the conversation the best she could. “Alright, maybe it’s not the point, but it’s still an important distinction. Something you stand for.”

Prior to the mention of nearly killing Kaden, Ariana had still been leaning against the counter keeping her arms calmly at her side. The idea of Lydia killing Kaden made her hands ball up into fists. Her anger was all directed at Lydia, but she tried her best to keep her features gentle though her face ended up looking like more of a grimace. It reminded her just how much Kaden getting killed was a distinct possibility. The thought only made her want to lock him away in this apartment, but she knew he’d never stand for that. “You’re only here because the gun was out of ammo,” she said, her voice coming out as a strained whisper and her fists clenching even tighter. The more he spoke, the more questions she had. He couldn’t be her when the tables were turned, but hadn’t he been so many times before? Lydia was far worse than any werewolf she’d ever met so she was having a difficult time understanding. She took a few deep breaths and reminded herself, Kaden was still here, and even if this didn’t make sense to her, they still had each other.

“You couldn’t be on the other side of the knife… or gun,” Ariana asked slowly, still not entirely sure on what to make of that. The fact she was important to him was enough to show Kaden’s values were changing, but not in a way that seemed concrete as of yet. Now she felt tense. She wasn’t sure how to clarify without making Kaden feel defensive. She’d meant what she said, that there was no judgment on her part. People were capable of some pretty amazing things when people believed in them and hell, she believed in Kaden. Maybe other wolves would think she was foolish for it, but time and again, Kaden had showed up for her when it mattered most. “Look,” she started, “I’m not trying to- What I’m going to say, I don’t mean it in a bad way. I just want to understand. And I think you need to understand. You need to know where you stand so you don’t get killed out there.” There was a good chance he’d tell her to drop it, but even if he at least thought about it, he was one step closer to making his own way. Keeping himself safer by not putting himself in a position of fighting someone he couldn’t kill. She let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and finally let her hands relax. “You’ve been on the other side of the knife before,” she reminded him gently, “Something has to be different-- even if it’s you.”

Something he stood for. Right. More and more, Kaden wasn’t sure what he stood for. Everything had softened from black and white to shades of grey and it was harder to have a clear picture of what he did and didn’t support. And if that was good or bad, he couldn’t say. His hands clenched into fists for a moment before releasing them, a small puff of flour floating in the air around them as he let the tension fall away. It was strange to hear it put so plainly, coming from her mouth of all places. He’d be dead if the gun hadn’t been out of ammo. It just lent credence to the question of whether he should have even confronted her in the woods by himself. Maybe not. Probably not. What good had it done. He wanted to slink down against the counter and fall to the floor to sit, just collapse into himself with the whole thing. But he wasn’t alone. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Ari, tense and clearly struggling to calm herself down. He wasn’t going to fall to pieces in front of her. Not if he could help it, so he gripped the edge of the counter instead, held himself up, like nothing was wrong.

His knuckles went white as he held it tighter, a little more with every difficult question she posed. “That’s what I said, yeah,” Kaden confirmed, tersely. He wanted this over and done with. Nothing would change by dragging this up, would it? And she was too young to carry all this. He was sure of it. But she kept poking at it, prodding. “I know that,” he said, his voice snapping harsher than he’d meant to. “I know,” he repeated, softer this time. “I know I need focus but it’s not…” It wasn’t simple or clear anymore. “I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about me, alright?” He turned away from her, and back towards the fridge to grab the dough, a silent savior from his thoughts. The sooner they were baking, the sooner he could drown all this out. “That was my point, Ari. I’ve been on the side that kills. Not the one that--” The lump in his throat didn’t let the rest of his words flow free. “So yeah. I don’t know. Doesn’t matter right now. Grab the rest of the dough, alright?”

Ariana watched on as she could see Kaden struggling with himself. While his distress and confusion were both visible, they didn’t quite make it to his words outside of a bit of a bite in his tone that he immediately softened. Her own flour covered hands started to fidget. This was something he needed to face, but maybe this wasn’t the time or she wasn’t the person. Part of her longed for Celeste to be here, she could help him through this and he wouldn’t feel obligated to be the strong adult in the room. She sighed and finally said, “Okay then. You can say that, but I’m still going to worry about you. Kind of comes with the whole giving a shit thing.” She tried to convey understanding in her features. There was no furrow in her brow or scrunch in her nose. Just calm eyes that tried to let Kaden know he wasn’t being judged here. “And that’s okay. You know that, right? I hope you know that. Maybe I can never really understand, but it does matter. Even if it’s not me, you should talk to someone and figure it out… though I have been told I’m wise beyond my years.” She said the last part a little more lightheartedly to get Kaden to stop looking like he might further grind down the flour. “But yeah, yeah, I’ll grab the dough and you can show me how it's done.”

Kaden paused a moment, still facing the dough on the counter. He would have to turn and face her eventually. Where the conversation went from here was up to him. “I haven’t been out. If that makes you feel better. On the full moon. Not for a while.” He looked down and noticed he’d been tracing small circles in the flour on the counter. He quickly used his palm to brush them away, clear the slate. He took a deep breath and finally faced her, letting it out as a sigh as he saw her face, seeing how hard she was trying to reach out. He tried to focus on what he knew. Ariana was a good kid. He wasn’t going to let her die. She was also a werewolf. He hunted werewolves. Where did that-- No. Focus. She was a werewolf who he wanted to protect. Even though she’d nearly killed him. So that meant he was questioning his codes. It had to. There was no other way to frame that, as much as he wanted to. That was something he had to grapple with. And soon. But he wasn’t sure how. Putain. Ari was so willing to help. But at the end of the day, she was still a kid, though. As much as she was like her sister, she wasn’t her. He gave her a smile, genuine but still small. “Thanks. For, uh. Just thanks.” He grabbed a small handful of flour and threw it at her, biting back laughter. “But no more bullshit. It’s time to bake.”

#kaden #wickedswriting #sibling death tw #gun use tw #mentions only

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sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 4 years

Text

That Be Some Good Buttercream

Summary- Steve and Bucky get your help in replicating a howling commando days battle using Christmas baking fun. But... Does anything ever quite work out the way it should? Set in the same characters I used in Night In, Looking Pretty Fly and Popping Pez and Mismatched Socks. Written for @official-and-unstable-satan 300 Follower Celebration Challenge. She still has many prompts, check it out. Prompts in italiacs. No warnings, all fluffy.

Word Count- 1.6k

A/N- so proud of your accomplishments babes, you are an amazing writer and I love getting lost in your stories and listening to your ideas. I know your just gonna keep going up from here. Love you always babygirl 💚😈💚😈💚😈💚

“Bucky, they came around from the south end”

“No they did not. I remember Steve, I was there.”

“Yea, and so was I”

You and Sam had been listening to the two super soldiers carry on at the oversized table in the compounds kitchen dining area for a good hour before you readjusted the volume on the tv once more. Sam, half laying over half the couch remained scrolling on his phone, remarking.

“Aint gonna do you no good, they just get louder.”

You sigh and hit the off button, he was right. Might as well go see what these two were up to anyways. Pushing yourself off the couch, Sam promptly stretched his legs out onto where you were sitting, making himself comfterable. “See you on the other side Kid!” He joked, settling into watching youtube.

Wandering in, you saw the two men bent over large map, Steve with pencil in hand drawing arrows to discern where they started from, stretching it across what looked like a military base. Bucky shook his head.

“No no no, Punk, I wasnt up there, I was down here”

“Bucky, I had you up on the highest point, it just looks weird on paper.”

“You know what, this is pointless.” You could see Bucky getting aggitated with there project, pushing himself away from the table. “We need like... a 3D model to get this right.”

Steve to straightened up, his arms folding as he looked down at the heavily marked paper. “Well... Tony does have some...” You interrupt in this time, moving over to the table and taking a peek at what they were doing.

“You know, I have an idea of how to make you two a 3D model.” Both the men quirked brows, curious as to what you had in mind. "Givingerbread reanatcment.”

You expected a rebuttal, a laugh, anything, since you were joking. But the two of them actually looked thoughtful, glancing at each other. “It would be easier then trying to draw it out” Steve mentioned. “And easier then trying to get Tony to set up the AI model for us.”

“Plus we get some fucking cookies... Im in.” Bucky grinned, obviously pleased in the options of snacks. What started as a joke from you became a very serious matter as the two Soldiers dragged you into the kitchen. The two of them looking at you expectedly.

“I was just joking guys, Im not making you a hydra replica gingerbread base. You know how much shit that would take.” At this point you backtracking a bit, wishing the words hadnt fallen out of your mouth so damn easily cause you thought is was funny.

“Nonsense, you wont be doing all of it. Were going to help.” Steves already moving to wash his hands as Bucky is digging through a drawer and slipping on a god damn “Kiss the Cook” apron, he found in a drawer, ties it swiftly around his back and rolls up his sleeves.

“You know you always wanted to boss us around Doll.” Bucky smirks, wiggling brows in a teasing manner. “You finally get your chance.”

You look between the two men, the two of them nodding in encouragement, Steve composed as ever, waiting for You to explain how to start, and Bucky well he was opening drawers, pulling out random stuff that he thought you might use. He held up a spatula with a smirk, slapping the utinsel against his palm. “How about we get this train moving kids.”

Relenting, you turn to your phone for a recipe. “Okay fine, since you all insist. We need flour, sugar, eggs, ginger, cinnamon....” While your listing, both men are scrambling to find everything, and piling it on the counter, yourself you bring out some bowls, cookie cutters, lets face it. You needed the actual men to decorate like howling commandos. Turning on the oven to get it preheated, you search for decorations. “Steve, store run? We gotta make this accurate you know, and Buckys all dressed up for a day baking. Hate to send him." You just kinda motion lver Buckys getup, the kiss the cook stretched over his chest, the apron a size to small for him really.

Your already grabbing paper and jotting down a detailed list of food coloring, frosting, candies and such. Steve snatched the list when you held it out, he had a general idea of it all and nodded. "Dont hesitate to put Bucky to work. He just pretends to be all intimidating."

You roll your eyes and back in the kitchen theres a "Steve your a dick" retort from Bucky whos looking over the mess of ingredients piled on the counter. Steve, seemingly joyful as he grabbed keys and left, you suspect you might not see him at least another hour or two. No worries, you had the other super soldier on hand.

Heading back in you hand Bucky a bowl and eggs. "Start cracking, separating yolk from white, and no shells." You cant help but from watching him, looking a bit like a lost child, before he he starts to crack eggs and inspect for shells. You watch from the corner of your eye as you put together the dry ingredients, and start mesuring out the molasses, talking him through the rest of the buttercream frosting ingredients.

Dipping your finger in his finished product, you lick the tip of your finger, smirking at his widened eyes. Yea Steve, hes very intimidating. You maybe took a bit to much pleasure in teasing Bucky on occasion. "Mmmhh my very favorite part.... "

He cleared his throat and looked away, it might be a bit mean, but he would give it back later, this was a dance the two of you played. "Okay, what now?" He said a bit gruff and you grab your rolling pin, holding it to him.

Eyeing it a moment, his brow arched. "Ya want me to roll the dough?"

"Yea Buck, nice and thin, since you two want to make all these outer buildings as well." Pointing to Steve's sketching, And you reached in the dough and piled it on the counter on front of Bucky. "And Steve said to put you to work."

"I notice you gave Steve the easy job." He muttered as he started to flatten the dough.

"I knew you were more capable."

Bucky couldn't hide the grin at the compliment, and afterwards you both measured, cut and got the cookie sheets in the oven. Stealing part of the couch back from Sam and watching trash tv till the oven beeped. Bucky vaulted over the couch, head back into the kitchen and pulled them out of the oven.

"Are they firm?" You ask, peeking at them, a light brush of your fingers against them. The room smelled like bake gingerbread and smooth sugar. Tempting delectables to say the least.

"Yup, now what?"

"Cool and mantle your buildings." You say as You slide them off onto wire racks. "Go get the frosting, and I will show you." Already he was rummaging in the fridge to retrieve it. Peeling off the plastic cling, you pick up one of the cooler pieces and edged it with icing. Folding two pieces together. "Easy as that. You try."

Bucky took it so seriously, the tip of his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he piped that icing. His brows furrowed together in a dip right at the center. You bite back a grin and get a large dollop of icing on your finger and flick it at the man. Landing right in his face. He drops his cookie in surprise and blinks though the icing. "Fucken hell, Y/N! Whats that for?" Wiping it off, he flicks it back at you and you squeal getting hit.

That's war!

"Oh its on Barnes" smirking as you grab a cookie and crumble it, shooting it at him. Cookies fly, icing it flung, flour, and sugar is used to blind one another, you two ducked around the table, screaming and yelling insults playfully.

Bucky tried using the hose at the kitchen sink to spray you, in which you ducked and rolled right into him, the two of you collapsing in a heap on the floor among all your hard work, broken and scattered. Steve stood in the doorway, arms laden with two paper bags, his jaw hanging open at the mess. Bucky pokes you to get your attention and the two of you sit up, covered. Head to toe in frosting, flour and cookies.

"I was just gone an hour..."

"Its a long time to be left unsupervised." You shrug as you smear some frosting off your shirt and lick it off your finger, Bucky helped himself to your shirt frosting to since he had thrown half the bowl on you.

"Oh damn, thats good!" He grins.

"What about this is good?! You mean your gingerbread murder scene?!" Steve toed a dead gingerbread man with the tip of his shoe.

Bucky looked around and glared at his friend. "IT WAS HISTORICALLY ACCURATE" His voice raided to defend the mess and you promptly stuff a cookie in his mouth to shut him up.

"Come on Steve. Did the Hydra base not look like this after you two and the howling commandos were done?" You throw a cookie at him which bounced off his chest. "Eat a cookie, you feel better" next to you Bucky continued eating broken gingerbread men, grinning at his friend and nodding.

"Best damn cookies besides your mama's!" Bucky added between mouthfuls

"I just... Pick this up you two before tony throws a fit." Turning with the bags of candy he bought, passing Sam, he ditched them on the man still scrolling youtube

"You couldn't watch them for two seconds Sam?"

"And break up that little love fest? Puh-lease" Sam grinned at Steve and dug into the paper bags looking through the snacks, pulling out twizzlers.

"SCORE!"

@what-is-your-plan-today @p8tn0lish @kitkatd7 @stuckonjbbarnes @sebbbystaaan @kimisama1989 @simsadventures @that-damn-girl @imanuglywombat @jtargaryen18 @stardancerluv @princess-evans-addict

#satanoutofcontext #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #steve rogers #sam wilson #mcufam #fluffy #writing challenge #sweater writes #amber writes

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aiweirdness · 5 years

Text

Bigger than before! A larger neural net tries to write fanfiction

I’ve done several experiments with GPT-2, a neural net that OpenAI trained on millions of pages from the internet. OpenAI has been releasing the neural net in stages, with the second-biggest model, 774M, just recently released. I decided to put it through its paces. Last week’s experiment, where I generated new XFL team names? Merely a warmup challenge. This week’s task is fanfiction.

Unlike the experiments where I trained neural nets from scratch on Harry Potter fanfiction summaries, I didn’t do any special training of 774M, just used talktotransformer.com to prompt it with the opening line of a scene. To up the challenge (and to make it more interesting), each of the prompts (in bold) introduces a new crossover or puts a character in a situation that hopefully it hasn’t already seen too often in online fanfic.

Hermione pushed frantically at the controls of the spaceship.

"We have to take this ship out of service!" she shouted, pushing the controls.

Harry Potter stepped forward, his face contorted, and pointed his wand at the controls and the ship.

"Fire! Fizzle! Burn!"

The control fires suddenly started being foggled by the magic, the ship starting to rise up from the ground and then it was off.

verdict: impressive! knows this is the Harry Potter universe, displays a basic understanding of what spaceships and wands do, and even makes a convincing attempt at magic incantations.

Kylo Ren glared at Han Solo from his bedroom doorway. His hair was completely white and his eyes were black.

The young smuggler took a breath and turned his head to face Kylo Ren. His eyes were focused on Han. Kylo Ren was very tall (at least 6′11″) and extremely muscular. His face was covered in a large beard. From his voice, it seemed like Kylo Ren was not his real father and he was the illegitimate one. Kylo Ren was very smart and was able to use the Force to his advantage. In the same way, Han Solo was always talking to other people and was not even aware of his own existence. He had never been exposed to the light side nor the dark side as it were. Because of how well Kylo Ren could communicate with the dark side of the Force, he was able to manipulate Han when he was feeling down. Han, himself, was a Jedi Knight who would learn the dark side first.

verdict: was this written by Kylo Ren? The AI definitely knows this is supposed to be Star Wars fanfic, but it doesn’t always seem to know exactly who the characters are. The fact that it DOES stick with the same characters for even this long is impressive.

