#they come out of the bathroom to apologize for last night and i’m like mid-panic you don’t smell the gas?!

[onpyre]

man idk if this is gonna work. i can live fine with stable albeit neurotic alcoholics, but living with a v emotional one is, uh, how you say, triggering

[jimlingss]

Kitchen Romance

➜ Words: 11.1k

➜ Genres: 95% Fluff, 5% Angst, Chef!AU

➜ Summary: You come from a long line of matchmakers. Your ancestors' ancestors were matchmakers and it's all because of a special, inborn gift. A gift that allows you to see each person's fated ones above their heads. But it's not so much a gift when one day, your boss walks in with YOU above him.

cr.

The kitchen is in chaos.

The heat swelters in the still air, stifling with the summer warmth that’s forced most people indoors with air conditioning. But here, there’s no such privilege. Not when open fires on frying pans were at every stovetop and grease was splattering everyone like a water fountain show. You feel yourself being roasted alive, a layer of oil sitting on top of your skin, and there’s barely a moment to wipe away the sweat rolling from your hairline.   Your hands are wrinkled as you scrub down the nth dish from the pile that’s stacked above your head, but before you can finish, Taehyung’s desperately calling out for you. You shout back at him that you’re coming and then you’re helping him peel the potatoes.   There’s no room to complain. Especially not when—   “What is this?!”    For a moment, time itself stops.   The pandemonium halts, fire flickering, knives held mid-air. Everyone’s head has swiveled over to the dark-haired man standing at the end of the island. Kim Seokjin holds up a plate of baked salmon with methi prawns. His plump lips are pulled downwards. That’s never a good sign.   “The presentation is sloppy!” he yells and you flinch from the sheer volume of his booming voice. “Are you people blind?! We can’t serve this! It’s an embarrassment! Do it again!”   “Yes, chef!”    Everyone apologizes, including you, and Seokjin huffs, moving out of the kitchen.   Namjoon, sous-chef, shakes his head. “Focus! Dinner service hasn't even begun yet!”   Luckily, everyone’s on edge and meticulous enough with Seokjin walking around and scrutinizing every action that the rest of the night goes off without another hitch. By the end, you’re finishing up on cleaning and washing the dishes.   “Good night, Y/N.” Jihyo waves, bag strap slung on her shoulder.   “See you.” You muster a smile while you keep scrubbing. “Bye.”    “Night,” Yoongi says while Taehyung fixes you a grin. You watch them leave and then focus on completing the rest of your tasks. It’s not long before you’re switching all the lights off and changing from your uniform.    The walk back to your apartment proves to be excruciating. You’re beyond exhausted, lugging your legs along to carry the rest of your body while forcing your eyes to remain open, so you can at least see where you’re going.    When the door opens, you immediately jump into the shower to wash off the grime, nearly falling asleep in the process. By the time you flop onto your bed, your hair is still dripping wet, but as your muscles ease into the mattress, you’re knocked out into a deep slumber.   Rest is merely a blink of time.   The alarm on your phone is blaring before you can dream or feel even remotely refreshed. It’s deafening to your ears and you reach over to shut it off. Finding the sun already up in the sky, you force yourself to sit up, get ready, grab breakfast and eat on your way to work.   “If it’s too hard, you should come home,” the voice on the other side of the line coaxes. “Your dad and I are so worried about you sometimes.”   “I’m fine, mom.” You’re chewing in your cheek, phone sandwiched between your ear and your shoulder as you parade down the block. “Trust me.”   “Have you at least been eating well?”   You glance at the granola bar in hand. “Yeah. Sort of.”   “The city is scary. There’s no shame in coming home, dear. Your grandma misses you a lot. She always asks about you.”   “I’m fine, mom,” you reassure her for the second time. “I really am. And tell grandma—”   Accidentally, your shoulder collides with a businessman’s. Apologies spring from you, but rather than looking at the stranger like you should be, your eyes unintentionally wander above his head. To the cloud of fog. And a woman’s smiling face you see emerge from it.   The man’s brows lift at how you’re staring into space and he moves out of the way.   You’re forced out of your trance and you continue to apologize until he’s completely gone from sight. You damn yourself for not being more careful.   You come from a long line of matchmakers. Your ancestors’ ancestors were matchmakers.    Your mother once told you that back in the day, some peasants in your family couldn’t sew, sell or do any labour, so they begged heavens and out of pity, they were granted a small gift. A gift that’s been passed down to every generation since. While you’re not sure if the story is true or not, what’s certain is that from the moment you were born, you could see a cloud of fog above everyone’s head. It’s like speech bubbles or thought bubbles in comic strips. But instead of words, the fog comes with another person’s face. It’s the one who they’re meant to be with.   Ironically enough, you’ve never seen one above your own head. Though you’ve come to accept that. Romance will never be a major aspect of your life, so you’ve switched gears into focusing on your career and finding fulfillment elsewhere. You also knew early on that you didn’t want to be a matchmaker like the rest of your family.   You want to be a—   “Good morning, chef.”   “Good morning.” Namjoon nods with a smile. “Things weren’t too bad yesterday, but let’s try to be less sloppy for dinner service tonight. Hoseok, what time is the shipment of seafood coming in?”   Namjoon continues going through the daily routine, updating each person on the schedule and the shipments. But it’s not long during the morning meeting in the kitchen that the back door creaking can be heard.    Instantly, everything comes to a halt. Everyone turns themselves and greets the head chef simultaneously.    Seokjin rounds the corner. “We have a lot to do today, people. Tonight’s special is going to be watermelon with smoked salmon mousse—”   You gasp.   Automatically, your hands lift to cover your mouth, yet too late to muffle the loud noise. Your eyes are as large as saucers. Your heart stutters in your chest, nearly giving out.   Instead of the polished brunette woman above Seokjin’s head that was always there, you see someone else. Someone very familiar that you’ve seen in the mirror a thousand times. You.   You’re frozen — palms clammy, knees weak. And everyone’s turned around to stare, even Kim Seokjin himself. His brow is cocked and he eyes you intensely for daring to interrupt him.   “Are you okay?” Jihyo whispers, leaning in and nudging you with her elbow.   You start to breathe again, frantically. Yet no matter how much you gasp for air, you can’t feel the oxygen entering your lungs. But you force yourself to bow your head anyway, retaining an exterior that’s not oozing of sheer panic. “S-S-Sor..ry. I…. have something in my throat.” You clear it and Seokjin sighs, continuing with what he was saying.   The first task is to wash the salad and it’s easy enough, but your eyes continue to wander up to the dark-haired, doe-eyed man from across the kitchen. Black shirt with a white apron around his waist, he emanates intimidation from his god-like looks alone and constant frown.   Your eyes connect and you instantaneously whip yourself around.   You start to sweat when Seokjin beelines to you.   “Do you have an issue with me?”   You shake your head furiously.   “Then focus!” the man spits. “You’re drowning the salad!”   You wince as he slams the faucet down.   This can’t be. This can’t be it. It doesn’t make sense whatsoever.   On your break, you’re crouched over by the bathrooms and much to your dismay, your mom is hysterically laughing at you. “Just because you never saw your match, doesn’t mean you’re alone, Y/N! Poor soul, where did you ever get that idea from? No one can see their own. I didn’t and neither did your aunt or grandma.”   “Why didn’t you tell me that?” The syllables hiss out of you and you spare a glance over your shoulder to make sure no one’s coming.    You’ve come to accept that you would never be romantically involved with anyone. To find out that Seokjin, your boss, is your match out of everyone, it’s taking you for a hysteric spin.   “I thought you already knew!” she exclaims on the other line. “Plus, nothing comes from knowing your own. But who is it? Are you going to bring them home? I would love to know what sort of person is going to end up with my dear daughter. Oh, your grandma will be so excited to hear the news!” “Now’s not the time, mom,” you grieve, palm pressed to your forehead. There’s an overwhelming urge to cry. “I’m never going to end up with him.”   “You can’t change fate, Y/N.”   “Fate changes all the time.”   “Are you okay?” There’s a lower voice behind you and you flinch, turning around to see Hoseok’s alarmed expression.    You stand up, apologizing internally as you hang up on your mom. “Sorry. It...was a family emergency. But everything’s fine.”   “Okay. Well, Namjoon wants you to grab some more flour from the storage room.”   “I’ll be right on it.”    You swiftly return back to work before you risk losing your job any more than you have today. But all the while, you damn yourself. This is the worst thing that could’ve happened.    You ending up with Kim Seokjin, the scary boss that notoriously fires people in your position, is the last thing you wanted to occur. It’s like you’re living in a nightmare where you’re the only one who’s aware of your own dire circumstances and inevitable doom.   //   “Would it be that bad if he fell in love with you?” Hyoyeon eyes you lazily from across the table as she stirs her drink with her straw. She’s one of your oldest friends who happen to live in the city and one of the few who knows about your gift.   “Yes. It would be that bad!” You’re exasperated. You thought she would be up and arms about it like you are. “How could I ever look at my boss like that?!”   “You never know,” Hyoyeon sing-songs much to your chagrin.   “Don’t give me that. How would you like it if your boss fell in love with you?”   “My boss is a Karen going into her sixties.”   “Exactly.”   Her lips pop off her straw, wearing a visage of distaste. “This and that aren’t the same, Y/N. I didn’t think Soobin would be with me and when you told me, I was mad. But look at us now! He’s not half bad.”   “You’re married.”   “Precisely.” She laughs, practically glowing from happiness. “And you know, Seokjin isn’t bad either. He’s like what? Only a few years older than you. Ambitious. Wealthy. Handsome. He did that one photoshoot for that magazine and he was so goddamn handsome. Like holy fuck, I almost got pregnant from just—”   “Alright. I get it.”   “—and he’s like one of the top chefs of the country. Imagine having that kind of food for the rest of your life.”   “That’s not going to happen,” you mumble. If it changed once, it can change again.   The more you think about it, the more assured you become. You’ll do everything in your power to change it.   //   The kitchen has fallen into a lull.    Jihyo, the pantry chef, works on tossing salads while the butcher chef, Yoongi, is filleting fresh tuna. Sauté chef Hoseok is preparing his piccata sauce while you help Taehyung, the entremetier, with ingredients for the soup. Everyone has their designated roles here, most of which are fancier than yours. As a kitchen assistant, if you aren’t helping Taehyung then you’re washing dishes. But everyone needed to start from somewhere, so you aren’t going to complain. Working for Kim Seokjin is a privilege, albeit, he’s fearsome and hard to please.   You clear your throat. “Has...anyone seen that woman lately?”   Taehyung turns his head. “Who?”   “That woman came to the restaurant a few times and was with Chef Kim....”    A petite and dainty physique. Long, dark hair. Her eyes glimmered in the light and her pinked lips pulled softly when she greeted you all. She was poised, oozed of grace, sophistication, money. And she was the one who you saw above Seokjin’s head since you met him. Hell, you saw him above her head, and while you were surprised that in spite of his scariness, he actually had someone, they strangely suited each other well.   They were supposed to be together.    Until recently.   You wonder what happened. What the change was. Why you’re suddenly his match now.   Jihyo turns around, ears perked from the conversation. “Right! I haven’t seen her around lately either! I wondered if something happened.”   “You mean Kim Jisoo?” Yoongi lolls his head to the side and when Taehyung gives a curious expression as to how he knows, he says, “Hoseok and I were sent to her flower shop to pick up an order once.”   “Were they even dating?” Taehyung asks, looking up from where he’s chopping cucumbers.   “They were,” Namjoon pipes up and you look towards him, having expected him to shut down the conversation around the head chef, but he merely smiles. “But I haven’t seen her recently either.”   Jihyo hums. “I wonder if something happened.”   “Maybe they broke up,” Yoongi offers absentmindedly.   “Well, that wouldn’t be surprising.” Taehyung pauses and looks over to you, lifting a brow as if trying to find an ally. “He seems like he can be pretty hard to get along with.” But the opinion isn’t unpopular and there are several snickers throughout the kitchen.   “Seokjin’s just serious about his work,” Hoseok says with a smile. “But they were pretty serious.”   “Really?” You turn to Namjoon directly. It’s not often that you’d be so straightforward, but you want answers. You want explanations. “Did he ever say anything to you? On what could’ve happened?”   He shakes his head and then there’s a loud boom of the backdoor. Your blood runs cold. Everyone’s eyes widen, but there’s no time to react or to take back what he could’ve heard. Seokjin walks in with his eyes narrowed in on you specifically. “If all of you have enough time to talk about my personal life, then you can work twice as hard and twice as fast tonight.”   Everyone holds in their sighs.    With your downcast head, your eyes search the floor. “I’m sorry, chef.”    But the apology falls onto deaf ears.   //   It’s a busy shift.   With your tail caught in between your legs, it’s either a cutting board in front of you with a knife in hand or plates and a rough sponge by the sink. Oil from the fryer nearby splashes onto you, the grease coating bowls staining your apron, the heat sticking your tied back hair to your scalp.    Yet you wish you could do more.    Not just chop bell peppers, finely mince garlic or prepare starches. Not just rinsing bowls to stack into the dishwasher and wash large pots and plates by hand. While you’ve become accustomed to knives, keeping a rapid and constant beat as you slice whatever is in front of you, you wish you could cook. Not just be an accessory to the kitchen. Or an extra member to assist the chefs.    But for now, you count your blessings. Humming to yourself late at night while you finish.   “What are you still doing here?”   The crystal clear voice has you flinching, startled to death and you turn around to see Kim Seokjin in the flesh. White shirt rolled to his elbows, black trousers, expensive Rolex on his wrist that could pay the rest of your student loans with. You gawk at him. Speechless. Scared.   He doesn’t wait for you to find your tongue, dismissing your silence. “Where are the others? They should be cleaning up too. Just because dinner service is over, doesn’t mean they can leave.” He clicks his tongue in annoyance, no longer speaking to you but himself. “I won’t have anyone slacking in my kitchen.”   “I-It’s fine, chef.” Your voice is barely a squeak, but you muster the courage, not wanting them to get yelled at tomorrow. You turn around, quickening up your scrubbing until your nails start to hurt. “I’m supposed to be washing the dishes anyway.”   “It shouldn’t be taking you this long.”   You wonder if he’s scolding you.   It goes silent.   “Finish up and go change,” Seokjin says shortly and you nod. It takes another ten minutes for the task to be completed and then you’re wiping down the counters before heading to the lockers to change out of your apron and uniform.   Usually, you’d come out, turn off all the lights and begin the final trek home. But today, your blood runs cold. Your mouth fills with cotton when you step out. Against your own assumption, the head chef has not in fact left. Instead, Seokjin is leaning against the counter with his coat on, furiously tapping on his phone with his thick brows furrowed like they usually are.   You swallow hard and bow your head as you pass him. “Good night, chef.”   “Wait.”   Immediately, you halt. He pockets his device. “Are you walking?” The absence of an answer is enough of an indication for him. “I’ll drive you. It’s dangerous to walk home at this time of night.”   It isn’t a suggestion. It isn’t an offer either. It’s a command.    And soon, you discover yourself in his expensive Mercedes. The vehicle is black, sleek and you’re afraid of touching the leather seats more than you have to in case you stain it with poverty and have him sue you for damages. Or fire you.    “Turn left,” his fancy navigation system deadpans and it startles you.    Yet Seokjin is undeterred and with one hand on the wheel, he turns at the light, allowing the car to roll smoothly over the pavement. The passing lamp posts’ glow also illuminate his features, his plump lips and the slope of his nose. If Hyoyeon was here she would be salivating at the sight, how his chin is lifted, head slightly cocked. You would be too, if you weren’t so afraid. Kim Seokjin exudes confidence and intimidation, rightfully so too. He’s worlds out of your league.   And as your eyes stray from his profile to focus on the cloud above his head, your smiling expression still emerges.   You don’t understand how someone like you can be with someone like him.   “Is there something on my face?”   His question leaking with annoyance shakes you out of your trance and you tear your eyes away from him frantically to look out the window. “N-No.”   The tense quietness that follows is enough that you want to bang your head against the dashboard and hope you get knocked out to spare you from this awkwardness. Then again, you might just end up with a bruise and his car repair bill which would be even wors—   “You won’t be seeing Jisoo anymore,” Seokjin suddenly says and your head swivels to him. “She decided to cheat on me and that was a deal breaker, so I broke it off.”   “Oh.”   “I didn’t know you were one for gossip, but go ahead and tell the others if you’d like.”   “I..I’m sorry.” Your downcast head faces your lap and you swallow hard. “It’s personal and I shouldn’t have intruded or asked. It was wrong and unprofessional of me for bringing it up.”   “No.” There’s a moment of silence as he looks straight ahead. “It was wrong of me to act the way I did.” You blink wide-eyed and Seokjin parks at the curb. “My reaction was a bit uncalled for — it’s something I’m still working on.”   You stare at him and finally, the man meets your gaze. “You can get out now.”   “O-Oh.” You scramble out the car. “T-Thank you.”   The moment the door shuts, he drives off.   Fate can be changed. It’s rare, but choices influence futures and who someone ends up with can change depending on the actions they take. You just never expected Seokjin’s reason for the change to be so heartbreaking. Even if he stated it factually and his expression never wavered, you could sense it in his voice. The sadness you didn’t know he could possess.   //   “What made you think I would like him?” Jihyo is exasperated as she wipes down the counter and Taehyung grins as he sweeps the floor. “The guy literally kept on going about rock climbing, bungee jumping and skydiving. Do I look like an adrenaline junkie to you, Kim Taehyung?”   “Hey, hey. Yeonjun is nice, okay? I just thought you would be into the rough look.”   “Not at all. This is the last time I’m letting you set me up.”   Yoongi smirks as he passes by. “I’ll take it that your blind date didn’t go well?”   Jihyo glares at him.    Hoseok turns around with an amused smile. “It was your fault with trusting Taehyung with this sort of thing. What kind of guy are you into? Maybe I could set you up with someone better.”   She sighs wistfully. “I don’t even know anymore. I just want someone reliable and half decent.”   In the meanwhile, your eyes flicker up to the cloud above her head. There’s a bright eyed young man there and you smile, unloading the dishwasher as you continue listening to their conversation.    “See? It wasn’t my fault!” Taehyung pipes up to defend himself. “How am I supposed to know what kind of person you’d be into if you don’t know yourself?”   “Oh, so you know?”   “Of course I do!” He scoffs and becomes dreamy as he muses, “I want someone with long hair and dresses fashionably, someone who’s sweet and gentle, like a puppy.”   But based on the person above him, they appear rougher around the edges with shorter hair and a frown. But you let Taehyung have it, not commenting a single word. You’ve learnt from experience that it doesn’t work well if you come out of nowhere and try to involve yourself.    They continue talking about ideals, even Namjoon that pinches in he’s been seeing someone lately — an old friend who he went to school with that he never thought of romantically until recently. You’re having fun just listening in until the question is directed at you.   “Me?” You laugh awkwardly. “I don’t know either. I haven’t really thought about it before.”   “Oh, don’t give me that.” Taehyung nudges you. “Everyone has some idea.”   But you’ve sincerely never considered it before. You always thought you would live in solitude without another companion and even came to terms with it. But things have changed. “I guess….someone kind and considerate. Thoughtful. I don’t care what they do, except that they have to be a good person.”   It might be a generic answer, but as you think about Seokjin, you know you don’t want someone domineering and frightening. Yet from last night, Seokjin didn’t seem so daunting in the car.   “Yeah, I can see that.” Jihyo nods.   “What about Chef Kim?” you ask, eyes glistening in the light, curious beyond belief. “What do you think his ideal is?”   The people around the kitchen hum, speculating over the boss’ preferences. They’re equally intrigued by the question.   “Anyone who won’t shit their pants when he’s around,” Taehyung laughs as he finishes sweeping and pours the grime from the dustpan into the trash.   As Yoongi wraps a bowl, he mindlessly offers, “He seems to like the serious type,”    “What was Jisoo like?” Jihyo asks, tapping her chin with a frown.   “Sophisticated,” Hoseok suggests and you look at him, breathing a sigh of relief. Out of all things, you were definitely not sophisticated. “Gentle.”   “Sweet,” Namjoon says with confidence, having known the man the most after years of working together, “He likes the hard-working and earnest ones who prove themselves to be more than he expects.”   As if summoning the devil himself, Kim Seokjin comes from the back area and walks straight through the kitchen. “Stop slacking,” he states in a monotone and everyone returns to their tasks with a simultaneous ‘yes, chef’.    But as he passes by you, he pauses for a moment. “Everyone needs to leave on time today. If there’s anything that isn’t clean, you need to work together so that it is.”   “Yes, chef,” sounds throughout the kitchen once more.   You know being passive won’t solve anything. You need to actively do something that will repulse him, make it so he’ll vow never to get involved with you. If he makes the decision, fate itself will change and you won’t have to end up together.    The only plausible strategy to repulse you have at the moment is to embody the reverse of what Seokjin’s ideals are. The opposite of what appeals to him — sophisticated, sweet and gentle.   //   It takes you a while to pinpoint what the exact opposite is. But you find it.    Loud. Obnoxious. Aggressive.    You need to be these things in a way that doesn’t get you fired, but just enough that it alters who his match is. Part of you isn't sure you have it in you to be this way, but it’s worth a shot. You’ll do anything to change fate.   “What the hell are you still doing in my kitchen?”   Seokjin is standing meters away, half shrouded in the darkness. Your eyes flicker up at him but you resume dicing the carrots into one inch lengths. Only half the blade is lifted off the wooden cutting board and it descends at a rapid rhythm, rather therapeutic to listen to.   There’s an urge to cower down, but you channel your aggression, pretending it’s Taehyung and not Kim Seokjin — head chef with two Michelin stars — enough money to assassinate you and cover up the crime.   “Everyone went out to have dinner together, but I came back to get a head start on prepping ingredients for tomorrow. I need the practice anyway. Why? Is it a problem?”   The man’s brow is lifted at your upfront behaviour. “Get out. I’ll drive you back.”   “I’m going to finish this first,” you retort without a breath to waste.   Seokjin scoffs and puts down the keys he just grabbed. He sighs exhaustingly and you feel his stare burning into you. It’s hard to ignore it. You even start sweating until he moves towards the fridge, and that’s when you finally steal the chance to peek at him. “Are you going to eat? I can make you something.”   “It’s fine.”   He grabs two eggs, some shredded cabbage, a handful of spinach and a stick of butter. You don’t question it, solely focusing on your task until there’s sizzling on the pan and he leaves the stove to look over you.   “Your technique is poor.”   “What?!” Your voice is loud unintentionally, but you’re wholly shocked. If there was one thing you were proud of, it was your knife skills. You’ve spent countless time on refining it and getting it to meet standards.   “You could go faster,” he deadpans. “Your grip is too tense and you’re holding the knife too high up. You want to hold it at that balance point, so you have the most control over it and the weight is properly distributed.” Seokjin smoothly grabs a knife off the rack and holds it in front of you. You copy him. “It's easier to push the blade through when you're holding it there.”   “Like this?” You begin chopping again and he hums.    Against your will, a smile finds your features. It’s the first time he praised you— well...it’s less of a praise and more of a half-hearted noise of approval, but it still counts.   Seokjin takes the pan from the heat and switches it off. He grabs a fork from the drawer to start eating and you look over, finishing the job. It doesn’t take long for him to notice your blatant ogling. “Do you have an issue?”   You smile at him, stepping forward. “Can I have a bite?”   Seokjin scoffs. But you lean over and he steps aside, allowing you to nab a fork from the drawer to take some. It’s not like you’re particularly hungry, but you’re curious as to what he’s made. It’s been a long time since you’ve had food from the head chef himself and asking him for his dinner might just be off-putting enough that he’ll hate you forever. It wouldn’t be impossible considering he’s so picky. You swear, one mistake is all it takes for him to hold a grudge till the day he dies.   