Darth Vader glowered at the cupcake batter, spoon in hand. Lumpy, lumpy... why was the batter always so lumpy? Ahhh... why was he always being so... why was he even here in the first place?!

"You're the one with the chocolate, kid," said the voice. All around him, there was a flurry of people moving their heads in the hopes of finding one who could help them in the dark, to no avail. The cupcake batter was too thin and the butter too thick. Too thin, yet too thick... too thick!

"Why is the butter so thin?!" cried one of the few that didn't seem to have noticed, and this was no help, for the cake batter was so thick it was almost un-cakey (and just looking at it made me want to break all of the cake into tiny pieces). "Why aren't there any pieces in the pan!"

"And no crumbs falling out. There's too many layers!"

verdict: most text-generating neural nets would have drifted in focus by now. But 774M is still here, thinking of new ways that cakes can go wrong. Speaking of cakes…

Mary Berry's Victoria Sandwich Cake

Ingredients: 225 g (8 oz) softened butter 225 g (8 oz) caster sugar 4 large eggs 225 g (8 oz) self-raising flour 2 level tsp baking powder 2 x 20cm (8in) greased and lined sandwich tins

How to make: Combine the butter, sugar and flour in a large mixing bowl. In a separate medium bowl, mix the eggs with the self-raising flour and water just until combined. Sift in the water, the icing toffee and the vanilla extract. Chill for 30 minutes. Once chilled, fold the dry mix into the wet mixture, beating well after each fold. Roll out the dough into a 14cm (5in) circle, trimming the centre to create a triangle. Cut out the triangles from the center but leave some space around the base for the filling. Cut 3 triangles each from the edges. Brush the triangles with buttercream. Roll each of the triangles again into a circle, making sure not to wrap completely around the base. Cut into 12 triangles again. Brush the triangles with buttercream again. Roll each one into a 3.5cm (1in)(6.3cm) circle. Cut into 12 more triangles and brush with buttercream. Roll each one into a circle again, making sure not to wrap completely around the base. Cut into 12 more triangles and brush with buttercream. Fold one over the other. Brush with buttercream. Fold one over the other. Brush with buttercream. Cut each triangle into 3 triangles, brush with buttercream and trim one last triangle. Cut three lengths of the triangle in half, brush with buttercream and trim one more triangle. Brush with buttercream and trim the triangles into 1 more segment. Brush with buttercream and trim the triangles into 3 segments. Brush with buttercream and trim the triangles into 1 more segment. Brush with buttercream and trim the triangles into a full length. Brush with buttercream and trim the triangles into a final segment. Brush with buttercream and trim the triangles into 1 more segment. Brush with buttercream and trim the triangles into a final segment. Brush with buttercream and trim the triangles into a final segment. Brush with buttercream and trim the triangles…

verdict: the neural net will not be winning the Great British Bakeoff Technical Challenge anytime soon. i would like to see a video of this recipe being made. The next prompt is a preview of the subject of my next blog post.

Harry threw down his crochet hooks in frustration. The hat just wouldn't turn out properly, no matter how hard he tried. Harry wasn't sure how much longer he would keep up the habit.

Forcing his thoughts back into the present, Harry sighed and pulled the hat off his head. He was glad that the hat was so small, because he knew he wouldn't be able to wear it for the length of time he had planned.

He looked around his house for something to wear. He found a thin woolen jacket and pulled it over his head. Although still not nearly the long enough to cover his ears, it would be enough. He took his shoes off and placed them in his shoe box. He could wear his socks now, they hadn't grown out of hand. He threw on his glasses and went outside.

verdict: I didn’t specify that this is Harry Potter, so fair enough. While sticking creditably with the theme of items of clothing, the AI displays a perhaps shaky grasp of just how they work.

Subscribers get bonus content: I generated more of these than would fit in this blog post. It’s kind of hard to stop, actually.

My book You Look Like a Thing and I Love You is now available for preorder! It comes out November 5.

Amazon - Barnes & Noble - Indiebound - Tattered Cover - Powell’s

#neural networks #gpt-2 #gpt-2-774M #fanfic #harry potter #british bakeoff #recipes

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gabriel-agreste-has-no-rights · 4 years

Link

Rating: G

Summary: An offhand curiosity leads to Ladybug and Chat Noir riding his baton up as high as it can go. Or, as high as it can go before they get distracted. (It's just nerves about the height that has Ladybug's stomach in knots, she swears.) Ladynoir oneshot for @lovesquarefluffweek, dedicated to @rosekasa who made me a ladynoir stan

Word Count: 3511

XXX

Marinette rested her hands on her hips, watching in amusement as her partner finished wedging his staff in the crack in the dilapidated rooftop.

“This is a horrible idea,” she said idly.

His tongue stuck out as he tried wiggling the stick, ensuring that it was secured fast. “Come on, Bugaboo, none of your ideas have ever been horrible.”

Strictly speaking, this wasn’t her idea. She’d only wondered how far Chat’s baron could extend, if its length was as infinite as her yo-yo’s string. It was her ridiculous, adrenaline-junkie partner who wanted to ride the baton up as far as it could go.

Not that it was that dangerous, really. They’d done it a few times to scout for some akuma or another during attacks. Besides, it would be nice to see the city from such a height without a threat looming over them—or below them.

“It wasn’t an idea. It was a question,” she still said on principle. “I didn’t think you were actually going to test it.”

He rested his chin on the top of the baton and grinned. “How long have you known me? I’m not majoring in Physics for nothing.”

“You’re not majoring in Physics.” She leaned in to flick his nose, which only made him grin wider. “Not for another two months, and not ever if you become a pancake by pulling some stupid stunt before then.”

“How could I hurt myself? I’ll have my amazing partner right there to catch me if I fall.” He winked.

Her stomach twisted like pretzel dough—from nerves about the height, that was all.

“Don’t go treating me like a parachute, kitty. I’ll be more likely to rip my arm out of its socket if I have to yo-yo us out of this.”

Or she’d have to use Lucky Charm and hope for an actual parachute, but it probably wouldn’t come to that. Silly as her kitty could be, he never let her down when it mattered.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be extra careful, I Pawmise.” He crossed his heart with one claw, still grinning like he was already on top of the world.

Ridiculous or not, this idea was worth it just to see him so excited. He’d been bouncing all night since she’d agreed.

“You’d better,” she warned, though her voice was warm.

His grin reached Cheshire proportions as he wrapped one arm securely around the metal staff and extended the other to her. “One catapult, going up.”

“Oh no.” She laughed. “Points for the pun, but please don’t tell me you’re going to launch us.”

“I already said I’ll be careful. Don’t tell me the fearless Ladybug is actually scared?”

“Pffff, you wish. You just want me to hold on tighter.” Her fingers threaded through his teasingly before slipping out just as he tried to kiss her knuckles.

His lips pursed in a pout. “You know me too well, my Lady. ...But seriously, please hold on. I know you can catch yourself if you have to, but I’d really rather not drop you in the first place.”

“That makes two of us.”

She wrapped one arm around his waist and secured the other at his shoulder. His feet lifted off the ground to brace against the staff, leaving his thigh as a comfortable seat.

Enjoying this, huh? She almost expected him to tease as she snuggled closer—because she did want to be safe. It was almost disappointing when he neglected to quip though. Maybe she wasn’t clinging tightly enough after all.

“So high do you think we’ll go?” He asked, holding her by the waist as she finished getting settled. “Think we’ll be dodging planes tonight?”

“I doubt it. Even if we technically could go that high, we shouldn’t. It’ll be freezing up there.”

“What, afraid I won’t be able to keep you warm?” He teased with a gentle nuzzle to the size of her head.

Had it always been this difficult to keep from leaning into his touch? Not that she couldn’t, but, well—if she gave into his jokes, he’d have no reason to continue.

“Why don’t you just focus on getting us up there at all.” She kept her voice flat, hiding any trace of that brief thought.

“Whatever you say, Bugaboo.”

For all his earlier joking, their ascent started fairly slow, more like an elevator than a catapult. It gave her plenty of time to take in the sights below—the warm lights flickering from windows, divided by the dark swath of the Seine. Streets radiating out from the Arc de Triomphe like spokes on a wheel, cars inching their way down them like little lightningbugs. And of course, the Eiffel Tower, sparkling in the distance, a homing beacon that never failed to bring a smile to her lips.

Paris. Their city.

“Pretty amazing, huh,” Chat breathed beside her. With their arms around each other and the glittering lights below, it was easy to pretend they were rulers surveying their kingdom.

...Chat had must have been calling Marinette Princess too much. Or else his My Lady’s were going to her head.

Royal daydreams or not, though, there was no one she’d rather have beside her—no one else she could have beside her. And not just because it was his baton that held them aloft, his embrace that made her feel as secure as if she stood on solid ground. She would have been crushed under the weight of her superhero mantle if he weren’t there to share it. Staring down at just how many people depended on them, it was impossible to forget that.

“Does it ever feel like too much?” She whispered the doubt that had been nagging at her more and more lately. She tried to stay strong for the team’s morale, but when it was just her partner and the hushed sky, her necessary barriers wore thin.

“Does what feel like too much?” He replied just as quietly. His face turned to hers, emerald irises glinting in the moonlight, closer than she’d prepared herself to handle.

The pretzel twist in her stomach made a reappearance, but she was hardly thinking about the height.

“You know. All of this.” She couldn’t let go to gesture to the glowing city beneath them, but he seemed to understand anyway. “We’re the only ones standing between all of them and two adult supervillains. And even after all these years, we still haven’t found them.”

Her voice cracked a little on that last sentence. The uncomfortable truth they’d been dancing around for the last few months—longer, really, but it became more and more urgent as lycee ended and they prepared to go to University. Most of their team of miraculous wielders (not Chat, of course) would be leaving Paris. This was the last summer they would be together, and the last summer they could be kids, only they hadn’t really been kids for four years now thanks to Hawkmoth and Mayura—

And maybe that was why she agreed to this crazy idea. Because they were kids, dang it, and she deserved to do something silly and dumb with the one person she trusted more than anyone in the world. She wanted to spend time with him outside of taking down Hawkmoth’s villain of the day. She wanted them to just be together.

Wait. Not together, together—just, like, as friends. Who could spend time together without wearing magical suits and masks. She wanted to sew them matching shirts, and text him cat memes at two a.m., and kick his butt at video games. Which she could do as Marinette, but—she wanted him to know it was her, too.

The sheer force of that longing took her by surprise, and only multiplied her hatred for Hawkmoth a hundredfold.

“Hey, Little Bug,” Chat said softly. His arm tightening around her dissolved the complicated web of her thoughts. “We’re going to find him. And it’s not just us anymore. Pegasus is analyzing all the data Rena’s collected, remember? And we’ve got her and Carapace alternating patrols with Ryuuko and Viperion. We can even call in Queen Bee or Bunnyx or King Monkey if we need to. We’ve never been closer to taking Hawkmoth down.”

He was right. They weren’t alone. They never would’ve survived the combined powers of Hawkmoth and Mayura if it weren’t for their team, especially since sentimonsters started regularly joining the fray two years ago.

Still, there was something about sitting with Chat among the pinprick stars that brought her back to before then. When it was just the two of them against the world.

Was it weird that she sometimes missed that?

“I know,” she murmured. Her forehead leaned against his chest, where the steady thump-thump of his heart calmed her own. “Sorry, Chat. I shouldn’t worry.”

“I don’t think anyone could stop you from worrying.” His chin rested on her head, his warmth and familiar scent cocooning her. Roses and leather and cheese, juxtaposed in a way that was so uniquely him. “I doubt Paris would still be standing if you didn’t worry. But it’s going to be okay. I promise.”

The rational part of her brain wanted to ask how he could say that. The newspapers cried out against them at every mistake, at every day that drew them closer to the fifth anniversary of Hawkmoth’s appearance.

But the other part of her brain, the part that had worked in tandem with him long enough that trusting him was second nature, calmed at his reassurance.

“Who knows,” he continued. “Maybe we’ll kick Hawkmoth’s butt before summer ends, and then we can throw a party before everyone splits for University. The whole team can show up. We’ll get Multimouse to bring the pastries. Carapace can blast us some sick tunes. I’m sure Queen Bee can get us a venue…”

Marinette giggled at the thought of all the miraculous wielders, unmasked and just hanging out like normal friends, no more worries than what they were going to do in University. Alix and Kim would probably (definitely) end up in some kind of competition, powered by their miraculouses or not. Luka would serenade Kagami with his guitar instead of Viperion’s lyre. Speaking of which, Marinette wondered if Adrien’s brief stint as Aspik would mean he would be there… and how he would get along with Chat Noir. For some reason, she had a feeling it would be odd to see them together.

Regardless, it was a dream worth fighting for. A dream worth hoping for.

“I’m sure Multimouse would love that,” she said, hiding her smirk against his collarbone. By the time such a party could happen, Chat would know the truth about her dual identity, anyway. “I know I would.”

“There’s only one thing that would make it better.” Chat’s voice turned teasing.

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

He didn’t answer as they passed through a cloud, the dampness much colder and all around wetter than she was prepared for. She shivered and sneezed, feeling her pigtails cling to the back of her neck. Chat chuckled and brushed them aside. His claws lingered for the briefest of moments on the sliver of skin between her suit and hairline.

“A private party,” he said softly. “Just the two of us, before everyone else.”

She pulled back just enough to see his eyes again, intending to tease him about what kind of party he was asking for—but the sincerity and softness in his features stopped her short.

“Y-yeah?”

“Yeah. So we can… I mean, I know I want…” he swallowed for a moment before quietly finishing, “I want you to be the first one to know who I am.”

They didn’t talk about revealing their identities often—mostly because she made it clear that they couldn’t, and she already thought about it enough without tempting either of them by saying it out loud. He was Chat Noir, her partner and best friend, no matter who he was under the mask.

But maybe they should talk about it more, if he thought she would want anything else.

“Of course, Kitty.” Carefully, since they were hundreds of kilometers in the air, she moved the arm at his waist to wrap around the back of his neck instead. A few of his damp locks tickled her fingers even though the suit. “I’ve always wanted you to be the first, too.”

His smile could’ve powered the whole city below. “Then it’s settled. Pegasus finds Hawkbutt next week. We storm the castle, Queen Bee Venoms him and Mayura, you rip their miraculouses off, we pound it, and we throw the biggest party Paris has ever seen.”

His optimism, if unrealistic, was contagious. She felt the hope untangling knots in her chest as she laughed again.

“I should’ve left the planning to you, Chaton. Maybe then we’d have beaten Hawkmoth already.”

“Nah, we all know you’re the brains of the operation, Bugaboo. I’m just here to look pretty.” He flipped his soggy hair, and his bangs hit his forehead with a fwap.

She couldn’t help the laugh that burst from her. “You’re such a dork. I love you.”

He froze solid as one of Style Queen’s statues. She half expected him to turn to gold, for his warmth to bleed out like the color currently draining from her face.

She said—

She’d said she loved him.

She’d said she loved him, and the words had come out as easy as breathing, as sure as the pounding of her heart. How—why? She didn’t love him, not like that, she couldn’t couldn’t she’d told herself that long ago—

But any denials caught in her lungs, trapped like the dark butterflies snared by her yo-yo. Only when the words were fully purified were they released again.

“I—I love you,” she whispered.

She hadn’t meant to say it once, much less twice—but with the repetition the truth of it snapped firmly into place. She didn’t know when her kitty had snuck past her defenses, slipped past her blinding crush on Adrien, dodged all the logical reasons she had for not falling for him.

But he had.

She loved Chat Noir. Of course she did.

“You—but you—is there an akuma?” He stammered, eyes wide and disbelieving. She’d been turning down his off-and-on (mostly on) flirting for four years now; of course he wouldn’t assume she was serious.

“No, Kitty.” Her laugh felt suffocating. After all this time she’d been trying to confess to Adrien, and now, when her target was her Kitty, her mouth didn’t give her a choice.

Maybe that was for the best. She would always have a special place in her heart for Adrien, but Chat—Chat was her home. Her partner, her friend, her everything.

The twisting in her stomach finally unwound, swelling into something that she could hardly contain. His face was so close, his lips still parted from the three words she’d dropped on him. It would be so easy to lean in and kiss the shock from his face, until he melted in her arms, until they both believed this was real.

But Chat had always respected her boundaries, and she would do the same for him. Besides, what if he didn’t feel the same anymore, if his flirting was just habit? And she’d just blurted out her feelings before even she realized them—what if she ruined the comfortable companionship they shared?

No. No, she knew better than that. Even if he didn’t feel the same, nothing could tear the two of them apart.

“I know I’m late, but—if you still want me—”

“My Lady.” She felt more than heard the tremor of emotion in his voice. “I’ll always want you. I always have.”

Was this real? How had she gone from flirting with her partner to baring her heart to him? The liquid moonlight washed aside her walls. His golden hair was spun silver in its glow, and her hands ran through it involuntarily. She was lucky Chat had returned his grip to her waist, because otherwise she might have accidentally slipped off him.

As much as his words made her feel like she could fly, it was best not to test that theory.

“Thanks for waiting for me, Chaton.” She rested her forehead against his, still shaking with the realization and love and longing and—how had she ignored this feeling? How long had she wanted him to kiss her senseless before her mind would admit it?

It didn’t matter. She knew now, and the electricity that sparked between them wouldn’t let her forget anytime soon.

“You know I’d wait forever for you. I love you.” His breath fanned across her cheeks, soft and hot and everything she hoped his lips would be. “I love you so so much, Ladybug, I—”

He might be willing to wait forever, but she wasn’t. Her lips consumed whatever it was he was going to say next—

And all she knew was that he tasted like coming home.

He matched her passion with a surprising sweetness. It wasn’t the intense kiss she was expecting, but maybe that was for the best. He was the only thing keeping them from plummeting to the ground far below, and distracting him probably wasn’t the best idea, but frankly after that first touch of lips she was so gone they could’ve fallen and she wouldn’t have noticed—

He yelped against her mouth. Had she done something wrong? She hadn’t kissed a boy since Luka two years ago, but she couldn’t be that bad—

Oh. She hadn’t noticed.

Gravity really wasn’t supposed to be tugging in that direction. And the wind wasn’t supposed to be blowing up.

And Chat’s baton wasn’t supposed to be slipping through his fingers.

Gah! She barely had time to think as his arms tightened around her middle so he was hugging her from below. What was he thinking? Did he expect to cushion her fall?

Jolting out of oh-my-gosh-I’m-kissing-Chat mode, she threw her yo-yo from her hip and lassoed the still-upright baton. Only miraculous magic could be holding it steady, especially when she yanked them towards it—

And in a jumble of limbs and string, she promptly tangled them against the metal length.

She heard a sharp crack, followed by a dizzy groan.

“Chat, oh my gosh, are you okay?” The world was still spinning; she couldn’t turn to see him. Mostly because her back was pressed flush against his chest.

“Purrfectly fine, my Lady.” His laugh sounded near her ear. “I always knew you’d sweep me off my feet.”

She rolled her eyes, unsure if she wanted to laugh or groan. She was so stupid. Making out with Chat with nothing but a pole holding them up? Yes, that sounded like something from her romantic fantasies (which she wasn’t supposed to have with him, but—shh), but she should’ve known better in real life!

“You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?” She muttered.

He hummed thoughtfully. That sound should not have made her shiver, she was just—it was just cold. Even though his body was hot against her back.

Yeah, she wasn’t kidding anyone.

“I could be purrsuaded to forget,” he said to her surprise.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.” His chin rested on her shoulder. “For the low price of fifty more kisses.”

“Fifty?” She choked, face heating. Fifty brushes of his lips on hers, of his laugh filling her lungs— “I—I don’t know. Actually, you’re the one who let go of the staff. I might’ve kissed you first, but you’re the one who should be getting teased.”

“Fair enough. A hundred kisses, then. Fifty for me to forget, and fifty for you to forgive me for dropping you.”

“Bold words from a guy who couldn’t even handle kissing me once.” She would’ve flicked his bell if her arms weren’t trapped over his around her middle.

“Ah, it just means I need more practice!”

She twisted her head just enough to stick her tongue out at him. “You won’t get any practice if you don’t get us down from here.”

“Oh. Uh. About that… I can’t reach the button.” He laughed awkwardly. “You mind untangling us?”

The magical properties of her yo-yo meant she could still retract the string even tangled as it was, but it would take a minute to lasso them back to the baton properly this time.

“Only if you don’t mind falling again.”

“For you? Never,” he said with a quick kiss to her cheek.

She shook her head. She refused to be distracted by him this time, even if his smell was everywhere, more dizzying than their brief fall through the clouds.

“You’re such a dork.”

“But you love me,” he practically sang.

Despite the fact that they were hanging in an awkward position hundreds of meters in the air, her nerves vanished completely.

“Yeah, Kitty. I do.”

(That truth was far more important than learning how far Chat’s baton could extend, anyway.)

[And then next week they beat hawkbutt and ship him and nathalie off to jail and everyone in the whole team comforts Adrien and he and marinette live happily ever after with a hamster]

#ladynoir #miraculous ladybug #ladybug #chat noir #fic tag #tali writes #lovesquarefluffweek2020 #no reveal here lads #other than marinette gettin her feelings revealed to her

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myherowritings · 5 years

Text

Kitty Kisses

Overview: Your boyfriend and your cat don’t get along. Bakugou keeps trying to come up with different ways to get your cat to finally warm up to him.

Word Count: 2,171

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Author’s Note: I never knew that fact about cats! That’s so cute, omg! I’ve actually never been a cat person, but once I entered the BNHA fandom… It’s like I can’t escape them now. Those little furry tsunderes are growing on me. :P

“That thing hates me.”

“Maybe he wouldn’t hate you if you stopped calling him that thing.”

“Tch.”

Bakugou stared at the cat in front of him, eyes narrowing as it seemed to hiss at him when you weren’t looking. He didn’t know what you saw in that cat. It was rude and arrogant and walked around like it owned the place.

But when Katsuki saw you playing and interacting with it, rubbing its little cheeks and scratching its chin, he supposed it couldn’t be as bad as he thought.

There must be something about the cat he just couldn’t see.

He huffed. “I’m not going to be nice to your cat if it’s not nice to me.”

“Well, I’m sure Mr. Mochi would be nicer if you didn’t glare at him every time you saw him,” you said, sticking your tongue out as you petted the cat between its ears. “You brought this upon yourself, really.”

“The first time I saw Mr. Mochi, it attacked me before I even did anything!”

“To be fair, you do look a little intimidating at first,” you said defensively, holding the cat close to your chest. His eye twitched. “He was just trying to protect himself. Just give him time and he’ll realize you’re a big softie.”

“I’m not,” Bakugou snorted. But he let out a sigh when he saw your pleading look, muttering a string of curses under his breath. “But since you made it clear he’s not going anywhere anytime soon, I guess I’ll have to try.”

“See?” You grinned. “Softie.”

“Say that one more time and I’ll change my mind.”

With a small burst of laughter, you rested your head on his shoulder and gave him a chaste kiss on the jaw. “No. You won’t.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes, a begrudging smile on his face despite himself. “Hmph. Whatever.”

- - - - -

“Come here, cat. I have a treat for you.”

Bakugou carried with him a bag of goldfish-shaped salmon cracker treats. They were made of eggs, flour, and most importantly fish. He knew your cat loved all things tuna and salmon and he wasn’t above exploiting that weakness.

Holding a single treat between the pads of his fingers, Katsuki let out a sharp whistle as he tried to catch the attention of Mr. Mochi. When it paid him no attention, he grew impatient.

“Don’t you want the damn treat, you ingrate?” he growled.

Seeming to notice his frustration, the cat simply trotted even farther away from him and onto your lap on the opposite side of the living room.

“What the fu--?’’

“Nice, calming words,” you reminded, offering Mochi your hand which it licked with no qualms. Bakugou narrowed his eyes. “Mocchan will warm up to you sooner if he doesn’t see you as a threat.”

“If your cat thinks I’m a threat now, just wait until I get--!”

“Katsuki!”

He exhaled a heavy cloud of air to calm himself down, accidentally crushing the salmon cracker between his two fingers. Feeling relatively more level headed, he tried again.

“Mochi,” he called softly, his voice sounding gruff and uncomfortable even to himself. “I have something for you.”

You redirected your cat’s attention to him with a snap and the cat stared into his eyes, unblinking. Bakugou shivered. What the fuck did everyone see in these creatures who looked like they were glaring into the depths of your soul?

He took a handful of crackers out of the bag and laid them on the palm of his hand. “If you don’t try it, neko-chan, you’ll regret it.”

“Bakugou, saying threatening things in a quiet voice does not make it nice.”

“This is hopeless, then!” he cried.

“It is not!” you fired back, picking Mochi up and bringing the cat closer to him despite its mewls of protest. “Look, he would love to eat these treats. Wouldn’t you, Mr. Mochi?”

You walked over to him with the cat in your arms before sitting down on the couch by his side. The cat eyed the treats curiously but refused to move any closer.

As you examined the jar of treats, you pursed your lips thoughtfully.

“Katsuki-chan…” You studied the small fish-shaped crackers that looked too authentic to be store bought. “Did you make these yourself?”

His cheeks flamed as he shook his head, ready to deny it. “Are you kidding me? That-- That’s ridiculous!”

“Hmm.”

“I didn’t!”

You tilted your head to the side without saying a word.

He groaned. “Okay-- So what if I did?”

It wasn’t like they were much work anyway. Bakugou just combined three ingredients and threw them in an oven. It didn’t matter that it took him an hour to punch out all the dough into bite-sized fish crackers. Nor did it matter that his hands smelled like salmon for the remainder of the day.

Your face broke out into a grin.

“Stop staring at me like that, baka!”

You grinned wider. “I knew it.”

“Knew what!?”

“You do like Mr. Mochi!” you exclaimed, making your cat give you a feeble high five. You turned back to him with a satisfied look on your face. “And deep down, Mr. Mochi likes you, too.”

Bakugou snorted.

“Here, give me a treat. I’ll give him one first to ease him into it.”

Begrudgingly, Katsuki handed you a goldfish-shaped treat and watched as you fed it to your cat. Mochi sniffed it skeptically for a moment before softly gnawing at it from between your fingers. With a satisfied crunch, the cat finished the treat and blinked expectantly at you for more.

You gasped. “He likes it!”

Bakugou couldn’t help but puff his chest out at that. “Well, obviously. I made it.”

“Does this mean you’ll bake something for me next?”

“Do I have to bribe you if I want you to stay with me?”

“Maybe,” you said, giggling as he ruffled the top of your head. “Now, you try feeding him one!”

With a determined nod, he took a treat from the jar and held it out a safe distance from the cat’s nose. He made sure not to look Mochi in the eye as he offered the food to him slowly.

In a split section, Mochi tore the treat away from Bakugou’s hands and turned around before eating it, making sure to whack him in the face with his tail before running away.

He blinked, unsure of what just happened. “Was that a good thing?”

You scratched the side of your head with a sheepish grin. “Well, not exactly. But… I would say that’s progress!”

Katsuki narrowed his eyes as the cat stared at him challengingly.

“Progress, huh?” he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. “Just you wait, Mr. Mochi.”

- - - - -

“Y/N, come here.”

You glanced at him questioningly, raising your eyebrows as you continued rubbing Mr. Mochi on the cheeks.

“I have an idea,” Bakugou said, giving the cat a sideways stare.

“Oh?”

“I read something online that said if a dog sees their owner showing someone trust and affection, they’ll be more likely to accept attention from the person.”

You blinked. “But Mochi’s a cat.”

“Well, there was no research about how to make a damn cat like you! The only advice they had was ‘don’t give up’ and other useless shit,” he scowled. “This is close enough.”

Laughing at his disgruntled expression, you walked over next to him, Mr. Mochi examining the scene from behind. “I guess it couldn’t hurt to try.”

Awkwardly clearing his throat, Bakugou extended his arm out as you drew nearer. When you were close enough, he hugged you firmly into his chest, gently stroking the length of your hair down to your back.

You stood there for a while, motionless except for the slow touches, as you tried to hold in your laughter.

“Do you think he learned to like me yet?” Bakugou asked in a loud whisper.

Standing on your tiptoes, you peered over Katsuki’s shoulder and looked around. With a confused blink, you glanced back at him.

“Um-- Kacchan?”

“Hmm?”

“Mochi isn’t even in the room anymore.”

He stiffened, swearing under his breath as he reluctantly let you go.

“Are you kidding me? The only time that cat decides to move its lazy ass from this room is when--” Exhaling through his teeth, Bakugou shut his eyes. “Never mind. It’s fine. This is fine.”

You patted his shoulder comfortingly, offering him a small smile. “Maybe if I’m petting Mocchan while you’re hugging me, this’ll work.”

Katsuki blinked. “Huh?”

You tilted your head. “Isn’t that what you were trying to do? Transfer some of your aura to me so he’d get used it it?”

��What the fuck?” Bakugou stared at you in mild concern. “I was trying to get him accustomed through observational learning, not by hoping the affection would transfer from your body to his!”

You mouth formed a small ‘o’. “Huh. That…makes more sense.”

With a defeated sigh, Katsuki patted the top of your head as you registered what he just said with a dazed look.

That was a failure, he thought. He would just have to try again tomorrow.

As you snuggled deeper into Bakugou’s arms, he spotted Mochi sauntering back into the living room with a lifted chin. The cat spotted his owner and peered curiously when you shut your eyes and rested your head on his chest.

“Now you decide to show up?” Katsuki said, shaking his head when he heard the sounds of little paw prints. “You really are something else, neko-chan.”

- - - - -

Today was the fifth consecutive day in a row Bakugou had been over at your house for over four hours. And of those four hours, he spent three of them trying to make progress with Mr. Mochi.

But as the time went by, Katsuki could feel his patience wearing thin.

“This is going nowhere!”

“What do you mean?” you asked with concern, glancing over at the two of them on the floor. “I thought you were making progress. He even ate a treat from your hand the other day.”

“I thought so, too,” he groaned, pressing his hand against his forehead. “But now all he’s doing is staring at me and blinking slowly!”

You dropped the slice of fruit you were eating, looking at him in shock. Slowly, a big smile spread across your face and Bakugou furrowed his brows in worry.

“Mocchan is blinking at you?” you repeated.

“Yes,” he said, a little uncomfortable. “And he’s doing it in a weird way, too.”

You hid your smile with the sleeve of your oversized jacket and he could’ve sworn he heard you squeal. “He’s giving you a kitty kiss!”

“He what?”

Katsuki tilted his head as he watched you blinked at him slowly, imitating Mr. Mochi. Your lips were flushed and parted ever so slightly, and your lashes cast a shadow on your cheekbones as you opened and closed your eyes at him.

Somehow, he found it cuter coming from you than from the cat.

“That’s a kitty kiss!” you chirped, a bright smile on your face and Bakugou found his cheeks warming up. “Cats convey a lot through their eyes. When he stares at you unblinking, he’s either threatened by you, or he’s most likely trying to intimidate you and show that he’s the superior animal--”

“Pfft. He wishes.”

You laughed before continuing your explanation. “If he’s blinking slowly with his muscles relaxed, he’s showing he trusts you enough to be vulnerable in front of you.”

Bakugou glanced back at Mochi and saw him gently trot around the floor, walking back to him and slowly shutting his eyes. Without second thought, Katsuki blinked back, hoping to return the kitty kiss quickly enough that you wouldn’t notice.

He was fairly certain you noticed, but you hid your reaction behind your sweater paws as to not embarrass him.

“So, he…trusts me?”

You nodded.

“Tch. Took him long enough,” Bakugou said dismissively, but deep down he felt something like happiness and satisfaction at the thought. And judging by the twinkle in your eye and the grin on your face, you knew he was more pleased about it than he let on as well.

You walked over to his spot on the floor and took a seat next to him, holding your hand out to attract Mochi’s attention. Mochi climbed into your lap with a soft purr, stretching his forelegs out so they were resting on Katsuki’s knee.

“Good,” you said, smiling at the sight as you placed your head on Bakugou’s shoulder. “Now my two favorite boys are finally getting along.”

With an amused huff, he brought his arm around your waist to pull you closer to him.

“Sure, but I’m the number one favorite, right?”

“Hmm,” you hummed thoughtfully, petting Mochi’s ears between your fingers. “It’s a close call, but yes-- You’ll always be my favorite.”

Katsuki patted the top of your head, mimicking you with a sideways grin. “And I suppose you’re my favorite, too.”