Yet, what you don’t expect is for the scrambled eggs to melt on your tongue. He’s sautéd the spinach, left the cabbage undercooked to add a crunch, and the eggs are fluffy in your mouth, a vivid gold that adds to the haphazard presentation. “This...this is delicious!”   He chews in his cheek. “It’s something I eat when there’s nothing in the fridge.”   You’re amazed. The fact that Kim Seokjin can’t recognize his own ingenuity is painful. “You should add this to the menu.”   He scoffs. “You think I would add scrambled eggs next to the caviar and truffle? I think you forgot this is a fine dining restaurant.”   “It’s fine,” you mumble. “I mean if it tastes good, it tastes good, right, chef?”   A tiny smile fixes at his visage, tugging his plump lip upwards. “You sure have a lot more opinions tonight.”   “Well, I’ve decided to speak my thoughts more,” you hum, scooping up another spoonful of his meal. Your eyes flicker up as you chew with your mouth wide open. “Why? Is it unattractive?”   “It’s interesting,” he says with a smile that’s more visible until he barks, “Hurry up eating so I can drive you home.”   You scoff at him as he walks away and you finish his dinner off.   //   Everyone’s on edge.   “It’s more akin to pretentious artwork without any real flavour than real food,” Hoseok reads from his phone to the entire kitchen. “Head chef, Kim Seokjin, is not far from what his cooking lacks too. A pretentious and egotistical nature, it’s no wonder his personal life is in shambles.”   Your fist tightens. Not only did the published article criticize his dishes, claiming it lost its touch and that he’s lost his roots, but they attacked his personality. His personal life. Going into detail of how his relationship was broken off unexpectedly.    “Oh shit,” Taehyung exhales.   “Was that really posted online for everyone to see?” Jihyo asks in a pitched voice, equally horrified and panicked.   Hoseok nods and before anyone can say anything, the backdoor is heard. Without prompting, everyone swiftly moves to their station, not uttering a single peep. Seokjin comes in, his expression unchanged and he deadpans the usual greeting as he moves past the kitchen.   Your face above his head hasn’t changed. But you know it’s not the time to dwell on it.   For the rest of the shift, Taehyung’s on his best behaviour and neither Jihyo nor Yoongi make snarky comments. It’s come at a cost — the morale is lower than usual. The atmosphere is tense and even Namjoon’s earnest encouragement can’t help.   Out of the corner of your eye, you can’t help but watch Seokjin. He doesn’t make mention to the article, yet by the deep furrow of his brow, you can tell he’s in a grumpy mood. It’s understandable. But you wonder why it seems like he’s less angry and more hurt.   If it were you, you’d be furious. The personal details of your life outed publicly and not only were your skills scrutinized, but your personality too.    Seokjin was cheated on and now chastised. Even if he’s resilient, it’s too much for anyone to take. It doesn’t look like he has friends to rely on either.   “Are you coming, Y/N?” Jihyo asks, turning around as you linger behind her. The restaurant’s lights are turned off, the kitchen long cleaned and your clothes changed into a fresh pair that doesn’t reek of dish soap and fish. But you feel unsettled. Like there’s still one more thing you haven’t finished doing.   “No, it’s alright. I forgot something. You can go right ahead.”   She nods, joining the others and you walk to the back, pushing the doors of the kitchen open.   There’s still a light on and you find Seokjin sitting on a stool by a counter. He looks up at you, visage in a neutral state. Neither a frown nor a smile. “What are you still doing here?”   Your hand tightens on your bag strap and you approach him. “Are you okay?”   Seokjin smiles at you. For the first time, it isn’t mocking — it’s gentle and tinged with sadness. The corner of his plump lips quirk ever so subtly and his arm extends, hand plopping on top of your head before it slides off. “I’m fine. It’s still early enough that I don’t need to drive you. You should go home before the sun completely sets.”   Wordlessly, you begin to walk away.   But then a sharp inhale is stolen through your parted lips. Before you can second guess yourself, you grab Kim Seokjin. Your hand wraps around his wrist and he glares at you.    “We should go out for a drink.” You don’t waver even with the incredulous look on his face. “What’s wrong? Never had a drink with an employee before? It looks like you need one and I’ll only offer once. I’m pretty busy myself, you know.”    It’s aggressive, obnoxious, a bit loud. It’s all the things you suppose he dislikes in a person, yet somehow the two of you have never been closer.   You end up in some hole in the wall, drinking shots of soju that burn its way down your throat. Seokjin sits across from you with an amused smile on his face that’s so irritating you want to slap it off, and you damn yourself for letting it slip your mind that you’re a lightweight.   “Aren’t you hurt, Kim?” The words slightly slur on your tongue. “‘s ridiculous! To criticize your food is one thing, but to criticize your personality and talk about your personal life ‘s just crossing the line!”    His lips pull, his eyes flicker down to the empty bottle beside you. “Yeah. It is.”   “Then why aren’t you mad?!” Your fist pounds the wooden table. “Getting cheated on is sad enough! Why do they gotta rub it in, huh?” His brow lifts, but you continue, “should sue them!”   Seokjin exhales on a sip. “It’s part of the business.”   “No, ’s not!”   “It was my ex who told them anyway. She’s upset that I kicked her out of the apartment.”   “Then that’s more reason to be mad!” You press your face into your hands, angry at how he’s not angry. “How can you be so nice? How can you be so nice and no one knows it?!”   Seokjin smiles to himself.   “This freaking sucks,” you moan.   He sighs at your drunken state and orders water for you. The old lady tottles by with a big smile and you get a chance to see the cloud of fog and the face above her head. “I brought the bean sprouts back,” her husband calls from the entrance at the same time with a grocery bag.   “I’ll be right there.” She places the glass down in front of you. “Here you go.”   Jealousy colours you pink inside. “You met your soulmate,” you exhale at her quietly.   The woman’s eyes twinkle. “That old man? He gives me more headaches than anything. I’d rather this handsome man be my soulmate,” she quips, casting a glance at an embarrassed Seokjin who thanks her for her compliment.   Her husband calls her again and she hurries back.    Seokjin leans forward with a skeptical look. “Are you okay?”   “I’m envious,” you sigh wistfully, looking on at the married couple at the back with your chin rested in your palm. After a moment, you shift towards the man across from you. Seokjin really is handsome. “I come from a long line of matchmakers, you know, and I have this ability.”   He plays along. “What ability?”   “I see the faces of who people are gonna end up with.” You drink the water, cooling your throat, but above the rim of the glass, you recognize his scoff and amusement. The glass slams down on the table in your protest. “It’s true! It’s been like that since I was a baby!”    “Okay, okay. I believe you.”   He clearly doesn’t believe you.   Irritated, you straighten your spine. “A long, long time ago back in High School, I really, really, really liked this guy.”    Seokjin’s brows raise, not sure where you’re going with this. “Alright…?” He nudges the glass of water back to you.    “I knew he wasn’t gonna end up with me, but he asked me out. And like a total idiot, I-I went out with him anyway. Then guess what happened?”   He has no idea.    A thick lump forms in your throat and makes it hard to speak. “He met the girl he‘s supposed to end up with, so I broke it off. They got married a year after high school. So I was right. I was...right.” Tears flood your vision, clouding the dark-haired man in front of you. You forgo the water for the shot Seokjin poured himself and you down it.    You were right. But it hurt.   Seokjin’s voice is soft, though it does little to console you. “So….because of your ‘ability’, you haven’t gone out with anyone else?”   You nod. “I’d be setting myself up for a failure anyway.” Your head lifts and your tired gaze connects with his. “My family wanted me to be a matchmaker like them. But I love, love, love cooking and I wanna be a chef. Like you.”   The corner of his mouth quirks. You’re honest — in a way he wouldn’t have expected from sober you. But he doesn’t mind it whatsoever.   “I know you don’t believe me. But look.” You reach over, tapping him relentlessly on the shoulder and your hand barely comes to cover your mouth as if you’re children exchanging secrets across the table. “See those two women over there? They’re gonna end up together.”   Your whispers are all too loud and Seokjin glares, not sure if you’re hysterical or delusional. Or both.   You turn to the window and he follows your line of sight. At the same time, a couple holding hands passes by and you shake your head. “They don’t end up together.”   “How do you know?”   “I already said! I see it. Above their heads.” Then you turn your head, looking at him. Seokjin’s startled, having not realized that you’ve leaned in so close, that your faces are mere inches away. But before he can shift back, your lip pulls and you murmur, “We’re supposed to end up together.”   His brow raises.   “It was gonna be someone else. Then one day, you came into work and poof! It was my face! Just like that. I almost got a heart attack, you know!” Giggles start to spill out of you. “It was a huge shock cause I always thought I was gonna be alone since I can’t see my own. Well, sometimes fate changes, so it might change again! Don’t worry!”   He exhales, squeezing out the air from his lungs. He stands, grabbing his coat and then tugging your arm up. “You’ve had too much to drink. C’mon. Let’s go.”   “Aye, aye, captain— I mean chef!”   His smile is small, but all too evident. He should smile more, even if it ruins the cold and aloof exterior he’s got going on. It’s cute and makes him look younger. So you express the idea and he chops your head lightly with his hand and gives you a rather gentle ‘shut up’ that has you grinning more.    //   The sunlight burns your vision and there’s a pounding headache at your temples.   There’s an overwhelming urge to pull the covers over your head, but as the slits of your eyes open and you realize there’s a strange floral scent to the sheets, you bolt upwards.   It hurts all the senses in your body, but your eyes register the neat recipe books lined on the shelf, trophies and certificates on the walls, a poster of the planets, a telescope and Kim Seokjin’s family picture by his nightstand. And then you scream.   “Christ. Relax!” He appears at the doorway, eyeing you with his arms crossed. “You were drunk, so I took you home.”   Absentmindedly, you tug the covers up to your chest in spite of still wearing the same clothes from last night. Your dry voice croaks out. “We...we didn’t do anything scandalous did—”   “No!” He shuts the thought down before it runs wild in your head and Seokjin pinches the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t do anything to you, jesus christ, woman! Just get up. There’s a spare toothbrush in the bathroom. I’ll make you some breakfast and a hangover drink.”   You follow his instructions, cleaning yourself up to the best of your abilities with the limited supplies, but it’s surreal to be in Seokjin’s penthouse. It’s clean and organized, like you expected, though a lot more cozy and warm. You didn’t know he traveled so frequently and that he had an interest in astronomy — if there’s anything the telescope and posters tells you.   “Stop snooping,” he calls out from the kitchen, looking up to where you’re investigating his movie collection. You come over with a half-hearted apology and he sets down a bowl of oatmeal and a mysterious concoction in a tall glass. Both taste heavenly, enough to work up your appetite ten folds.   But then he says, “Eat fast. It’s a special day today.”   You’re not sure what he means by it, but you simply nod and nurse your headache.   You remember what you told him last night, how you revealed all your secrets in one long tangent and you cringe at yourself. Seokjin probably thinks you’re a complete nut.   But strangely enough, when you look at the cloud above his head, your face hasn’t changed.   “Why are you staring?”   “I’m not,” you mutter and tear your eyes away, unsuspecting to his smile.   But in spite of how close and upfront you might’ve gotten with Seokjin, he still tells you to walk to work yourself — that it’s close enough and too much of a hassle if he drives you. So you cuss him out as you’re striding down the block as he zooms past you in his expensive vehicle.   You hope he notices your glare from across the kitchen, but if he does, he doesn’t comment.   “Today, we have some special guests for dinner service. A few of my friends will be coming and one of them will be proposing, so let’s make sure we give them a good dinner and memory.”   “Yes, chef.”   The news is exciting and even puts a buzz in the kitchen. “Finally, we’re doing something cool,” Taehyung says to you with a swollen smile. “I love a good proposal story.”   “Always the one watching the proposal, never the one getting proposed to,” Yoongi quips as he brushes past and Hoseok snickers.   “Hey, I’m working on it!”   “I’m surprised Seokjin actually has friends though,” Jihyo comments and right when Yoongi turns to add something, they both pale as Seokjin strides past. He glares at them and is even more frightening in his silence. They immediately apologize and he hums, moving out the kitchen.   You, Hoseok, and Namjoon laugh.   Evening eventually comes and Seokjin temporarily calls a halt to the kitchen in favour of his old friends meeting his staff. It’s unusual to see him in such a good mood, smiling and being sociable. It’s strange in general to see this side of him, but it’s not unwelcome whatsoever.   There’s seven of them, a mix of females and males, and you follow Hoseok’s lead in greeting and shaking their hands. Quickly, you recognize who's going to be proposing to who tonight. It’s not hard to miss considering the man is visibly nervous and the close female by his side keeps glancing at him in worry.   “Are you alright, Jimin?”   “Huh? Yeah.” The blonde with full cheeks and soft features smiles timidly, scratching the back of his neck. He’s dressed too nicely for this to merely be a dinner. “I’m fine. Just not feeling well.”   “Are you sure you don’t want to stop by the clinic?” The short-haired female asks, concern evident in the faint knot between her brows. “There’s one down the street. I can go with you.”   “I’ll keep an eye on him, Yuri,” the man who introduced himself as Jungkook reassures her, “If anything I’ll take him.”   “Jimin’s just excited to try out the food.” Seokjin grins, drawing attention away from his friend. “Rest assured, everyone will feel better after eating and if you get sick tonight, it’s not food poisoning, alright?”   There’s laughter in the group and another says, “You’ve been bragging about your restaurant for so long, I thought you were never going to invite us to eat here.”   “Well, we’re usually booked full house, but it’s a slower season so I thought why not.”   Yet the conversations drown away from your ears as your eyes unintentionally flicker upwards. You don’t mean to — it’s still a habit you’re trying to break. But you feel blood drain from your face as you discern the image that emerges from the fog above Jimin’s head and above Yuri’s.   “Y/N?” Taehyung waves his hand in front of your eyes and you snap out of your trance. “Why are you staring into space? We’re going back.”   “O-Oh. Sorry. I was thinking about something.”   You return to the kitchen, forcing yourself to focus and getting back to your task.    It’s none of your business. You know better than to involve yourself and it’s not like anyone would believe you in the first place. People’s lives have nothing to do with you. You have to turn a blind eye. It’s none of your business, it’s none of your business—   But as you leave to the back area to grab ingredients, you catch the man leaving the bathroom. “Oh, you’re one of Seokjin’s chefs right?” Jimin stops and smiles at you, inhibiting your escape.   You shake your head. “I-I’m only a kitchen assistant.”   “But you’re still part of his staff.” His eyes are rounded and bright. “Is he mean at all? We’ve been trying to squeeze it out of him, but he won’t give us any details. I heard a bit of shouting, so I was curious.”   “Oh, he’s always shouting.” The corner of your mouth quirks and Jimin grins. “He’s a bit mean, but Chef Kim’s just serious about his work and we respect him for it.”   “It seems like you understand him better than I do. Anyway, the soup was amazing. I already told Jin, but I thought I should let you know since you’re the one who brought it out to us.”   “Thank you.” Your eyes travel above his head and then you notice the way he’s fiddling with a box inside his pants pocket. You swallow hard. “Are you proposing tonight?”   Jimin’s head whips up. “How’d you know?”   “Chef Kim let all of us know, so we can make sure it’s a memorable dinner service.”   His expression softens and he bobs his head. Jimin takes out the ring box and studies it carefully. “I am. I hope it wasn’t too obvious. I know she’ll say yes, but I’m still nervous. She’s the love of my life and these things only happen once,.”   “Well….” You give an awkward chuckle. “Sometimes it happens more than once for people.”   “Not for us,” Jimin declares in such self-assurance that it’s uncomfortable. His smile filled with affection doesn’t help either. “She’s the one. I don’t think I’ll love anyone more than her.”   Your pupils flicker up to the cloud above his head that says otherwise. It gnaws at you, mocking you, and you’re uncertain if you can sleep tonight if you don’t say at least something. So you take the leap. “Are….you...sure?”   “What?”   “Never mind.” You turn around, having regretted it the moment it spilled. “Please enjoy dinner!”   “Wait!” The man unexpectedly grabs you out of sheer instinct, halting you in your spot. He searches your face while his own crumples into a frown. “Did Yuri say something to you?”   “No!” you frantically spit before taking a deep breath to calm down. “I’m just….I just….” The philosophy you’ve forced yourself to take collapses at his earnest visage. You were never good at being unattached. “D-Do you think this is a good idea? Are you absolutely sure about this?”   “What’s going on here?” There’s a lower voice, a husky timbre. Seokjin stands at the end of the dark corridor and all traces of his outgoing personality are gone. It’s replaced with the serious demeanour you’re used to. He beckons you. “Can I speak to you for a moment, Y/N?”   Jimin returns back to the table, even more unnerved than before while you’re pulled outside.   You feel small with your back against the brick and Seokjin looming over you. “What the hell are you doing?”   You flinch from his tone.    You’ve never seen him so angry. He isn’t shouting, screaming or imposing. But the irritation seethes out of him, simmering underneath his skin. You swallow hard, downcast eyes searching the gravel. You think about how dark it’s getting with the sun setting over the horizon. “I…”   “Are you seriously trying to talk him out of it?! What gives you the right—”   You snap. There’s no reason he should be upset, no reason you should be treated this way. So with your teeth gritted, you give him the truth that’s hard to hear. The truth that you alone must bear. “They’re not going to end up together!”    “What?”   Seokjin wears the same incredulous look from last night. It’s futile.   Still, your mouth runs off into mumbles, “I can see it above their faces. That woman, Yuri, she’s…..paired with that other man. Jungkook.”   You give up. Waving the white flag. In the silence that follows, you expect Seokjin to fire you, or call the nearest hospital. Either you’re a nut or unsuitable to work in his kitchen. Maybe both.   What you don’t anticipate is his startled expression, horrified as if you just told him there’s a ghost behind him. “How….how’d you know that?” The syllables unusually stutter out of him. It’s not like Seokjin to be inarticulate. “Jungkook hasn’t told anyone he loves her except for me.”   It’s your turn to be surprised. The quietness lingers. Then, he sighs.   “Don’t get involved,” he scolds, gentler than before. At the same moment, there are cheers from inside that leak out — clapping and hollering — you know Jimin’s proposed.   Seokjin turns away, returning to the restaurant floor and you resume your position in the kitchen. Jihyo asks if there’s anything wrong, but you brush her off. For the rest of the night, you concentrate on your job and Seokjin’s friends bid farewell after their stomachs are full from dessert and there’s a diamond on Yuri’s finger.   “Job well done everyone.” Seokjin has a satisfied look when he returns and Namjoon shares a smile with everyone. Clean up finishes soon after, but before you can leave, he calls you specifically. “Y/N, come here.”   Taehyung looks at you with widened eyes, but you don’t utter a word, staying behind. The kitchen filters out and even Yoongi sends a sympathetic look your way before departing. It’s never a good thing to be called back.   You brace yourself. If Seokjin didn’t make a scene firing you earlier than certainly will now. There’s no reason not to — you tried to stop an engagement between his close friends and he probably thinks you’re psychotic.   You stand there in silence for a good minute as he fills out some paperwork. It feels like you’re in the principal’s office. Then, the corner of his mouth moves as he casts a glance at you. “Sometimes you borrow the kitchen to practice, right? You can practice tonight.”   Confusion renders you immobile, filling your mouth with cotton, but you manage a slight nod.   You start to chop vegetables into bowls, dicing and mincing ingredients that will be needed for tomorrow. All the while, Seokjin sits meters away from you with a bunch of papers. Either doing his taxes or filing a report to admit you into the hospital. You’re not sure which one it is.   But halfway through, he pipes up again. “You should make something for the two of us to eat.”   “Yes, chef.” On any other night, you would be bursting with excitement, knowing it was a chance to impress him. But now you wonder if this will be your last chance to cook.    Within minutes, you have a pot on the stove, boiling for ten minutes.   “Sit down,” he commands, motioning to the other stool and you oblige.   Seokjin makes drinks in the meanwhile, asking what you want. When you mumble anything’s fine, he pulls out a few bottles from the back cabinet and starts mixing. You didn’t know he can bartend, but it’s almost expected that Kim Seokjin can do anything at this point.   The atmosphere is terribly awkward, so you exhale from your nose and speak up, “I’m sorry. I...I know I stepped out of line. I didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did. I’m really so—”   “I believe you,” Seokjin interjects, gaze meeting yours across the counter. Your breath hitches. “I didn’t believe you at first. About the whole ability thing. But when you told me that Jimin and Yuri won’t make it, I knew there was no other possible way.” He pours the drink into two glasses. “Jungkook and Yuri grew up together. He told me a long time ago he was in love with her and I was sworn to secrecy. No one else knows. Not his brother, his mom, or Jimin.”   He passes it to you and sighs, taking a sip. “But there’s nothing I can do to stop Jimin or to help Jungkook. It’s something they have to figure out on their own.”   You nod, gripping the stem of the glass. “I know.”   There’s a pregnant pause.    You lift your eyes and it connects with Seokjin’s. Instantly, you feel yourself breaking into a sweat at how intense he looks at you. “Is it true then?” he asks in the quaintness of the kitchen, his voice thick and low. “Are we going to end up together?”   “It might change!” The words come out all too frantically in fear he’ll freak out like you did. You know it’s a lot to take in. “Things change all the time. You were supposed to end up with Jisoo, but then, but then things happened so….nothing’s ever certain. It all depends on our actions and choices. I know you don’t like people like me. I don’t have anything to offer you anyway—”   “You need to have more confidence in yourself.”   Your voice dies on your tongue. Seokjin’s staring at you again in a way that makes your palms clammy, so intense that you wonder if he’s scrutinizing your pores. You swallow hard, tearing your own gawking away until you hear sizzling. The two of you turn to where the pot is almost over boiling and you run over, grabbing it off the stove. “I-It’s done.”   He grabs bowls as you set it down and uncover the lid.    “What do we have here?”   You’re embarrassed. It’s nothing like his fine dining dishes, or even his comfort food that somehow tastes like heaven. “It’s just carrot and potato curry stew. It’s actually something my family cooks…..so it’s nothing fancy.”   Seokjin’s spoon dips into the liquid and it’s your turn to watch intently.   He smells it, sips and his expression is kept blank.   You stand. “I can throw it out if you want—!”   “Why are you so jumpy today?” The corner of his plump lips curls. “And why would I want to throw out something so delicious?”   Your heart stutters in your chest and tears fill your vision. He might not fire you after all and on top of that, both your inborn ability and cooking skills have been validated. You feel overwhelmed. Especially when he finishes his first bowl and goes for seconds.    “This is what I’ve been missing in my cooking,” Seokjin murmurs with a tiny smile. “When they said I was missing my roots, I think I know what they mean now. Thank you, Y/N.”   You’re not sure who’s filled with more gratitude.   He smiles and you nod at him earnestly, speechless on what to say.   At the end of the night, Seokjin drives you home in his black Mercedes. A kind of lull fills that car and it isn’t frightening like it usually would be. Rather, it’s comfortable. A little too short lasting. He parks the car at the curb in front of your apartment and you get out.   “Thank you.”   Yet after you shut the door, he rolls down the window and stops you. “Y/N.”   You look at him and he smiles again. A phenomenon that used to be so rare that seems to happen frequently now. “I hope it doesn’t change.”   Kim Seokjin gazes at you, eyes connected across the distance that feels like it’s closing. He never wavers and a lump forms into your throat. “Are we going to end up together?” — Your own words echo in the recesses of your mind— “It might change! Things change all the time.”   But here he is. Going against all your efforts of trying to change fate itself. “I hope it doesn’t change. And I hope you don’t want it to change either.”   Seokjin drives off, leaving you absolutely stunned.   You wonder if he knows what he’s saying. But as you watch his car fade into the distance, somehow you’re not appalled or scared at the idea of being with him anymore.