A/N: So cute, so soft, I’m crying. TT.TT I have no clue what my crackheadass was on when I wrote this, but it was very fun so I hope y’all liked it. :’)

On another note, cats are tsundere. Bakugou is tsundere. Bakugou is a cat. Thank you 9th grade geometry.

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thegrandromantic · 4 years

Text

ok so i wrote an usagi x ami one shot fic bc sailor moon is grossly heteronormative and They’re Perfect For Each Other Your Honor. i haven’t written literally anything in absolutely ages so you’ll have to excuse it if it’s not very good, i’m honestly just doing it to practice but i hope someone on here enjoys it :) also if any of the science/baking shit in this is inaccurate it’s because it’s entirely based on my memory of middle school science classes and a very cursory glance at a bread making recipe online lmaooo i just thought the scenario was cute.

Usagi sat cross-legged on the floor of Ami’s room, Ami was a few feet away rifling through some flash cards they’d been using to study for the past few hours.

“Ughhh I’m NEVER going to get this stuff! I’m just going to fail the test tomorrow like I always do,” Usagi flailed out onto her back in frustration and stared at the ceiling.

“Usagi...” Ami began, reaching out to comfort the other girl but withdrawing her hand nervously, “You’re going to be fine! You’ve made it through school this far haven’t you? Besides, now you at least have someone to study with.”

“It’s just not working!” Usagi snapped back up into a sitting position, “No matter what I do I’m always late to class which gets me in trouble which gets me sent out of class and I miss the lessons and that means I don’t understand the material and I fail the test!”

“Well it sounds like what you really need to work on is your sleep schedule, but that can be a problem for another day,” Ami looked thoughtfully at the girl across from her.

They’d been doing this for a few weeks now, even though Ami was always busy with cram school she had noticed how much Usagi struggled in her classes and had tried to take up a hobby of tutoring her. After all, they were best friends and it was the least she could do for her. Ami sometimes wished she had more time to spend on her own studies, but for some reason it was worth it just to see Usagi more often.

After a long silence between the two girls Ami caught herself staring and stopped herself, shifting her gaze back to the cards in front of her, “I think we need to try a different tactic, the flashcards seem to be too frustrating. You seem pretty energetic... Let’s try to get you moving while we do this!” She stood up and offered both hands to the other girl to help pull her off the floor.

Usagi dramatically rolled onto her back again momentarily, “I don’t know why you don’t just give up on me Ami...” before she sat up and took the girl’s hands, hoisting herself into standing up.

“Of course I don’t give up on you! No one’s a lost cause, least of all you,” Ami said, a bit of color rising in her cheeks, “Besides, I really enjoy spending time with you.”

“I thought I was just being a pain to teach this whole time, it’s good to know you enjoy this though,” Usagi blushed a bit as well.

“I absolutely do, now come on!” Ami eagerly tugged the blonde out of her room and down the stairs to the kitchen, “Have you ever tried baking?” she asked on the way down.

“Not much... I’m a bit too clumsy to be allowed in the kitchen very often at home,” Usagi admitted sheepishly.

“Well we’re going to fix that. The science test you’re studying for tomorrow is about chemical reactions and stuff anyway, and that’s all baking really is! We’ll just get you some hands-on experience and maybe it’ll stick better in your mind!” Ami said excitedly, her volume slowly increased the longer she rambled on and she paled a bit when she realized. She called to her mom in the other room, “Hey mom! Do you mind if Usagi and I use the kitchen for a while?”

“Of course not honey, just be careful,” her mom called back.

“Thank you Mrs. Mizuno!” Usagi called into the other room.

Ami started rifling through various cabinets, pulling down the different tools and ingredients they’d need to bake some bread. Ami had spent a fair amount of her free time baking so the process to prepare for it was almost mechanical for her.

Usagi hoisted herself onto a counter, swinging her legs as she watched the other girl go about her work. She watched closely, admiring how methodical Ami seemed about what she was doing but she also noticed a certain excitement about it. Usagi rarely got to see Ami get this passionate about something, since most of the time Ami had a bit of a hard time expressing her emotions. She heard Ami muttering her way through a list of the items she needed in an almost sing-songy voice and grinned when she heard it. It was the first time she’d ever even heard Ami’s singing voice. It wasn’t particularly impressive but there was something so sincere in it, a happiness that Usagi rarely got to hear. The only other time Ami got this excited was when she had aced a test in cram school or something.

“Great! So what’s the first step then? I’m still not sure how this is going to help me pass my science test but I’ll give anything a try at this point,” Usagi giggled and hopped off the counter, approaching the area where Ami had laid out all the supplies.

“Well we start out by making the dough, which is really just a mixture of all the ingredients here,” Ami instructed, waving to the ingredients.

Usagi nodded and grabbed the first ingredient, allowing Ami to explain how much of each one to add to the mixing bowl as she went.

“So now you’ve made the raw dough, and since we haven’t made any chemical reactions yet this is still just a...” she trailed off hoping Usagi would fill in the blank.

“A... uh... a mixture, right?” Usagi offered hesitantly.

“Exactly! I told you you could get this stuff down,” Ami jumped up and down a bit, excited that she had helped Usagi learn something already, “So the next step is called proofing, which is more of a baking term than anything but we’re going to add lukewarm water to the dough in order to activate the yeast, which should start to make the dough puff up,” Ami rambled on.

“Wait! Since it’s changing shape after we apply heat... does that mean we’re doing a chemical reaction to it?” Usagi attempted to make the connection on her own this time.

“Absolutely right! Do you remember what we call a mixture that’s been bound through chemical reactions?”

“It becomes a um... a compound, right?”

“Exactly!” Ami was practically giddy with joy and flung her arms around Usagi, “See, you knew this stuff all along! You just needed to see how it works in real life!”

Usagi blushed at all of the sudden affection from Ami, “Th-thanks for showing me all this, it’s really helped so far! Let’s keep going!”

The two girls worked hard at the bread they were making, Ami occasionally jumping in to quiz Usagi on the different chemical reactions that were happening as they made the bread. It came time to knead. Ami explained the process but when Usagi started doing it she noticed that she was getting the dough a bit thin in places.

“Here, let me help,” Ami offered, gently walking up behind Usagi and wrapping her arms around Usagi’s waist. She placed her hands on top of the other girl’s nervously and guided Usagi’s hands through the kneading process. It was a good thing Usagi was so intent on the bread, if she had turned around she would have seen just how red Ami had become at the intimacy she had accidentally created.

Usagi was surprised at first and stiffened before she eased into it, allowing Ami’s hands to guide her own. The slow rhythmic methodical movements of the other girl lulled Usagi into an almost hypnotic state. She felt nothing in the world except the dough between her fingers, Ami’s hands pressing gently down on her own, and the soft warmth of the other girl’s breath on the back of her neck which was enough to make her hair stand on end. There was an electricity about it all and Usagi felt her heart thumping hard in her chest. She never wanted this moment to end.

At last, Ami sheepishly pulled her hands away and said, “That should be good enough now,” her voice cracked awkwardly on the first word.

“R-right, and now we just... bake it, right?”

“Y-yeah... let’s put it in together?” Ami grabbed one side of the pan and Usagi grabbed the other. They knelt down across from each other in front of the oven and shared a long lingering stare as they pushed the pan in. Ami fumbled with the handle on the oven and pushed it closed. Her breath quickened when there were no longer any obstructions between her and the other girl’s face.

Usagi felt herself leaning in, closing the distance between the two of them almost on instinct. After the experience of kneading the bread with Ami something inside her wanted... NEEDED to be closer to her.

Ami leaned in as well, now visibly reddening again. She had never quite felt this way before, it was new and thrilling and she was terrified but comforted all the same.

Before they knew it, their lips had collided. It was short, both girls taken aback by the kiss. Their lips had hardly brushed and yet it felt to them both as if their lives had changed forever. There was a long silence as they stared intently into one another’s eyes, entranced.

“I’m s-“

“Did we j-“

Both girls had started talking at exactly the same moment. The little awkward foible managed to get a giggle out of Usagi and a weak laugh out of Ami.

“Do you want to...” they both began, again speaking simultaneously.

“Yes.” Ami replied, grabbing Usagi by the shoulders and pulling her into another, deeper kiss.

When they pulled apart both girls were breathless. All Usagi could think to say was, “Well... that was a pretty productive study session.”

Both girls laughed and in that moment, they knew something truly special had begun.

#sailor moon #sailor mercury #usagi tsukino #ami mizuno #fanfic #oneshot #ami x usagi #usagi x ami #idk what their ship name is #does anyone else even ship these two

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carbrakes-and-stakes · 4 years

Text

Waterloo || Evelyn & Alain

Location : Evelyn’s home - Harris Island When : Evening - 18th of April

Birthdays are as good an excuse as any to cross something off a to-do list, aren't they?

Alain had just finished preparing samosas and a bunch of small bites they could have over a glass of god knows what. Ever since he had taken the decision to stop drinking so much, he had come to realize that there were many casual moments like those in which he would have usually have had a glass not too far from him. He shook the thought out of his head and glanced at the oven then at the timer on the counter. Even if this was not his kitchen, this being the second time he was cooking here, he was already feeling quite comfortable being here. Of course you could not say that he had completely gotten used to it, but he finally had memorized where the pans were stored, which was an achievement, considering the amount of drawers Evelyn’s kitchen counted. He was mincing garlic thinly when he heard footsteps getting louder. Even if he had told the birthday girl to keep out of here while he was cooking, he was impressed that she had waited a good hour to take a peek at what was going on here. “So much for a surprise,” he commented, shoving the garlic into a pan. Obviously the cake was concealed in the fridge, and it was the only thing he did not want her to see yet. As a matter of fact, her showing up was perfect timing, as she could help him shape pasta with him. This was something he had never done, and if all failed, they would have tagliatelles tonight.

Years ago, she would have balked at the idea of her birthday being anything but a large event. Even at Cambridge, she’d had parties with dozens of people. However, White Crest had changed multiple things about her, and Evelyn had yet to have a big birthday party or anything since moving here. Four years ago, now. She’d invited Alain over because they were friends, even though Kaden’s line of questioning still stuck in her mind. She wasn’t going to focus on that too much, because the last thing she wanted to do, for one of the first times in her life, was to screw up a friendship. So she’d listened when Alain had kicked her out of the kitchen, gone up to her bedroom and changed from the more casual outfit she’d had on when he first came over and into a new dress, which seemed more festive and appropriate for her birthday anyhow. She’d gotten bored though, and so after only a little more time she made her way back over to the kitchen, grinning at his comment, “yes, well, I do have the ability to be patient, but I also sometimes get impatient, and it is my birthday, so you have to indulge me.” She walked past him, tapping him on the shoulder. “So, what are you cooking? It smells brilliant.”

“You are not getting anywhere near that fridge,” Alain pointed his index briefly at her, before looking up and noticing the change of clothes. If he first wanted to comment on the outfit being quite a disappointment, just to pick on her, he figured that considering that this was her special day, he would stick to the truth : “You look nice,” he smiled at her and glanced back at what he was doing as she asked what was in the oven. “Well, I’m not about to tell you, but I can promise that it will taste as good as it smells.” He took the dough from the bowl and brought the pasta machine closer to himself, turning the ball of dough slowly into a thin sheet of pasta. “Alright, so this is the fun part.” It was absolutely not the fun part. “We’re going to try to make pasta,” he offered with a smile that only show how little he was sure about what he just said. They were really going to try here. He detailed the sheet of pasta dough into 2 inches circles. “So, I prepared the filling last night,” he explained, pointing at a pastry bag on the counter. “I’ll put a bit of that in the middle of each pasta, and then we’ll fold them, alright?” It took him a good ten minutes to get filling on each pasta, and when he was done, the kitchen towel tied to his apron was not as clean as when he began. “Alright, look,” he took his time to fold the first tortellini, following the instructions he’d scribbled in his cooking notebook, and invited Evelyn to do it at the same time as he did, when he started to fold the second one.

“See, that just makes me want to.” She said, a light laugh crossing her lips. “Nice music, by the way.” It was faint, but she could appreciate it. Perhaps it was a cooking thing, something that aided in concentration. Either way, it was nice. Though she knew that her music taste was nothing to talk about, she did sometimes enjoy having music around, even if it was just scores from movies or from ballets. Evelyn glanced down at her dress at his remark, “thank you, it is new. I like the dark blue.” She bit her lip for a moment as he continued talking. “Make pasta?” She replied, her eyebrows shooting up. “Well, this will be a first for me so I should hope that you do not judge me too harshly.” Her gaze flicked over to the pastry bag as he described it, nodding along. “Well, alright, that sounds okay. It is sort of like decorating, and I am good with delicate things, with my hands.” She shot a glance over to him, a small smirk crossing her lips, though she wasn’t entirely sure if he would catch the double meaning. If maybe half-flirting with someone who she valued deeply as a friend was a stupid idea, but she shook her head and focused back on his words. Besides, she was good with her hands in many other ways, she had to be, to feed in the way she did, and it had always been her nature, though she was extroverted, she had rarely been the loudest person in the room. She waited as he filled the circles, tapping her fingers against her thigh, and then watched him as he began to fold the first one. “I think I can do this.” She moved closer to where he was standing and began to quickly fold one of them, careful to get the folds as precise as possible. “How did I do, teach?”

Alain stared at her right in the eyes, his eyebrows raised and his chin tilted down as he waited patiently for her to step away from the fridge. “Merci,” he wiped his hands clean on the towel, and picked up the pastry bag, turning the plastic end around his thumb and getting rid of the air inside of the bag. He froze in his motion as she joked about having capable hands, and gave her a glance. Obviously she looked like she was quite proud of herself, and he couldn’t help but laugh when he saw her expression. “You are unbelievable,” he shook his head, and with still a thin smile on his face went back to work. Folding those things weren’t as easy as it would have looked, and with his hands, they weren’t exactly looking as good as they should have, but all he cared for was that they would not open up when he’d throw them in hot water. Glancing over at Evelyn’s tortellinis, he pursed his lips to the side. She may have done less of them than he did, but hers looked much better too. “You’re cheating, you’ve got ten fingers and I only have nine,” he scoffed, glancing at his work then hers. “You think you can fold the rest of them while I start making the sauce that goes with those?”

She’d been worried, for a moment, that her remark had gone too far. Which wasn’t something that Evelyn usually thought about, if she threw a half-flirtatious (or even more) sort of remark out there. But he had a small smile on his face and he’d laughed, so that was good, right? “I like to think of myself as just believable enough, thank you.” She smirked at his next comment. “Well, I apologise for the number of fingers I have, but I think you do a bang-up job with what you are given.” A small pause, before she added, “besides, I did tell you I am good at decoration, you made all of this and it looks delightful. So yes, feel free to begin the sauce, I also have sparkling cider if you would like to drink that with our meal? I figured, well, I do not want to drink for two, so…” she bit her lip again. “I just thought that would be nice. There is a shop here that makes it locally, so I promise I didn’t get any fancy imports.”

“You did not lie about your decorating skills,” he agreed, turning on his heels to get his pan on the stove. He frowned, turning around again to get his notebook from the counter. “Right, okay,” Alain muttered to himself, focusing his attention on the ingredients, although Evelyn’s voice pulled him from his notes : “What ? Oh, sure, that sounds nice. The local products always taste a lot better too,” he bit his lip and picked up a wooden spoon, adding parsley and butter to the garlic. Letting it all caramelize a little, he had a look at Evelyn’s work, figuring that she would be probably almost done by now. “Looks like you’ve been making those your whole life,” he observed. His attention went back to the stove when he started hearing noise in the pan. Adding diced canned tomatoes to the rest, he explained, “It’s not really tomato season, but I promise it won’t matter much for this,” otherwise he would have picked a different recipe for her birthday. “What do you think, smells nice, right?”

“I try to avoid lying if at all possible, even if it makes me seem as though I am bragging.” She shrugged. “But thank you, I appreciate this.” She continued to fold the tortellinis together, savoring the smell from the sauce that Alain was cooking. Even if actual proper food was not Evelyn’s favorite, she certainly was permitted to enjoy the smell of it, at least, and the taste too - especially if Alain’s other baking was even half a show of his talent. “Well, I used to watch my cooks back home sometimes, if I got bored, so maybe I picked up skills I never knew that I had.” She nodded at his explanation, “Do not worry, I bet that the canned tomatoes will taste utterly divine as well.” She brushed a stray strand of hair from in front of her face. “I think it smells utterly wonderful.” She said, folding the last tortellini. “What do you know? We are quite in sync, once again.”