The kitchen is an organized pandemonium.   A place where everyone knows exactly what they’re supposed to do and moves in fluid motions by one another, like a busy crosswalk in the downtown area. It’s a kind of silent teamwork and while you’re merely helping Taehyung chop vegetables or washing the accumulated dishes, you know your role is still an important one. You just wish you could a little more.   The moment the back door creaking can be heard, everything comes to a halt. Seokjin rounds the corner as everyone simultaneously greets him. “Good afternoon, chef.”   “Afternoon.” There’s a smile on his features, one that surprises a few and makes the others unsettled. “There’s going to be a special menu item today, so I want that prepared as soon as possible.”   He hands the new recipe to Namjoon who frowns upon the sprawled notes. “Carrot...and potato soup with chickpea crumble?”   “If you need details, ask Y/N,” Seokjin says with a tiny smile. “It’s her recipe.”   At once, everyone turns to you with shocked expressions. It’s one thing for Seokjin to suddenly introduce something new, but to introduce yours, it’s both unprecedented and a privilege.   You stare at him and his smile widens slightly. “I hope you don’t mind.”   “N-Not at all.”   The daily tasks commence, but not without a pat on the back from Yoongi, a congratulations from Jihyo and a smile sent your way by Taehyung. Namjoon and Hoseok ask for your help and it’s the first time you’re not just mincing garlic in the corner or washing a stack of dishes. Pride bursts through you and you look across the kitchen to Kim Seokjin. He scoffs at how big your smile is, feigns a glare and tells you to get back to work.   The rest of the dinner service goes smoothly. Your appetizer gets compliments from several and you couldn’t be any happier, even when everyone’s left and you’re still scrubbing dishes.   There’s a click of a tongue beside you. Seokjin stands with his arms crossed. “You always find ways to make me pay you overtime. Move over.” He rolls up his sleeves and helps you wash the last pots and pans.   “Thank you for today. It was a good surprise.”   He hums and the pair of you finish up before he tells you to unload the dishwasher tomorrow. “Go change and grab your coat. It’s getting late.”   “Are you going to drive me home?”   “No. We’re going to scope out some competition.”   “Competition?”   “We’re going to eat at a restaurant called Dog World,” Seokjin brushes off quickly, but when you continue to blink at him, he sighs and waves you off. “Don’t ask too many questions, alright? This is my excuse for asking you out on a date.”   If you weren’t caught off guard before, you’re wholly stunned speechless now. A deer in headlights. And it makes the older bastard grin widely.   “Don’t worry.” His voice knocks down into a gentler tone. “You can reject me if you want. I don’t want you to be pressured because I’m your boss, even though I don’t think that matters to you. But you should also know I’m not doing this because of what you see.” He gestures above his head, unknowingly batting the cloud of fog you can perceive. “I’m doing this because I want to.”   It sinks into you and your head tilts to your shoulder. “You….want to go out on a date with me?”   The corner of Seokjin’s lip pulls and he diverts his vision elsewhere. You notice how his ears are turning red. “Ever since you sat down with me and told me that getting cheated on was sad enough and that they shouldn’t rub it in.”   There’s silence. The first stretch of it is because you genuinely don’t know what to say to him. But the second stretch that follows is when you realize just how nervous he is and there’s a ruthless urge to keep him on the edge. You make him simmer in fear, a similar kind to the countless ones he’s given you during stressful shifts in the kitchen.   There’s something powerful yet endearing about how Kim Seokjin anticipates your answer.   You never thought he could be this way. He just keeps surprising you.   When you can’t contain it anymore, you burst out laughing.   “I’ll accept on the condition that if you take my recipe permanently, you’ll need to pay me royalties appropriately. Don’t think I won’t take you out to court, Kim.”   Seokjin grins and for the first time, certainty sews into you. You have a feeling fate isn’t going to change and you hope it doesn’t either.