“I wouldn’t call this bragging,” Alain commented. Coming from him, who never knew how to react to compliments, and never liked to talk too much about what he did, that was rich. Anytime he spoke about things he did well, he felt like he was bragging, and that was why he did not speak about it too often. “That must have been nice,” he paused. He did not really want to mention that he too grew up with cooks, watching them because then he would have a lot of explaining to do. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you learned a thing or two just by watching,” he left the spoon in the pan and opened a drawer, looking for a pot where they could cook those pastas she was just done folding. “Ah, there it is,” he exclaimed, speaking to himself. The pot was soon filled with water, the water salted, and placed on the stove. “So, how did you like folding those,” he took off the apron, figuring that he wouldn’t get too dirty putting pasta in the water, and approached the kitchen island, where she was. It was nice, spending time with her. She was always curious, and for someone who did not usually cook, she even managed to get the job done well. He couldn’t hold back his smile as he looked at what she had made, and then at her. “The water’s going to take a few minutes to boil, we should probably clean up…” He corrected himself, “No, it’s your birthday. I will clean up my mess.”

“Okay, I accept this.” Evelyn grinned. “It was nice, even if once I - well, not every experience in the kitchen was lovely but this certainly is.” She was incredibly appreciative of the fact that he had agreed to come over, that he’d agreed to cook for her and spend her birthday with her. Even though some of Kaden’s messages still swirled around in her mind. There was no way he liked her, not like that - even though he did agree to spend a lot of time with her, which had to at least mean that he liked her in some capacity. It was weird, too - she so rarely had any doubts about whether or not people liked her, because she knew most did. “I did like it.” She glanced over to him as he took off his apron. She smiled at him, too, for a moment - “Well, I can help, if you want.” She bit her lip again, taking a few steps toward him. “You know, it only seems like the nice thing to do.” She glanced over to where everything was cooking, before grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him closer to her and pressing her lips against his before pulling away for a second, looking down. “Sorry. I - well, maybe Kaden’s questions had more validity than I thought.”

He had a jar of flour in one hand, and the pastry bag in the other when she pulled him into a kiss. She looked down, he put down the jar of flour, and couldn’t help his smile as she mentioned damn Kaden and his stupid questions. “I cannot believe that you just proved him right,” his hand reached for her cheek, and he kissed her back, forgetting about his hunter friend, and thinking about all these times when he had wondered if she was messing with him, or actually interested in him. He had been wrong, apparently. “Shared blame,” his shoulder shook with amusement. Biting his lip, Alain looked at Evelyn. “Is this your attempt at distracting me from cleaning all that up ?” He kissed her cheek this time, and handed her the pastry bag. “We’ve got a birthday dinner to finish cooking, Evelyn,” he raised his eyebrows, although he had trouble not to smile at her.

“Yes, well,” she looked over to him. “I have to say, I am alright with proving him right in this case.” Evelyn liked the feeling of his lips against hers as he kissed her back. But then he broke away and she frowned for a moment. “Good to have balance.” She rolled her eyes. “Well, at the risk of sounding too cheesy, I think you taste better, even if this does smell fantastic.” She pulled him toward her for another kiss, this time biting his lip with her teeth, gently. “I suppose we can finish, but only if we can continue this later, if you are okay with that. My couch is nice for kissing.”

“You are right… About this sounding cheesy,” sure her comment made him laugh but he gave her the same look he had given her earlier as she told him that she would look inside the fridge. “I’ll get the appetizers out of the oven,” he didn’t have time to add another word for she was kissing him again, “Really? Well, we’ll have to clean and eat first, don’t you think?” He reached for her hand, and put it on the bowl where the pasta dough used to be. “If you help, it should not take too long,” winking at her, he took a step back and headed toward the trash can, getting rid of wrappers and empty paper bags. The oven. Merde. Alain hurried toward the appetizers, cursing at himself for not using a timer that beeped. Taking his time to put them on a nice plate, he heard the water boiling behind him and glanced over at Evelyn, on the other side of the kitchen. “You can put the pasta in the water if you want…” He would have added that she should be careful with the boiling water, but she could probably handle making pasta. She had mentioned that she liked that, and that’s why he had picked that dish for tonight after all. “I’ll set the table, alright?”

“Yes, well, I have layers.” She smirked at him. “Apparently some are a little, well,” she gestured vaguely in the air. “Yes, really. It is good and soft and I am more than happy to show you how good it is for other sorts of things and longer kisses later, after dinner. You know, if you want?” She let him guide her hand. “Well, I have always believed that being given motivation for doing a task well is excellent, and this, any of this, is more appealing than some silly sort of sticker.” She watched as he moved the appetizers to a plate and nodded at his comment. “Yes, of course.” She said, carefully placing the pastas into the water.” Evelyn nodded. “Yes, if you - well, you do actually know where some of my dishes are already, so feel free to use any that you please.” She went over to one of the cabinets and got out the sparkling cider. “We cannot forget this, especially given that this evening has turned out to be even lovelier than I thought it would be.”

“Questionable?” She certainly did not want him to finish her sentence, but he could not help it. “One thing at a time, alright?” Searching through the cabinets for plates, he picked up two small ones for the appetizers and two larger deep ones for the rest of the meal. The table set, he asked her for table napkins, and then took care of the pastas, adding them to the sauce and setting the heat to the lowest setting. “Let’s have dinner then,” one plate in each hand, Alain pecked Evelyn’s cheek and invited her to follow him into the garden. He had figured, since it was a warm evening, that they could have dinner outside. They would probably have to head back inside for dessert, but that was not something he had thought of yet. The table looked quite simple, compared to those you could find in fine restaurants, but anything that was free of mimes would probably suffice.

“Not what I was going to say.” She replied, but her eyes and lips conveyed that she was not at all mad with him. “Yes, one thing at a time. We could even make a list for tonight.” Another smirk crossed her lips. He kissed her cheek again and she couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. It was nice, though admittedly more than a little bit surprising, that he seemed to be nearly as receptive as she was willing to give. She gladly followed him out and through part of her garden, winding around towards her beach and a small platform at the back of her house; not one she used frequently (though again, when did she use anything frequently for eating actual meals?). Evelyn sat down as Alain did, and she poured each of them a glass of the cider. “Well,” she began, holding her drink up, “here is to new beginnings.” After tapping her glass against his, she took a small sip before placing it down and taking a bite of one of the appetizers. “This is wonderful. Thank you. For more than I was expecting, even.” She took a few bites of her pasta. “We do seem to make a good team.”

“We could make a list for tonight,” Alain raised an eyebrow, “but I’m pretty sure I can remember all that is planned so far,” even if he had a bad habit of forgetting things, even sometimes important ones, his short term memory was rather decent. Sitting down at the table, he had a look at the ocean for a moment, just long enough for Evelyn to serve them drinks. Taking a sip of cider, he picked up the bottle to have a look at who was making it, and listened to her as she commented on his cooking. “Careful with the samossa, I don’t want you to get burned,” he warned, disregarding the compliment (as per usual), putting down the bottle and starting to have a bit of the food cooked. “We do make a good team,” he agreed, finishing the appetizers before he started having his pasta. Being used to eating his meals quietly, he remained silent for a while, although from the moment they had met, several months ago, Evelyn had been warned that he was never the most talkative.

“Me too,” she said, pursing her lips to the side. “I think I can forgo a list for tonight.” She nodded at his words regarding the samosa, careful to have only taken a small bite of them, allowing them to cool down. She glanced over to him as he began to eat, and so she, too, took a few more bites of the pasta, and another sip of her drink. Evelyn put her fork down and looked back over to him. She was never nervous. Well, that was not entirely true; she did have the capacity to feel nervous but it was not usually in regard to any of - whatever this was. Hanging out with someone in any capacity; but then again, it was new, in some way - because usually she was fine with kissing someone and asking questions later - or not at all. “Are you - are you still okay with more of what we were doing earlier? For longer periods of time?” She took another sip of her cider. “Unless, of course, you would prefer to just not, that is fine too.” She grabbed another samosa and shoved it into her mouth, waiting for his reply.

“You did not scare me away, yet,” Alain put his cutlery down and looked at her kindly. “So yes, I suppose we can make more pasta later,” he raised his eyebrows, examining her reaction. It was the first time since he had met her that she did not seem so confident in herself, which was actually rather reassuring. He currently had no idea of what he was doing right now either, and winging it was a nice way to describe everything that had happened since that first kiss in the kitchen. “I will tell you if I want to change my mind, until then…” He picked up his napkin to wipe an imaginary crumb from his mouth, and get rid of the sweaty hands feeling. “Anyway, would you rather open your present before or after dessert?” He hoped that she would like it, although considering how interested she seemed every time they had done that, it could only be well received, right? Or maybe she didn’t really like it and just liked spending time with him, which was an option. “I mean, we have to do that before the mime strippers arrive, right?”

“Not what I meant.” Evelyn raised an eyebrow at him. “I think we have more than enough pasta, and I would not want to make more and have it go to waste.” She glanced down at her plate, taking another forkful of pasta to give herself something to do. “Okay. Okay, just, um,” she hated filler phrases, “let me know.” She glanced back over to him at his next question. “Well, I think dessert first and -” she rolled her eyes. “If you brought stripper mimes I will walk up and leave right this moment.” But she let out a small bit of laughter - she had grown to at least partially understand his humour in the few months since they had known one another. “But yes, I think dessert is good, first - if you are full?” She pushed a few of her pastas around on her plate, taking another small bite of one, grateful that Alain was a good cook, and even if proper food was still not her favorite, these were quite lovely. “That will be a proper surprise, too.”

“Fine, I’ll cancel the mimes then,” he gave her a shrug although the blank look on his face didn’t last long and was soon replaced by a thin smile, again. “Sure, I’m good,” mainly because he had nibbled on most of the things that were needed to cook this whole meal, which was not the best habit one could have. Standing up from his chair, he picked up her plate and cutlery first, then his, and headed back inside. He breathed out heavily as he closed the door behind him. For someone like himself that had never been fond of the unexpected, this was a rather pleasant surprise, although one that still seemed to him like a mirage, too good to be true. He shook the idea, but it still lingered for a moment in the back of his head. When he walked back to the table with the strawberry cake in his hands, Alain had not completely forgotten his anxious thought from the kitchen. “I decided against going with 28 candles,” he explained. There were indeed a total of 7 candles on the fraisier, mainly because he wanted to avoid wax ending up on the top of it. “Well ?”

She watched as he made his way back inside her home, and while he was in there Evelyn fiddled with the hem of her dress, trying to calm her breathing. She liked him, in a way that was admittedly confusing for her, for someone who might have liked people before but so rarely liked them enough that she didn’t feel a need to just have them over for one night or two just for fun. Of course, she told herself, if that was what he wanted, she would happily comply, but he didn’t quite seem like the sort to do that. If he was though, she would be fine with it. Luckily, she didn’t have to focus too much on her thoughts because he was back out with the cake and - “Oh, it is beautiful,” she said, her eyes lighting up as she smiled, “I think seven candles is perfectly acceptable, twenty-eight would be quite a lot, I am getting so old, after all.” She glanced up at him, the smile still present on her face. “Do I get to make a wish?”

“Thank God,” he put the cake before her, sighing with relief. Alain had mentioned to her a couple days ago that most of his cooking looked … okay, without ever looking beautiful, and he had actually gone through several youtube tutorials to get his cake to look good. “Absolutely,” now whether or not the candles would grant it was another question. He could not remember the last time he had seen someone do that. There was something very normal about all of this, and he actually liked it.

“Bakery-window worthy, though also it looks as though it will taste good as well.” Evelyn nodded at his allowance of her making a wish before she closed her eyes and blew out the candles; they stayed in place and she held a finger up to her lips. “Well, this worked - but shh, my wish is secret, lest it not come true.” She began removing some of the candles from her cake, placing them between her lips to remove some of the icing from them and she looked up at Alain. “Will you do the honors of cutting us each a slice?”

“Of course,” he replied, carefully getting rid of the candles and placing them on the edge of his plate. The hunter furrowed his brows. First in two halves, then quarters, and once again. The cake now cut in 8 pieces, Alain picked one up with the edge of the blade and placed it in her place with caution. Even if he could be trusted with a knife, delicateness was not his main quality. It was not surprising to see his own slice end up on the side although he was okay with that. “Bon appétit,” he waited for her to start eating to pick up his own spoon. “I’m not too sure about the strawberries,” it was a bit early for them, but his first bite made him change his mind about that. It did not take too long for the plate to be emptied.

She watched him cut the cake into eight pieces, appreciating the neatness of planning that he used, and gratefully accepted a piece of cake onto her plate. “To you as well,” she replied, digging into the cake. “I think that the strawberries are wonderful.” She said, placing one into her mouth. Evelyn ate the cake slower than Alain did, savoring each bite. After a bit, her plate was empty as well, save for a little bit of icing that had spilled out while she was eating. She ran her forefinger across it, before bringing it to her mouth and wiping it off of her finger, looking right at Alain. They had kissed - three times, already - she was allowed to take another step of flirting, wasn’t she? “This was utterly delightful.”

Alain raised an eyebrow as she dragged her finger against her plate to get the last bit of icing. If it first went over his head that she was flirting, it was as he was about to comment on it not being good manners that it hit him. He scratched a spot next to his nose in an attempt to hide, just a little, the faint redness that made his cheek feel warm. “I’m glad you liked it,” he cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “Do you want to have tea or something, or…?” Or she could open her present and then, who knew. He could have enjoyed going by the shore to walk with her, but this was her day.

A small smile crossed her lips as she noticed his cheeks growing just slightly red. Evelyn gave a quick nod. “I did, absolutely. I still think that the Victoria Sponge is my favorite, but this was quite delightful as well.” At his question, she thought for a moment. “I think, if you are alright with it, I would like my present. Then we can see how the evening goes?” She paused for a moment. “Do you have to be back home at any particular time? I remember you were taking care of Abel as well as, of course, your own dogs.” Evelyn smiled at him. “Though of course, you are welcome to stay as long as you would like.”

Alain shook his head. He should have known that she would not change her mind about her favourite cake, and he had to admit that this was one thing the British knew how to cook. “Alright then,” he held out his hand to grab hers, squeezing it lightly. “Let’s go open that present then,” his eyes travelled across her face, lingering on her lips for a moment. Yeah, no, now was not the time. Besides, she had just asked him a question. Walking with her toward the living room, where he had left the wrapped present, he considered what she just asked. It was not reasonable to stay for the night, was it ? If things headed naturally toward this, then fine, although he could not tell her that the rest of his plans for the night consisted of taking care of a spawn nest he had been told about. If she knew about the supernatural, she probably would disapprove, and if she did not, she would think that he was insane. “My dogs are used to being alone,” he finally answered. Now, she did not have to know why. “I don’t know, we will see. I still have to prove that you do snore,” he let go of her hand and glanced at her with an innocent look on his face.

She liked the feeling of his hand against hers, and she followed him toward her house, even though she frowned slightly when his gaze moved toward her lips but he didn’t kiss her. Well, all the more reason to give him reason to later. “I look forward to seeing what it is you got me.” she went and sat down on her couch. Evelyn crossed her legs and looked at the wrapped up box in front of her for a moment, responding to his remark. “I have already assured you that I do not, but if you want to see me sleep, I do have a number of bedrooms that I could show you.” She matched his innocent look with one of her own, a simple grin crossing her lips. “But I also would not want to tear you away from your dogs so, you know, it is up to you. I can give you a reason to come back over again if you would like.” With that, she opened the card he had attached and read it, another smile, softer this time, crossing her lips. She began to carefully tear open the wrapping paper, her eyes growing wide as she saw what it was. “Thank you so much.” She said, motioning for him to sit down, and once he did, she pulled him into another kiss, longer this time.

“I guess I asked for those sorts of comments,” Alain looked down at his shoes for a couple of seconds before he looked down at her, tilting his head to the side. “That is very kind of you,” it was true that recently he had found all sorts of excuses to spend time with her, the latest one being picking her up for Kaden’s birthday party because he wanted to retrieve a baking pan he had forgotten in her kitchen. As she began to open her present, the hunter’s feelings were balancing between expectation and concern. She could either love it, or be really disappointed. His worries faded quickly enough, although her wide eyes managed to bring a frown to his face for a short time. “I wasn’t sure you would -” her kiss cut him off, although since he was about to ramble, it wasn’t such a bad thing. His hand moved to her cheek, carefully, as if he was afraid that she would vanish, his fingers slipping through her hair.

She gave him a bit of an ‘I told you so’ shrug in response to his remark. But then when she had kissed him he responded, he didn’t pull away and she only deepened the kiss as his hands found her hair - and she liked how they felt there. It was one of her favorite and most solid someone else is here with me things. She pulled him down against the couch, almost as though she was desperate to make sure that this was real, that his hands and his weight were not just some sort of false comforting part of her imagination. Which was also weird. Evelyn wasn’t usually the sort to need this sort of comfort, not since Melanie, not really. Having people appreciate her was fine without deep and solid confirmation. Not now, though. She broke away from their kiss for a moment, her cheeks warm and her gaze soft on him.

Alain felt as if his heart had sunk in his chest, as he was briefly brought back years ago. He had had time to grieve, and it was hard to feel melancholy with these little things bringing him back to reality. Warmth, the faint smell of lavender, the touch of her hair under his fingers. When she pulled herself away from him, he met her eyes and his expression softened. He rubbed reddened cheeks under his fingertips and sat up. “That’s…” Trailing off, his eyes were distracted by a Bluray case. Rear Window. “Weren’t we originally supposed to watch this,” he wasn’t against spending the rest of the evening in a .. cooler environment, after all.

“We were.” Evelyn looked up at him, “though it makes it a little difficult to watch given our current predicament.” She grinned, watching as he sat up. She pushed herself up too, grabbing the disc and making her way over to the television, placing it into the Bluray player before pressing play and making her way back over to the couch and sitting right next to Alain again, resting her head against his shoulder. “Thank you, I do not know if I have said this enough. This has been one of my loveliest birthdays.”

His eyes followed her as she went toward the television and came back to his side. Alain shifted a little as she leaned against his shoulder, lifting his arm to give her more room. Her comment made him bite the inside of his cheek. She must have thanked him at least ten times since he had arrived. Although rather than to give her shit for it, he kissed the side of her head and glanced at the screen as the music started, announcing the beginning of the movie.

#wickedswriting #para #para evelyn #waterloo #no mimes were harmed in the making of this chatzy #because they weren't invited

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bubbletimestories · 4 years

Text

Bon appétit (Reader/Original character)

Summary: A devouring love takes hold of you, a love so strong, so intense and sublime that it requires the total fusion of beings

Warnings: cannibalism, blood, sexual allusions

Themes: love, cannibalism, desire

A/N. It may sound very extreme but in fact, it is not described in a gory way. It is more a question of showing the passion and the desire which goes up than a raw scene. No too graphic description, no violence and above all, it is fully agreed.

No-gendered characters

Translated with Google traduction, sorry ^^’

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24439258 (eng)

********************************************************

The heat of summer only heightens the ambient tension as your eyes meet over the table, full of the same desire to take off your clothes to know you in the most intimate way possible. You have been dating for a long time, laughing together, turning around without being able to detach yourself, hypnotized like butterflies in front of a light bulb. Perhaps that is what they are for you, an entity of light with which you would like to warm up entirely knowing that it will make you suffer. "But suffering doesn’t matter when you have pleasure" they keep repeating to you to dispel your doubts and tonight, you feel it, it's time to listen and take the plunge.

In an instant, your hands are on their hips, their touching your face to hold each line, the call of the bodies becomes stronger. Quickly, feel the lukewarmness of their sweaty skin under your fingers, press yourself against it without further apologizing for desiring it as they pull on your t-shirt to prevent you from fleeing, backing away. You would be incapable of it, your body itself is looking for how to get closer and closer, how to be one with the one who is obsessing you. Finally, your mouths are magnetized, throwing one over the other with this awkwardness that causes impatience, your lips joining forcefully.

Oh my God

This kiss is not chaste or shy, it is not vulgar or violent, it is fire and restraint all at the same time and you feel your mouth squeeze harder to drink all your drunk while a thousand colors that don't yet exist born behind your eyelids. They taste of sin and ripe strawberries, the sugar of the dessert remaining in tiny particles on the flesh of their pink lips as an invitation to taste them. Midnight gluttony, you must savor them for a long time lest they disappear. But now is not the time for tasting, you feel them greedy, teasing, feverish against you, stirring up desire. Their fingers get lost in your hair, you who had spent so much time styling them, their nails sliding on your scalp as they danced their tongue against yours with a playful laugh. What becomes of your limbs, your clothes, the rest of your being, you don't know, only this carnal ballet matters to you, your breaths mingling until suffocation. But what better way to die?

The feverishness of your embrace contrasts with the dryness of ther lips that the little fads of everyday life have cracked. A single touch that is too strong, a teasing bite and a thin ruby pearl thread on the surface, like a drop of wine running down the neck. Your kiss takes a slight taste of salt that you suck on without thinking about it while the possessive hands press your skin, make it blush by imprinting the mark of their fingers on it. Your naked flesh quivers under the bite of their nails, so do they want to butcher you or grab hold so that you never escape? Your limbs are scattered on the carpet, your back catching the artificial light that brings out sensual scratches like the tracks of a feline. They contemplate you, sumptuous tiger, with their pupils dilated like obscure wells, wells of lust where one drowns. Your wet bodies embrace, stick, mix to make only one like two pieces of dough that is kneaded and it is necessary that you have become a malleable, elastic and warm material between their fingers, between their thighs, against their lips.

Their mouth swollen with love can no longer satisfy you, you have exhausted the sugar and salt as you consume a hors d’oeuvre to better appetite. Your senses require more than a tasting, gluttony grazes your being in your most secret corners to call for devouring. The pink ribbon of your tongue goes down to the neck offered, the nectar of their sweat pricking your taste buds like an expensive champagne. The excitement pulsates the fine vessels under the smooth skin and you close your eyes to better feel the rhythm, soak up these pulsations that hammer "I love you" under your lips. They sigh in pleasure as your breath burns their throat, an exquisite creature stretching against you, fusing your envelopes, calling your mouth to more than just a touch. Taste them, tickle them, nibble them until they’re wear out, until the blood is beaded on the surface of their epidermis for better watering.

Again.

Stronger.

More carnal feeling, more of them in you. The ferrous taste like molten metal fills your palate and your mind, you finally discover the true flavor of love, far from sweetness and sweet aromas. Love is powerful, spicy, burning, it is a furnace where you melt to be reborn. Their whispers have become hoarse calls and they vibrate with impatience, again, again, again. Your mouth opens wider, it will never be enough to swallow everything, to soak up completely, perfectly. Your teeth pierce the surface with ease, primal bite of the finally free beast that delights in the piece of flesh, sliding it against your tongue. Chew, revel, start again, listen to the symphony of their exalted sighs as they rock their head back. The carnal wine flows in purple threads on their skin and you lap it in long movements while their thighs close around you, while your bodies are only one ripple. Each wave of pleasure is accompanied by a new bite, on their shoulder, on their chest, on their arms which they offer you the fingers, always this desire, stronger, obsessive, to have their flesh against you, no , in you, to be one.

You are completely filled with the loved one, never to leave them, losing yourself in them as they melt in you, kiss by kiss until complete dissolution. Is it not the most perfect and sublime form of love?

#fic #reader insert #cannibalism #love #non-explicit sex

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lorata · 5 years

Note

Any interest in kicking off the new year with some Alec and Emory mentor feels?

HAPPY NEW YEAR, ANON

(Also found here)

Emory slides her spatula into the bowl of batter, folding it with smooth, expert strokes until the wet and dry ingredients combine. She let Alec try first but no matter how he struggled, chunks of white flour stuck out between strings of egg yolk as the batter stubbornly refused to come together. “I don’t know how you do it,” Alec says, pulling his feet up onto the rung of the stool and resting his chin on his knees.

She favours him with an indulgent smile. “Same as anything. Practice and dedication. You didn’t walk out as a baby knowing how to chuck a spear, did you?”

“Ha.” Alec can’t help but be transfixed as Emory sticks her finger into the botl, the batter now thick enough she can pinch a piece of it with thumb and forefinger and test it with a light squeeze. She hums to herself, then sprinkles a little more flower into the mixture. “How do you know how to do things like that? You’re not looking at a recipe.”

Emory reaches over, takes his hand and sticks his finger into the batter. “Feel,” she says. “See how it sticks to your fingers, doesn’t wanna come off? If you try there’ll be bits and pieces stuck to you. We want it to stick to itself when we roll it, not to the sheet or to our hands. So we need more of the bonding agent. Flour helps keep it all together.”

Alec stares at the batter stuck to his fingers, but he can’t exactly put it back now that it’s all over his hands and it seems wasteful to throw it away. He hesitates, but then Emory winks at him like she can read the absolute nonsense of his thoughts, and so he gathers up his courage and licks his fingers clean.

“You don’t wanna do too much of that,” Emory says, taking down a block of dark chocolate from the cupboard. “They say you can get real sick from the eggs, even the flour. But you can’t cook without tasting along the way, so sometimes you gotta take that risk.”

The idea of raw cookie batter posing a risk after Alec lost an entire arm to sepsis from a mutated monkey creation is quite possibly the funniest thing he’s heard all year, but at the same time, he’d rather not have people killing themselves laughing at his untimely funeral. Alec tries to recall whether Aunt Julia ever baked cookies, and if so whether she would have let him taste any of the raw batter, but those memories, if they existed, hide behind a fog.

“It all seems like magic to me,” Alec says. Except then Emory hands him the chocolate and a thin knife and tells him to shave off small pieces for the cookies, and he might not know baking but he knows knives so at least he’s not entirely useless.

(He does remember Aunt Julia’s hands, the fearless curl of her fingers around the knife handle as she made quick work of any vegetable that made it across her cutting board. Sometimes she and Dad had competitions to see who could cut the most vegetables the fastest and into the prettiest pieces while Mom and Uncle Paul sat back with drinks and rolled their eyes when they thought the kids couldn’t see. Aunt Julia almost always won — and that’s how Alec found out she’d been in the Program too, back in the day, but only until Transition. Funny how no one ever talked about it.)

“Everything is magic when we don’t understand it yet,” Emory says. “The trick is not leaving it there. Not knowing how to do things should be exciting, not an excuse.”

He shouldn’t stare, except sometimes Emory said things he swore would be a joke or a trap if it were anyone but his mentor speaking. Emory catches his expression anyway and cocks an eyebrow, and Alec’s throat flushes. “I’ve never thought of it that way, that’s all. I can’t imagine what it would be like, even. I’ve always been scared of not knowing things. Like I’ve failed before I started.”

Most of Alec’s life had been spent playing catch-up to Creed and Selene, who’d been older, faster, braver. They’d done everything first, and all their knowledge was meant to osmose down to Alec so he’d have it before it was his turn; by the time Alec got there, he should already have practiced and perfected everything with them, no mistakes allowed. Why should there be when he had two living examples to learn from right in front of him? He should know better.

It took the thrill out of discovery, leaving him to follow in their footsteps, afraid to deviate from the well-trodden paths in front of him. Sure, he could try something new, but then all the mistakes and first attempts would be his as well. He could either take the safe path through the forest or forge on through the thorny bracken, and while Selene would not have understood the question or even seen a dilemma being posed to her, Alec had definitely chosen to play it safe.

Emory rests her hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly before letting go. She takes the bowl from the counter and covers it, then sticks it in the fridge. “Do you know why we have talents, Alec? The unofficial ones, I mean, the ones we don’t share with the Capitol.”

He blinks. This one seems like a baby-Victor question, the kind of thing a mentor has to run through when a fresh Victor digs their heels in, except that Alec has never questioned Emory about anything so fundamental. “So we know we can be more than killers?” he hazards. It seems straightforward enough. “So we have hobbies that have nothing to do with swords or weapons or the Games. To give us something else to focus on when we have bad days. And to remind us that we’re capable of creating things when we spent our whole lives learning to destroy.”

Emory’s mouth quirks a little, and Alec hopes he didn’t come off as sarcastic. He used to have that problem, being so steeped in Centre culture through his parents and their friends and with Creed and Selene being older and siphoning down the answers that by the time the trainers asked him questions they thought he sounded glib even when he meant it. “How do you think we choose them?” she asks instead.

Again, it feels a little like a trick, but then again Dad liked to ask obvious questions all the time and Alec still managed to give the wrong answer. “You find something you like that you’re good at and you stick with it?”

“The exact opposite.” Emory’s eyes are soft and warm even as she corrects him. “You find something you’re interested in that you’ve never had the chance to try before, and you do that. Start over at the very beginning like you’re a kid again and learn how to get good at it. Let yourself be terrible and have fun.”

Alec fights the instinctive surge of panic. “But why? Why not start with something you’re already good at?”

“Because every one of us has spent the last ten years before the Arena doing everything we can to avoid failure, and it doesn’t get easier on the other side,” Emory says. “We practice and perfect and hone our skills and after a while if something isn’t working, the trainers tell us to drop it, don’t waste our time. When was the last time any of us were allowed to be bad at something? Or figure out how to do something new on our own, without pressure or trainers telling us how to do it? There’s freedom in discovery. I had to learn that. You will, too.”

All of this sounds like a fairytale written in a giant book engineered to snap shut on his fingers when he tries to read it, but — okay, sure. New things to learn, no pressure, and he’s allowed — supposed — to be bad at it when he starts. “You know that sounds terrifying,” Alec says. It comes out accusing but he can’t help it. Sometimes this mentor stuff is too much.

Emory laughs. “Believe me, I hear you.”

It’s all a lot to process and not a little overwhelming, but Emory brought this up for a reason. She never starts talking to hear her own voice, and Alec runs through the conversation backwards until he finds the junction. He chews on the inside of his lower lip. “You think I should learn to cook?”

“I think you’re learning already,” Emory says gently. “What do you think we’ve been doing, every time you sit with me while I make food? But yeah, eventually you’ll be doing this on your own. Making food for yourself is a powerful feeling. Making food for other people is a great way to say you love them without having to say it — you know, in case there’s anyone in your life who spooks easy.”

Alec laughs at that. Emory would have had to figure out how to handle Artemisia long before Selene came into the picture, so she must be well versed in the signs. “That’s a good point,” he says. “Maybe I’ll start paying more attention.”

“Can’t hurt,” Emory says, and slaps him on the back. “Also maybe we’ll finally get a favourite food out of you. Important step in the Victor self-identity process, that one.”

“How long did it take you to get one?” Alec asks. Emory told him she had a rough recovery, but he still has trouble making it rea.

She snorts a little. “Longer than it should have, for stubborn and nothing else,” Emory says. “Which is why I’m starting you off early. Let’s get supper started while the dough chills.”

For a second Alec blanks before his brain catches up. “Is this a bad time for me to admit I’ve been calling it ‘batter’ in my head the whole time we were cooking? I don’t think I actually know the difference.”

“This a bad time for me to tell you it’s actually ‘baking’, not ‘cooking’, when you’re making cookies?” Emory grins and slings an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in for a quick hug. “Don’t worry. First step at being good at something is being bad at it. We’re off to a great start.”

“I think my mentor just insulted me.”

“Think you must be imagining things.”

Alec tackles her, and Emory knocks him to the ground and pins him right there on the kitchen floor. “Cheeky, cheeky,” she says, shaking her head in mock concern, but then she laughs and claps the side of his face with her massive palm.

When she lets him up Alec weighs a hundred pounds lighter. “I think I want chili tonight,” he says. “Can we make it spicy?”

Emory smiles, big and proud and warm enough to make his chest glow. “Sure can do. Run down to the pantry and grab me that bag of dried beans.”

#district 2 #oc: alec #oc: emory #victor alec au #Anonymous #lorata answers

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stinkfacestories · 6 years

Text

Stinkface Stories: Total KnockOut

Featuring: Kevin Owens, Big Show

The service elevator ran the length of the building; from the sub basement to the penthouse and everything in between. The staff used it because it was easier than taking the stairs and the talent used it because it ran directly from the gym to the suites. It wasn’t uncommon for a PA to be riding up with coffee and contracts to have one or two slick slabs of sweaty wrestler squeeze in headed to change or go run through a routine in the practice ring.

“You can’t,” Big show said. He pressed the button to summon the elevator. He was wearing dark blue sleeveless shirt. He wa quite the imposing sight: giant,bald, big bushy beard.

“Come on, I’m telling ya, I can do it. It will really give me boost you know?” Kevin Owens, though nearly a foot shorter than Big Show, stood next to him also waiting for the elevator, They had been working out together all week. He cut quite the figure too. A little pudgier, just as big a beard. His grey t-shirt emblazoned with the letters ‘K.O’ was near black with sweat.