[Epilogue]   The kitchen is your home.   You’re sure Jin would adamantly argue that the house was perfectly fine to be considered your home, but there’s still a charm to the busy kitchen that has drawn you in since childhood. Even if the heat swelters in the still air and is stifling, even when grease and oil splatter and stains your clothes, the effort in cooking makes the food that comes from it even more delicious.   “What is this?”    All heads turn at your voice and you motion to the plate about to be brought out. “The rice is on the wrong side of the plate! Re-do this, and watch the plating people! I know it’s easy to forget but it’s important to be consistent with the presentation!”   “Yes, chef!”   It’s strenuous and difficult to be here. It took years to get to where you are, but you wouldn’t trade it in for anything. The reward is worth it. You love your job — maybe even more than Jin, and while you’re sure he wouldn’t be surprised, he’d still playfully whine about being casted aside.   The rest of the night goes off without a hitch and once the kitchen is all clean, you switch off the lights and lock the doors. And like magic, the person you’ve been thinking about all day is leaning against the car parked on the curb, arms crossed as he stares out into the starry sky.   “About time. I’ve been waiting for the past twenty minutes.”   You scoff with a smile and discern the cold cloud emitting from his lips each time he exhales.   This is the exact opposite of what you intended to happen. Sometimes you wonder if it was a self-fulfilling prophecy — by knowing he was going to be with you and trying to avoid it, you inadvertently made him closer to you. But whatever the case may be, you’re glad for the outcome.   You close the distance and slap your hands against his frozen cheeks, trying to warm them up. A smile tugs on your features. “Sorry. You’re cold, aren’t you? You should’ve just waited in the car.”   “But I wanted to see you right away,” he mutters, putting his hands on top of yours to keep you there, then he adds, “and it gives me reason to do this.” Seokjin grins and leans in to press a soft kiss against your lips, one that you smile into.   If any of his old kitchen staff or even the current group saw him now, they’d faint with how grossly affectionate he was being. Then again, they might just be used to it considering Jin hasn’t ever paid mind to other people. He’s never been one to opt out of public displays of affection either.   “You know I’ve been thinking lately.”   “About?”   “How hard I tried to get rid of you and how I couldn’t. You’re kind of like a pest.”   Your husband of two years straightens his spine, wholly offended. “Pest?”   Laughter bubbles out of your chest and you press another chaste kiss to his lips before you’re pushing him aside to get into the car. Seokjin chuckles, rounding the vehicle to get into the driver’s seat.   “Are you hungry?”   “Not really.”   “Namjoon and Taehyung want us to go to the opening of their restaurant.”   “Their opening event lasts for three days right? We can always go tomorrow.” You turn to him as he pulls off, driving down the street. “I’m kind of craving your comfort food tonight.”   Jin grins, easily obliging while your eyes flicker up to the cloud of fog above his head. You see yourself smiling as widely as you are now, and you’re thankful you have your ability.