The elevator opened and a thin looking PA looked up, wide eyed at the two. The other runners had always joked about who would be the worst pair to be forced to ride up with, and out of all the possible combinations, Big Show was always one of the pair. The elevator itself was not nearly as big as the ones in apartment buildings. Two normal sized people would have an uncomfortable ride, let alone a giant, his fat sweaty friend and a 9-5’er.

“Hey there,” Big Show said kindly as he stepped in. The box groaned in protest but the floor held. He turned his back and wedged himself into the opposite corner, though his massive frame still covered half the width. When Owens joined him taking up the other side the PA was pressed practically nose to back with the two. The doors closed as the fourth passenger made their presence known: the hot body odor wafting off the two of them. It filled the compartment like a thick fog. The two wrestlers either didn’t notice, or didn’t care. The PA was barely able to hold his breath.

“Maybe I could just do it once and see how it goes. Then we can make a decision” Owen spoke up, the first to break the silence.

“You can’t finish with a Stinkface, there’s a tradition with it. Unless you wanna quit and do house shows in high schools for the rest of your life, then you gotta follow the rules.”

“What rules? Its sticking your ass in some guys face for fun, what rules can there be?” Owens said.

The PA heard the word ‘ass’ and looked down at the two of them. Two big ones right in front of him. Each were covered in some dark shorts; The Big Show’s were a camo pattern, very tight, almost painted on. His ass was like two monster boulders crashed together. Owens were looser, solid black, athletic--slick and shiny. He was a bit rounder. The globes of his ass were bubbly, jiggling slightly every time the elevator would jostle just a little bit.

“We don’t have time for this man, when the time comes I’tall happen.” Big Show said.

“Time? We need time?” Owens looked at the panel in front of him. He opened a small door revealing a large red lever marked ‘Emergency Only’. He grabbed at it and turned it. Turned it so far and so hard that it broke off in his big thick hands. The elevator jerked and sputtered to a halt, somewhere between the floors.

“Hey man, what the hell did you do that for?” Big show said

“Are we stuck? What happened?” The PA said, trying to see between the two walls of flesh in front of him.

“I figure we have at least an hour before they send people to get us, maybe longer for them to get us out of here. So now we have time for you to tell me just what rules and qualifications I need to finish a match with a Stinkface,” Owens said. He thumped at Big Shows arm, punctuating his point.

“Stinkface?” The PA said.

“Yeah, Stinkface. I want to start using it in my routine. I think my crowds would love it.”

“You couldn't have left me get off before you got of stuck? Can this thing hold you two? Is there enough air?”

“Hey ho, quite up now,” Big Show said. “It’s done now so no use complaining. Having you here will work out fine. We can get some outside perspective on the matter.” He looked down at Owens “So tell me. Why do you think you deserve to do this Stinkface?”

Owens smiled. “Well, look at me man. I think the crowds would love it. I’m like a smaller version of you. Got the big beard, pretty thick. Wouldn't they think it was funny if I sat my big ass on some jobber?”

“Well, you stumbled in the first requirement. You gotta have an ass. I know you can be an ass, but that dont mean that you got one. The crowds don’t want to see just any flat-ass guy pinning someone in the corner. They want to see someone with some real powerful haunches smother a guys face; that’s why Me and ‘Kishi are so good at it. So… do you really have the ass?”

Owens reached back and punched his own ass, the big thing trembled before the smaller PA. “Hell yeah man. I got one. You see this thing? I avoid doing too much work on it because I want it to be big, but I don’t want it to be to hard. Know what I mean?” He peered behind him at the PA. “You got a good view, tell the guy about it.”

“What?”

“Tell Big Show how my ass looks like it would be great to give a stinkface”

“I don’t think Im really the best to ask--”

“Come on now play nice,” Big Show piped up “We might be here a while so just be helpful. Tell the guy if you think his ass is good enough to stinkface a guy.”

The PA looked back at Kevin Owens’ ass. It wasn't something he would want to tangle with.

“I’t looks..good I guess?”

“Come on guy,I need more than that get in there” Big Show said.

Owens obliged and reached back and grabbed the guys hand and put it on his ass. “See,” he said. “Feel how its just the right mix of soft and firm. Plenty of room for a face right?”

“Yeah sure, it’s like sweaty bread dough,” The PA said

“Amature. It’s not the Stinkhand Owens.” Big show shoved Kevin and he went stumbling backwards. Flailing to keep his balance, his ass slammed into the back of the elevator; the poor PA’s face between his cheeks. Owens blubbery cheeks engulfed his face, wrapping from ear to ear. One could only imagine the smell that he must have suffered. It may have only lasted a moment, but when the beefy wrestler leaned forward and looked behind him at what he had done, the PA’s face looked as if it had looked as if it had been wedged in there for an hour. He was in shock. His face was splattered with sweat; as was the wall behind him.

“Well shit,” Big show said. “I was wrong about you K.O. That right there is the sign of a good Stinkface. The look of horror, disbelief.”

“How was it?” Owens asked the PA.

“ Uhg…” He just wiped his face.

“Good? Bad? Come on we need words dude,” Big show said. He leaned down a little “Or do you need another, longer, go to form an opinion?” He raised his eye and gave a grin.

Wet, cold, but also hot. Silent”

“Awesome,” Owens said

“And the smell?”

“Didn't inhale, thank god” The PA said.

“You didn't smell? Your face was buried and you didn’t smell?” Big Show rolled his shoulders and slapped Owens on the shoulder. “He didn’t smell. How are we supposed to judge how good it was if at the end of the day he didn’t take a sniff.”

“Im sure its bad,” The PA said. “This is a pretty small space. You can’t smell it already? It reeks in here.”

Kevin sniffed at his pits. “I smell nothing.”

Big Show sniffed too “Me either. We were in that Gym for along time. Your noses is the only one that knows. So go on smell it and tell me how it is”

“Whoa, Show you sure that’s a good idea?” Owens pipped in. “Trust me when I say that’s a pretty dangerous area back there. Might not be safe to go in and sniffing around.”

“ Ill pass,” The PA said. “I can smell it from here. I give it a 9/10 on the bad scale.”

“Not good enough for me pal,” Big show said. “Who knows what your smelling. Could be me. Only way to go is to get up in there and take a big sniff. Owens assume the position.”

Kevin turned and put his hands against the wall, spreading his legs ever so slightly, like he was preparing to be frisked. His ass was begging for someones face at that point.

“No way. You can just take my word on it.”

Big show grumbled. “Your choice pal: You can either take a big sniff of Owens, or you can be sniffing my ass from now till the fire department gets here. And my ass don’t play nice.”

Kevin gave a short laugh, his ass jiggling with it “Aint that the truth; take the easy way out guy.”

The PA had no real option. Given the choice between the two asses, he opted for the less violent of the two.

“Where should I, you know.. Target?”

“Right where the back turns into the ass, if your a chicken-- right in the blast zone if your a real man.”

“Blast zone?” Owen looked over his shoulder at Big Show

“You know,” Big Show blew a raspberry “Blast zone”

Owens laughed “Oh man, I get it. I should get some underwear that says that”

The PA swallowed

“So what’s your choice?” Big Show asked

“What’s the current.. Blast danger I guess?”

“... rising with each passing second bro, so the quicker the better”

The PA leaned in, settling somewhere not quite as high as the back, but a fair share north of the blast zone. He was less than an inch away. He could feel the head radiating on his face.

“Keep that mouth closed,and give it a good 30 seconds. I don't want you cheating and holding your breath”

The rank odor of Owens ass was powerful. It filled the PAs nostrils. It burned. If he were lucky it may have destroyed his sense of smell right then and there and he would be done with it. But nevertheless it kept on stinking.

“When's the last time you took a shower K.O” he asked

“What day is it now?”

“Saturday,” Big Show said

“Easy: Late Friday Night”

The PA took another wiff

“...you mean yesterday?”

Owens counted on his fingers “.. no..I think it was three or so Fridays ago.

“And when did you wash these shorts last?”

“Wash them? These are workout shorts. You don’t wash them. I just shove them in my gym bag.”

Big Show laughed. “So that’s why they call you K.O, everyone who gets a wiff gets knocked out. So how is it dude?”

The PA pulled away “Bad. Salty. Hot. I wish I had been knocked out. My eyes were burning”

Owens gave a thumbs up “Thats two for two. So I can stinkface guys now?”

“Not yet. One final qualification: The gimmick.”

“The gimmick?” Owens said

“Gimmick?” the PA said. “I thought the stinkface was the gimmick.”

“Don’t we wise. Everyone who does the stinkface does their own little twist.”

“Oh yeah,” Owens said. “Like how ‘Kishi hikes up his thong, or does it bare ass?”

“What do you do then?” The Pa asked Big Show.

“I fart.”

The PA groaned and turned away

Owens laughed. “Thats real? I thought that was a joke. You really do that when you give a stinkface?”

“Yeah. Every time.”

“Who does that? Why would you even do that. It’s not like the crowd can tell. Your big but I don’t think you could.. Do that...loud enough for the cameras to pick up” The PA said.

Big Show loomed over the PA, forcing him to one of the corners. He pointed his big finger down at the guy. “First off, if you wanna find out how loud I can fart all you have to do is ask and I’ll be real happy to give you a demonstration. Second it’s not for them. Its for me, and for the tradition.”

The PA groaned again

“I could do that too!” Owens interrupted

“You could?”

“Yeah. I never ripped one in front of you? I swear I must have. Haven't I?”

“Think you could work one up now?”

Kevin scrunched up his big bearded face, grunting a little as he closed one eye. “Yup. There it is. All loaded. I was gonna drop it in my Uber on the ride home but I can drop it here.”

“But were in an Elevator. A tiny, tiny elevator” The PA said. Both Owens and Big Show looked at him like he was speaking some alien language. “So?” they both said

“That’s like the only elevator rule. You don’t do that in an elevator.”

“I do.” Big Show said.

“Same. A lot.” Owens said.

“In fact I dont think Ive ever ridden an elevator without farting in it.” Big Show said.

“Fine. Just.. let me get out of the way.” The PA slide as far in the corner as possible, leaving Kevin on the opposite side.

“This is a stinkface test though. K.Os bringin the stink, you gotta supply the face.”

“What? No way! Not this time” The PA said.

Big Show had enough. He reached out and grabbed the guy by the shoulder, effortlessly sliding him forward. Big Show leaned back against the wall, his arm pinning the smaller man in place.

“Hey let me go!” He said

“You’re free to try, but bigger men than you have failed.”

Owens turned around and began to back up slowly.

“Hey K.O. Why not try out both. Maybe that can be your thing”

“Both?” He said

“Yeah. Drop them draws.”

K.O slid his shorts down. Like the rising sun, his pale ass light up the room. It was glimmering from the sweat. The first thing everyone notices was how hairy it was.

“Damn K.O even your ass has a beard. You ever think about getting that thing waxed?” Big Show said.

“Tried it once, but they said they didn't have enough wax and wanted to charge me three times the regular price.”

Owens backed up even more. Soon the PAs chin was resting on the dark valley that was Owens ass. He backed up even more and he could feel the weight of the two fat globes pressing him into Big Shows gut.

“Come on guys. Show. Big. Big Show. Tell him to call it off. He doesn't want to do this. You can stop him”

“Let’s see: Hey K.O”

“Yeah Big?” Owens looked over his shoulder. Lining up his ass for the best stinkface possible.

“You sure you wanna rip one in this guys face?”

“Sure do Big,” Owens said.

“There, all settled. Go on blast away K.O. Hell I think I might give him one after.

“Come on you can’t do-mpf--”

Big Show pressed the PAs head down so that everything save his eyes were pressed into Kevin’s hairy crack. He was really tasting the musky, sweat soaked forest of hair. Kevin was braced like a centerlinemen, ready to snap the ball.

“Here,” He grunted out. Half of his face was scrunched up. “Comes. The knock Out..Ahh..” His ass erupted in a deep and vibrating blast. The bassy rip reverberated throughout the elevator, shaking even Big Show to the core. Owens went slack jawed. His mouth open almost drooling on the floor. “ Puuunnnch…...aw man now that Felt great.”

The PA’s eyes rolled back in his head as he was forced to breath in every once. He coughed, but that only forced him to breath in Owens Ass through his mouth. His senses were completely overwhelmed. He could see nothing but Owens hairy ass, smell nothing but his meaty fart, taste the salty hairs of his crack, feel the flapping and giggling of his cheeks on his face, and hear Big Show and Owens laugh.

And it wasn't even over

Owens hoisted up one leg and propped it on the wall behind him. He cocked to one side and let out another, less intense but longer sputtering fart. “It’s like a flood gate. Once you break the seal all the rest just wanna slip out”

The PAs eyes rolled back even further. The sloppy blast had done him in. With one final sniff his body went limp and he passed out.

“Damn K.O, you really earned that name.”

‘Hell yeah!” Owens pumped the air. “This means i’m in right. I can do the stinkface on my opponent's right?”

“Not quite.”

“What? Come on Show, I practically melted this guys face off. I can do it!”

“Oh you can do it all right. But you can't do it on stage till someone gives it to you.”

“Wait you mean I have to…”

“Thats right.”

Just then the elevator jerked back into motion. Big show reached over and pressed the button for the floor with the practice stage.

“I’ll see you in the ring, Owens”

#Stinkface #Fiction #BigShow #KevinOwens

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greekcookingmadeeasy · 5 years

Text

Greek Spinach Pie w/homemade Pastry

🥧

Greek Spinach Pie with Homemade Pastry-Spanakopita me spitiko phyllo BY: Greek Cooking Made Easy https://www.youtube.com/greekcookingmadeeasy

Check my YouTube Video: HERE

Κοιτάξτε επίσης την συνταγή μου σε YouTube βίντεο, το λίνκ είναι: ΕΔΩ

youtube

Serves 4-5 persons as main course Well, what can I say about this amazing recipe? Can you think of anything better than fresh wild spinach, plenty of aromatic herbs, spicy Greek cheeses and crispy homemade pastry sprinkled with virgin olive oil? Because I can't! Although it's a bit of extra effort to roll the pastry, the result is definitely worth it. Because nothing can compare with homemade pastry!! Try it and thank me later! If you need a simpler Spanakopita version with ready made pastry, check my separate recipe. Suitable for vegetarians.

INGREDIENTS

Ingredients for filling:

500 gr / 1 lb 2 oz Fresh Wild Spinach 3 Spring Onions Half bunch of fresh Mint Half bunch of fresh Parsley A bunch of Fresh Dill 150 gr / 5.5 oz Feta Cheese 100 gr / 3.5 oz Cottage Cheese or Anthotyro 100 gr / 3.5 oz Kefalotyri Cheese grated (altern: Pecorino) 2 tbsp. Olive Oil for sautéing Salt and ground Pepper Ingredients for the homemade pastry dough: 250 gr / 9 oz /2 cups All-purpose Flour (or bread flour) ½ tsp. Salt 50 ml or 1/4 cup Olive Oil for making the dough and About 100 ml or 1/2 cup Olive Oil for sprinkling between the pastry sheets 120 ml or 1/2 cup Water

Method: Prepare the pastry (very easy): Using a mixer with the hook attachment, pour in the olive oil. Then add the flour. Add also the water and salt and start beating them. When the dough has become like a ball around the hook and has detached completely from the sides of the bowl, then it is ready. Stop the mixer!

Remove the hook and leave the dough in the bowl to rest for 30'-40'. If it sticks to your fingers, just add a bit more flour. While waiting for the dough to rest, prepare the filling: Chop all the herbs. Start with the fresh dill. Chop it and discard its twigs. Place it on a separate bowl. Remove the mint leaves from their twigs. Chop them finely as well and add in the same bowl with dill. Chop the parsley too and add in the same bowl. Wash the spring onions and chop them in thick rounds. Next, wash the fresh wild spinach under plenty of running cold water. Use a sieve to strain the spinach and to wash it once more. Then strain it as much as possible by shaking the sieve. Pour some Olive oil into a deep pot over medium-high heat. When it heats up, sauté the spring onions for 2'. Lower the heat and add the spinach leaves, cut in fourths between your hands. Stir to sauté the spinach all around.

After 5', you will see that the spinach has shrunk to 1/8 of its original size!! Keep cooking it for 12'-15' more, so that most of its water has evaporated. Then turn off the heat. Place the cooked spinach in a new bowl to help it cool down.

Make the filling: Add all the cheeses in to the boiled spinach. Start with the cottage cheese, then the grated kefalotyri. Tip: I have used a total of 350 gr / 12 oz of various cheeses. You can also use other cheese combos (but do not omit feta cheese!). Season with ground Pepper and Salt (not too much salt though, because you will add all the cheeses as well!!) Now add all the fresh herbs into the mixture.

Last, crumble the feta cheese between your fingers and add into the mix. With a big spoon, mix all ingredients for the filling well. Reserve in the fridge.

Time to roll the pastry dough: Knead the dough and shape it like a loaf of bread. Divide it with a knife into 6 pieces to work more easily (3 pieces for the bottom and 3 for the top, not necessarily equal).

Sprinkle a bit olive oil into a round pie dish of 26 cm / 10 in. Flour a clean flat surface and place a piece of dough on it. Roll it using a slim and long rolling pin until the pastry is so thin that it becomes almost transparent!! The 1st pastry sheet will be the base for your pie. Stick it to the bottom and sides to cover the pie dish. Continue rolling the other pastry sheets, which do not necessarily need to cover the whole pie dish. Sprinkle a bit olive oil on the 1st layer, before adding the next pastry sheet. Repeat the procedure for 1 more piece of dough. Work those arm muscles lol! Place it on top of the other 2 layers. Sprinkle some more olive oil on top. This is the bottom of the pie!

Next, pour the spinach filling into the dish. Level it with your spoon.

Repeat with rolling the dough for the 3 top layers. You can also make some creases on top of each pastry layer by pulling the dough together a bit with your fingers. That helps trapping some air between the layers and the pie becomes crunchier!! Again, sprinkle a bit olive oil on top. Although for the between layers it didn't matter how big they were, for the last pastry layer, you should make sure it is rolled out to cover the pie dish exactly! Roll and then place the last layer on top. Fold the edges all around to seal the pie.

Sprinkle a bit olive oil on top. The Spinach Pie is ready for the oven. If it is easier for you, score the pie now, before it is baked. I usually do it after! Tip: If preparing ahead, you can at this point freeze the pie covered with plastic wrap for up to 1 month. Bake the Spinach Pie into a preheated oven @190℃ / 375℉ for 55'-1h or until it becomes golden! When the pie is ready, remove from the oven and place on a rack to cool down and set.

You can also score it now! Look at this amazing pie! Simply wow 😮!!

Crispy and super crunchy! And the filling is full with fresh Spring tastes and scents! Like my whole garden in a plate!!

Serving suggestion: The amazing Spinach Pie-Spanakopita can be served very hot or at room temperature. It can be eaten as main course, or as 1st course in smaller portions. It is the best way to get your kids to eat AND love spinach. The perfect meze/appetizer, snack, lunch, school/work lunch, even a party treat! Just perfect!! Enjoy!

Greece Travel Tip: Spinach is considered a superfood, because it is loaded with so many nutrients but has low-calories. The dark, leafy spinach greens are very important for bone health, skin and hair care. However, Spinach greatest benefit is that it’s a great source of iron, proteins, vitamins and minerals. It helps for a healthy bowel function and to fight anemia.

Spinach is used broadly in Greek cuisine, e.g. boiled to make pies or it can be eaten raw in a salad. In Greece, it can be found wild in the country side with the common name “Nana”. The city of Argos cultivates one of the best domestic spinach varieties called platyfyllo (i.e. broad leaves). Photo: Argos with its ancient theatre.

Check my YouTube Video: Here

Σπανακόπιτα με σπιτικό Φύλλο BY: Greek Cooking Made Easy https://www.youtube.com/greekcookingmadeeasy Σερβίρει 4-5 άτομα ως κύριο πιάτο Λοιπόν, τι μπορώ να πω για αυτή την εκπληκτική συνταγή; Μπορείτε να σκεφτείτε κάτι καλύτερο από φρέσκο άγριο σπανάκι, πολλά φρέσκα μυρωδικά, πικάντικα ελληνικά τυριά και τραγανά φύλλα από σπιτική ζύμη πασπαλισμένη με παρθένο ελαιόλαδο; Γιατί εγώ δεν μπορώ! Παρόλο που είναι μια επιπλέον προσπάθεια να ανοίξετε τη ζύμη, το αποτέλεσμα αξίζει σίγουρα. Επειδή τίποτα δεν μπορεί να συγκριθεί με το σπιτικό φύλλο! Δοκιμάστε το και με ευχαριστείτε αργότερα! Αν παρόλα αυτά, ψάχνετε για ευκολότερη λύση με έτοιμο φύλλο, κοιτάξτε τη ξεχωριστή συνταγή μου. Κατάλληλο για χορτοφάγους.

ΥΛΙΚΑ

Υλικά για τη γέμιση: 500 γρ / 1 lb 2 oz φρέσκο άγριο Σπανάκι 3 φρέσκα Κρεμμυδάκια Μισό ματσάκι φρέσκος Δυόσμος Μισό ματσάκι φρέσκος Μαϊντανός Ένα μάτσο φρέσκος Άνηθος 150 γρ / 5,5 oz Τυρί Φέτα 100 γρ / 3,5 oz Ανθότυρο 100 γρ / 3,5 oz Κεφαλοτύρι τριμμένο (εναλλακτικά: Πεκορίνο) 2 κ.σ. Ελαιόλαδο για το σοτάρισμα Αλατοπίπερο

Υλικά για τη σπιτική ζύμη: 250 γρ / 9 oz / 2 φλιτζάνια Αλεύρι για όλες τις χρήσεις (ή αλεύρι ψωμιού) ½ κ.γ. Αλάτι 50 ml ή 1/4 φλιτζ. Ελαιόλαδο για την ζύμη και Περίπου 100 ml ή 1/2 φλιτζάνι Ελαιόλαδο για το ράντισμα ανάμεσα στα φύλλα 120 ml ή 1/2 φλιτζάνι Νερό

Μέθοδος: Προετοιμάστε τη ζύμη (πολύ εύκολη): Χρησιμοποιώντας ένα μίξερ με το γάντζο (εξάρτημα), ρίξτε μέσα το ελαιόλαδο. Στη συνέχεια, προσθέστε το αλεύρι. Προσθέστε επίσης το νερό και το αλάτι και αρχίστε να τα χτυπάτε. Όταν η ζύμη έχει γίνει σαν μια μπάλα, έχει μαζευτεί γύρω από το γάντζο και έχει αποκολληθεί τελείως από τις πλευρές του μπολ, τότε είναι έτοιμη. Σταματήστε το μίξερ!

Αφαιρέστε το γάντζο και αφήστε τη ζύμη μέσα στο μπολ να ξεκουραστεί για 30'-40'. Αν κολλά στα δάχτυλά σας, προσθέστε λίγο περισσότερο αλεύρι. Ενώ περιμένετε να ξεκουραστεί η ζύμη, ετοιμάστε τη γέμιση: Ψιλοκόψτε όλα τα μυρωδικά. Ξεκινήστε με το φρέσκο άνηθο. Ψιλοκόψτε το και πετάξτε τα κλωναράκια. Τοποθετήστε το σε ξεχωριστό μπολ. Ξεχωρίστε τα φύλλα δυόσμου από τα κλαδιά τους. Ψιλοκόψτε τα και προσθέστε τα στο ίδιο μπολ με με τον άνηθο. Ψιλοκόψτε το μαϊντανό και προσθέστε κι αυτόν στο ίδιο μπολ. Πλύντε τα κρεμμυδάκια και κόψτε τα σε χοντρά κομμάτια. Στη συνέχεια, πλύντε το φρέσκο άγριο σπανάκι κάτω από τη βρύση με άφθονο κρύο νερό. Χρησιμοποιήστε ένα σουρωτήρι για να σουρώσετε το σπανάκι και πλύντε το για άλλη μια φορά. Στη συνέχεια ανακινήστε το σουρωτήρι πολλές φορές για να φύγει όσο περισσότερο νερό γίνεται. Ρίξτε λίγο ελαιόλαδο σε μια πολύ βαθιά κατσαρόλα σε μέση προς ψηλή θερμοκρασία. Μόλις ζεσταθεί το λάδι, σοτάρετε τα κρεμμυδάκια για 2'. Χαμηλώστε τη φωτιά και προσθέστε τα φύλλα σπανακιού, κομμένα στα τέσσερα με τα χέρια σας. Ανακατέψτε για να σοτάρετε το σπανάκι γύρω γύρω.

Μετά από 5', θα δείτε ότι το σπανάκι έχει συρρικνωθεί στο 1/8 του αρχικού του μεγέθους !! Αφήστε το να βράσει για 12'-15' ακόμα, έτσι ώστε το μεγαλύτερο μέρος του νερού του να εξατμιστεί! Στη συνέχεια, σβήστε τη φωτιά. Τοποθετήστε το μαγειρεμένο σπανάκι σε ένα νέο μπολ για να αρχίσει να κρυώνει. Φτιάξτε την γέμιση: Προσθέστε όλα τα τυριά μέσα στο βρασμένο σπανάκι. Ξεκινήστε με το ανθότυρο και στη συνέχεια το τριμμένο κεφαλοτύρι. Συμβουλή: Έχω χρησιμοποιήσει συνολικά 350 γρ / 12 oz από διάφορα τυριά. Μπορείτε να χρησιμοποιήσετε άλλους συνδυασμούς τυριών αν προτιμάτε (αλλά όμως μην παραλείψετε τη φέτα!). Αλατοπιπερώστε (όχι πάντως πολύ αλάτι, γιατί θα προσθέσετε και όλα τα τυριά !!)

Τώρα προσθέστε όλα τα φρέσκα μυρωδικά μέσα στο μείγμα. Τέλος, κάντε τρίμματα τη φέτα ανάμεσα στα δάκτυλα σας και προσθέστε τη στο μίγμα. Με ένα μεγάλο κουτάλι, ανακατέψτε όλα τα συστατικά για τη γέμιση. Φυλάξτε τη γέμιση στο ψυγείο.

Ώρα να ανοίξετε τη ζύμη: Ζυμώστε τη ζύμη και σχηματίστε τη σαν μια στενόμακρη φρατζόλα ψωμί. Διαχωρίστε τη ζύμη σε 6 κομμάτια με το μαχαίρι για να την δουλέψετε πιο εύκολα (3 κομμάτια για το κάτω μέρος του ταψιού και 3 για το πάνω, όχι απαραίτητα ίσα!).

Πασπαλίστε λίγο ελαιόλαδο σε ένα στρογγυλό ταψί για πίτες των 26 cm / 10 in. Αλευρώστε μια καθαρή λεία επιφάνεια και τοποθετήστε ένα κομμάτι ζύμης πάνω της. Ανοίξτε το φύλλο χρησιμοποιώντας ένα λεπτό και μακρύ πλάστη μέχρι να γίνει η ζύμη τόσο λεπτή, ώστε να είναι σχεδόν διαφανής! Το πρώτο φύλλο θα αποτελέσει τη βάση για την πίτα σας. Απλώστε και πιέστε το στο κάτω μέρος και τις πλευρές του ταψιού. Συνεχίστε να ανοίγετε τα άλλα φύλλα, τα οποία δεν είναι απαραίτητο να καλύπτουν ολόκληρο το ταψί. Πασπαλίστε λίγο ελαιόλαδο στο 1ο στρώμα, πριν προσθέσετε το επόμενο φύλλο. Επαναλάβετε τη διαδικασία για ένα ακόμη φύλλο. Δουλέψτε τους μυς σας! Τοποθετήστε το πάνω από τα άλλα 2 φύλλα. Πασπαλίστε λίγο περισσότερο ελαιόλαδο από πάνω. Αυτό είναι το κάτω μέρος της πίτας!

Στη συνέχεια, απλώστε τη γέμιση στο ταψί. Ισιώστε τη με το κουτάλι σας.

Επαναλάβετε το άνοιγμα των φύλλων για τα 3 στρώματα πάνω από τη γέμιση. Μπορείτε επίσης να μαζέψετε κάθε στρώμα φύλλου λίγο με τα δάχτυλά σας τραβώντας τη ζύμη και να φτιάξετε πτυχές. Αυτό βοηθά στην παγίδευση του αέρα μεταξύ των φύλλων και έτσι η πίτα γίνεται πιο τραγανή !! Και πάλι, πασπαλίστε λίγο ελαιόλαδο πάνω από κάθε στρώση φύλλου. Παρόλο που για τα ενδιάμεσα φύλλα δεν είχε σημασία πόσο μεγάλα ήταν, για το τελευταίο στρώμα θα πρέπει να σιγουρευτείτε ότι είναι ανοιγμένο ώστε να καλύψει ακριβώς τη πίτα σας. Ανοίξτε το και μετά τοποθετήστε το σαν τελευταίο στρώμα. Διπλώστε τις άκρες γύρω γύρω για να σφραγίσετε την πίτα. Πασπαλίστε λίγο ελαιόλαδο από πάνω. Η Σπανακόπιτα είναι έτοιμη για το φούρνο.

Εάν είναι ευκολότερο για σας, μπορείτε να χαράξετε την πίτα τώρα, πριν ψηθεί. Συνήθως εγώ το κάνω μετά! Συμβουλή: Εάν θέλετε να ετοιμάσετε τη πίτα πιο μπροστά, μπορείτε σε αυτό το σημείο να την φυλάξετε στη κατάψυξη (καλυμμένη με πλαστικό περιτύλιγμα) για έως και 1 μήνα. Ψήστε την Σπανακόπιτα σε ένα προθερμασμένο φούρνο @ 190 ℃ / 375 ℉ για 55'-1h ή μέχρι να χρυσίσει! Όταν η πίτα είναι έτοιμη, αφαιρέστε τη από το φούρνο και τοποθετήστε τη στο πάγκο για να κρυώσει και να δέσει. Μπορείτε επίσης να τη χαράξετε τώρα!

Κοιτάξτε αυτή την εκπληκτική Σπανακόπιτα! Απλά ΟΥΑΟΥ 😮 !!

Εξαιρετικά τραγανή! Και η γέμιση είναι γεμάτη με φρέσκες γεύσεις και αρώματα της Άνοιξης! Σαν να είναι όλος ο κήπος μου σε ένα πιάτο !!

Προτάσεις σερβιρίσματος: Η καταπληκτική Σπανακόπιτα μπορεί να σερβιριστεί πολύ ζεστή ή σε θερμοκρασία δωματίου. Τρώγεται ως κύριο πιάτο, ή ως 1ο πιάτο σε μικρότερες μερίδες. Είναι ο μόνος τρόπος να πείσετε τα παιδιά σας να φάνε ΚΑΙ να τους αρέσει το σπανάκι. Τέλειο σνάκ/μεζές, κολατσιό για το σχολείο ή τη δουλειά, ακόμα και για πάρτυ! Απολαύστε!

Τουριστικός Οδηγός Ελλάδας: Το σπανάκι θεωρείται superfood, επειδή είναι φορτωμένο με τόσες πολλές θρεπτικές ουσίες αλλά έχει λίγες θερμίδες. Τα σκούρα, πράσινα σπανακόφυλλα είναι πολύ σημαντικά για την υγεία των οστών, την περιποίηση του δέρματος και των μαλλιών. Ωστόσο, το μεγαλύτερο πλεονέκτημα του σπανακιού είναι ότι είναι μια μεγάλη πηγή σιδήρου, πρωτεϊνών, βιταμινών και μετάλλων. Βοηθάει στην υγιή λειτουργία του εντέρου και στην καταπολέμηση της αναιμίας.

Το σπανάκι χρησιμοποιείται ευρέως στην ελληνική κουζίνα, π.χ. βρασμένο για πίτες ή τρώγεται φρέσκο σε σαλάτα. Στην Ελλάδα, μπορεί να βρεθεί άγριο στην εξοχή με την κοινή ονομασία "Νανά". Η πόλη του Άργους καλλιεργεί μία από τις καλύτερες εγχώριες ποικιλίες σπανακιού που ονομάζεται πλατύφυλλο. Φωτογραφία: Το Άργος με το αρχαίο θέατρο του.

Κοιτάξτε επίσης την συνταγή μου σε YouTube βίντεο, το λίνκ είναι: ΕΔΩ

#meze #lunch #snacks #maincourse #dinner #pie #pastry #vegetables #cheese #party #kids #children #vegetarian #greece #greek #greekrecipes #spinachpie #σπανακόπιτα #love #SPINACH

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