[epicfangirl01]

Random HCs of The Bois™️ Finding Out About AFAB!MC's Period

Honestly, I'm only writing this because of Mammon's reaction that popped into my head, and I wanted to see how the others would react. Also, these are on the basis that you and the brother are dating a couple months after your arrival.

TW: 18+ because some of the brothers are needy af

Lucifer

You knock on Lucifer's door shortly after school, feeling anxious. Your period came in the middle of your final class, when you realized you were out of pads and tampons. As you were in the Devildom, there isn't a stock of supplies for your already miserable week. And the only way to go to the human world was through Lucifer or Diavolo. As much as you love the gentle giant, you would rather talk about the situation with your boyfriend.

Lucifer tells you to come in, and the eldest brother's eyes soften as he glances up at you. His gaze doesn't linger, however, turning back to his stack of paperwork.

"Do you miss me already, MC? The academy bells have just finished ringing." You shift nervously, your period making you feel uncomfortable, before speaking up.

"I do, but that's actually not why I'm here... I need to go to the human world to pick some things u-" Lucifer sighs, scratching the paper with his pen.

"Darling, I'm sorry, but I am very busy. Besides, you just got home from school. You can wait to go on a shopping spree with Mammon and Asmodeus." You step closer, frowning, and you try to explain.

"No, Lucifer, that's not-" Lucifer's eyes narrow in irritation, still glancing at his paperwork, but his words become a firm warning.

"MC, you must finish your homework. You can go shopping this weekend." Your lower stomach twists in pain, cramps rapidly increasing, and you snap.

"Lucifer, my vagina is FUCKING BLEEDING, DAMMIT!!! I need to go to the store!" The demon's eyes widen as he drops his pen, and he looks up at you, surprised.

"I'm sorry, what did you just say...?" Frustration overwhelms you, until you catch the confusion and concern in his eyes.

"In all your years of existence, you haven't heard of a period before???" Lucifer doesn't say anything, clearing his throat awkwardly.

"I really am overworking myself, aren't I? I suppose it's been a while since I've been to the surface...." You shake your head, chuckling, and you relax when Lucifer is finally ready to listen. You take a couple minutes to explain what is happening, and what you need to take care of yourself. When you're finished, Lucifer nods, glad that you will be okay.

"I apologize for my behavior. I will be more supportive in the future. Here, have some money for your errands. Will $100 dollars be sufficient?" (Yes, Luci, yes it is.)

Mammon

You sit down on Mammon's leather couch, shifting to a semi-comfortable position, and enjoying a movie night with your lovable boyfriend. Mammon grabs some blankets for you, before plopping onto the couch. He smiles at you, and holds you close, making sure that you are settled. You watch the movie for a while, enjoying the movie, when you catch a mischievous glint in your boyfriend's eyes.

"Mammon, wha-"

He smiles and pulls you into his lap, gently kissing you neck. You sigh a bit, uncomfortable with sitting in general, but loving his kisses and nips. You didn't expect Mammon's hand to cup your crotch, but you especially didn't expect him to scream in your ear.

"WHERE THE FUCK DID IT GO?!?"

The pissed off side of your brain fumes for a moment, until your eyes meet Mammon's. You burst out laughing at the panic on Mammon's face, realizing that he felt your pad. The demon of greed doesn't appreciate your laughing, feeling genuinely worried for his beloved human. When you calm down, you turn back to him.

"Mammon, I'm fine. It's still there. I'm just.... kinda on my period..."

He looks at you like you grew three heads, and it quickly becomes apparent he has no idea what you're talking about. You take a few minutes to explain, and he listens patiently, but he still continues to panic.

"You're saying you can bleed FOR A WEEK and be fine?!? And you constantly have cramps and migraines? And this happens once a month??? Why the hell didn't you say anything? How can I help my human when you don't say you need me?!"

He carefully sets you down, before bolting of of the couch and out the door. You gape at the doorway for a moment, wondering what Mammon is up to. He returns for a moment, his arms holding a pile of pillows, medicine, pajamas, and snacks.

"Does this help? I got the pillows and pjs from your room, medicine from the bathroom, and I kinda took snacks from Beel's stash under his bed.... But it's fine! I made a note that you'll buy more later."

You shake your head, smiling, and you thank him as he walks over to help you. Once Mammon knows you are comfortable, he sits down beside you. You gently kiss Mammon on the lips, before you lay on your side, resting your head on his lap. The demon blushes, and he pulls the blanket over you. His hands gently stroke your hair, and you watch the movie together until you both fall asleep.

Leviathan

The third born invites you into his room for anime night (every night, lol), and you walk into the room with snacks in you arms. Levi welcomes you in as you set the bags onto his coffee table, before grabbing a couple drinks from his mini fridge.

"Good, you're early! The pilot is about to start!"

You chuckle, happy to spend time with him, and you bend down to place everything on the table. As you do so, your shirt lifts just enough to show a small stain on the back of your pants. Levi's eyes accidentally catch sight of it, resulting in a blush.

"Uh, MC? You have a s-stain on your pants..." You turn and look down at your legs, turning to try to find what he's talking about, but you can't see it.

"I can't find it. I'll just wash it off when I get back to my room." The demon tenses and shakes his head, trying to think of the least awkward words to say.

"No, no! I-I mean, you have a blood stain. Y-your period kinda started...."

Your eyes widen at his words, and you look in the reflection of his glass aquarium, cursing at the stain. You hadn't noticed this time, the monthly curse being subtle throughout your busy afternoon. You start to apologize to Levi, when he shakes his head.

"It's not your fault. I-it's fine. I just... I know it might be weird that I know about it. I found out from a high school anime. In the episode, the protagonist goes on their way to school, getting bullied by the leader of the popular girls, and the bully turns away but the protagonist stops her because of a stain, and despite being enemies, the protagonist is kind and knows how she feels, so they take her to the bathroom and helps her clean up... And I- I know it probably sounds weird or creepy for someone to watch anime like that, but I thought it was kind and empowering, an-" You stop Levi mid rant, smiling at his anxiousness, and you give him a small hug.

"Thanks, Levi. I appreciate it. It's part of the unspoken period code, ya know? It can be awkward and embarrassing enough, so even just a discreet heads up can be very helpful. Don't worry about it, okay?"

He nods, glad you understand, and he gently hugs you back.

"O-okay. I'll be back, alright? I remember seeing in the episode that it helps to have a hot shower sometimes to ease the cramps and feel less uncomfortable, and that blankets and pjs can help. I guess if you don't mind a loser like me, you could use any blankets or hoodies I have if it makes you feel better..."

You smile and nod, grateful for the demon of envy. He shyly smiles back, and he spends the rest of the night making sure that you're comfortable during the show.

Satan

The library is quiet and warm as you sit at a table with Satan, working on your assignments. You struggle and struggle through a complex spell for your potions class, irritation and fatigue clouding your brain. You are already sore and pissed off from the beginning of your period, but now stress and anger bubbles beneath the surface.

"MC, you have to say it calml-"

You huff, throwing up your hands, and you scowl at the unaffected spell dummy in front of you.

"I know, Satan! I've been calm for the past half hour, and it's still not right! Can you just actually give me some fucking advice for once so I can get this shit over with?!?"

The middle brother looks at you for a moment, stunned, before chuckling.

"I didn't know you could hold so much anger, MC. I'm almost impressed, although, it is very out of character for you... Are you alright?"

A sigh escapes your lips as you awkwardly cross your arms, looking away. You explain that you are just tired, but Satan can hear the hesitation in your voice. The demon of wrath doesn't speak for a moment, thinking about your recent behavior, and everything snaps into place. Satan has read enough books to last an eternity, including ones about human biology. He knows exactly what is happening, and he generally understands how you are feeling. And through his readings, Satan knows not to ask you directly, should your anger grow.

"Ah, I understand. Well, why didn't you say that you needed a break, kitten? I could have helped you unwind a little."

With that, Satan pulls you away from the table to rest on the couch, grabbing a book from his bag. Once you are both settled, Satan pulls a blanket over you both and opens his book while you rest your head on his lap.

With his human in his arms, Satan calmly reads to you, his voice silky as you eventually drift off to sleep.

Asmodeus

The demon of lust practically barges into your room, Majolish bags in tow as he squeals with excitement.

"MC! Look, Majolish's exclusive swimwear line came out! I found this ADORABLE swimsuit for you to try! It was the last in your size." He pulls out the swimsuit from a bag, showing it to you.

You look up at Asmo, gasping at the swimsuit.

"That looks perfect! Thank you, Asmo. I'll try it on later. I'm not fe-"

Asmo pouts, tossing the swimsuit to you, and reaching for another outfit from his bag.

"Come on!!! I have so much stuff for us to try on! And then we could maybe go to the beach tomor-"

You shake your head, sighing.

"No, Asmo. I'm not up to swimming this week", you lie, shifting in your seat uncomfortably.

Asmo notices, and immediately drops the subject.

"Are you alright, hun? Is it a rough cycle this time?"

Your eyes widen in surprise before you look up at him. His eyes are filled with concern, before you nod.

"Yeah, but it's nothing I haven't dealt with before. I'll be fine. Let's go swimming next week, okay?"

The avatar of lust smiles, before carefully pulling you out of the chair.

"Come on. Let's have a spa day instead. I'll make sure you feel stunning and comfortable."

Beelzebub

You look through the kitchen in your pjs, craving all of your favorite foods, when you hear the door quietly squeak open. Your head turns back, and you see the sheepish gaze of the 6th born.

"Do you need a midnight snack, Beel? I was about to make something myself. I can make some for you."

Beel nods, smiling, before coming into the room.

"I smelled something delicious coming from the kitchen, so I came to check. That's strange, though. You haven't made anything yet?" Beel takes in the large amount of food on the table, much more than you normally eat. Maybe the gluttonous demon was rubbing off on you, he wondered.

You shake your head, just as confused as he is.

"Maybe you were so hungry that you started imagining it. You've done that a few times before."

Beel sniffs the air, before walking up behind you.

"You smell different today... MC, you smell so good..... Can I have a taste?"

You choke on air, trying to understand what he just said.

"Beel! You can't just ask that! That's perverted!" He looks at you with confused, innocent eyes, like a kicked puppy.

"What do you mean? I just wanted to kiss your head. Oh.... You thought I meant or-"

A small screech of panic escapes your lips, and you stop Beel mid-sentence, telling him not to spend too much time with Asmo.

"Right. Sorry, MC... Can I ask a question? Why do you smell different today? You're not as sweet and salty as usual. And you're a lot hungrier today.... Are you okay?"

Realization punches the wind out of you as you understand what Beel has been smelling. He was attracted to your blood, without knowing what it was. An awkward laugh fills the air, and you look away from the red head's gaze.

You spend the next few minutes explaining what was going on, and Beel listens intently as you go on.

"Okay. I'm sorry for being rude... I didn't mean to. To make up for it, I can make you whatever you want. Sit down, and I'll get you some water. You'll lose a lot of hydration for the next few days. Then when food is done, we can go watch Devilish Desserts in my room. Belphie is in the attic tonight."

You smile, pulling Beel into a hug before spending a relaxing evening together.

Belphegor

The sound of your DDD alarm fills the cozy attic, waking you and Belphie up from your after school nap. The youngest brother groans before pulling you closer.

"Did you really have to wake me up? I was having such a nice dream..."

You push yourself off Belphie and the bed, feeling as if you were hit by a truck. Why did you have to feel awful now, when you made plans to see the angels?

Your body aches as you stand, attempting to wake up enough to get ready. Belphie mumbles with irritation, rolling onto his side.

"What's more important tha- Huh? Is that blood?"

Your eyes widen, and you look back to the bed, and your eyes find the red stain on the bedsheets. You look at Belphie in horror, and he sits up, now wide awake.

"MC, are you okay? That's where you were sleeping."

You want to die. You want to shrivel up into a ball and die because how are you going to explain to your boyfriend that it came out of your vagina, and that it's NORMAL?!? Blood coming from anywhere brings some sense of concern anyway, no matter what realm you are from.

"Haha- Yeah, um, about that, I kinda need to tell you something...."

Belphie stays surprisingly alert as you explain, only relaxing when you state that it's normal and frequent.

"Ah. Okay. Tell Simeon to fuck off. You're sick, and you're staying here. Go get a spare hoodie and sweatpants. I'll get you meds, a heating pad, and some spare pillows. Tell the others you're with me tonight."

You smile, glad he understands, and Belphie gets you a couple of things while you get comfortable. When you walk back into the attic, Belphie is fast asleep with his limbs curled around a log of blankets, waiting for you to return.

[red-cape-morgana]

FIAT LUX

Everyone sees the girl of steel as an almighty, indestructible being. But before being a hero, she is a person, and this implies some quirks. Some fears as well.

Chapter 2

(Chp 1) // (ao3)

Of course Lena knows about Kara's love of phosphorescent things, and especially about those sneakers.

She can actually see the shoes' faint glow in her entry every single evening, when Kara gets back home. And if now it has become a comforting sight, something she looks for when she wakes up and Kara was on patrol the previous night, it has not always been that way.

The first time she had seen that greenish glow... she had thought of kryptonite.

She had been quietly reading perched on her couch, when Kara had finally gotten back home from a grueling long workday. The blonde had an agar look on her face, leaving her bag and kicking her shoes off. Lena had heard her mumbling something about breaking pencils, spilled coffee and needing a shower, before heading to Lena’s luxurious bathroom.

Lena had decided to let her girlfriend unwind for a while before asking about that apparently rough day. Now that she knew about Kara's alter ego, she understood her girlfriend's clumsiness on a whole new level and knew that a simple task could require a lot of focus from her. Consequently, the number of incidents grew up accordingly as the hours of the day passed, and many phones had been the innocent victims to the super's strength.

Lena was getting lost in her historical novel once again, when she had noticed a faint light in her entry.

Odd, she had thought. Lights are turned off. What’s there?

She had closed her book before getting up to check on that. On her way, she had grabbed her phone, just as a precaution. After so many assassination attempts, she had learnt that communication means where really what mattered (as well as an efficient punch in the nose from time to time).

A couple of meters away in the entry, she could distinguish a faint greenish light coming from the messenger bag that Kara had abandoned there.

A bomb.

She started to run toward the bathroom. She needed to warn Kara! The kryptonite would suppress her powers, she had to flee! She speed dialed Alex to ask for an intervention squad while barging in the bathroom.

"Lena?! What's going on? Why are…?" Kara stammered when Lena had opened the shower cabin.

"You have to go!" Lena had said in a hurry while dragging the soaping blonde out of the shower.

"To go? But, why? Lena, what's…"

"There's a bomb Kara!" Lena shouted at her, in a near panic

She needs to go, she thought to herself. If it's kryptonite, she is even more at risk then me. The residual radiations would deepen any potential injury and worsen her state. And considering the rate of cellular degradation from direct exposure, even the DEO may not be fast enough.

"Lena, you, hide while I take it away." Kara stated while fumbling to activate her suit.

"You don't understand. It's kryptonite. You can't risk getting anywhere near it!"

"What?" Kara exclaimed. "But, I thought you had installed a biometric security system after last time?"

"I did!" Lena answered while trying to shove the unmovable kryptonian toward their bedroom, where she could escape through the window.

"But there is that greenish glow in the entry, and I know how to recognize kryptonite Kara. Believe me if…"

Kara had held up a hand to stop her mid sentence.

"You said in the entry?" she had calmly inquired.

"Yes! Why do you care where it is? It's still a bomb Kara." Lena said, her voice filled with exasperation.

And Kara had laughed. She had laughed till tears streamed down her face, mixing with water and shampoo left from her half finished shower. She had laughed even harder when Lena started to scream at her to go while she had time.

The brunette started to fear it may be something else than kryptonite, and that it was messing up Kara's mind because who laughs at the prospect of a toxic bomb in their apartment for God's sake?!

Kara didn't stop before hearing her talking to Alex, asking for help in their apartment. That got her attention, and she took the phone out of Lena's hand before uttering between giggles

"No it's fine Alex. Lena… Lena thought my shoes were some kryptonite trap. Can you, can you believe that?!"

Lena felt as if she could hear the groan Alex surely made to accompany her “I’m tired of my sister” expression.

Well I guess 13 years of that kind of shenanigan does that to someone, Lena mused. She had only known Kara for 3 years, and yet she was sure she had her own special kind frown as well.

Kara ended the call, promising they would explain more clearly tomorrow, before proceeding to explain that what she had thought to be a kryptonian bomb was only the new sneakers she had bought that were phosphorescent.

“They are the best glow in the dark shoes one can buy Lena! I had to get them, you understand?” she said as if her point was obvious, bouncing on her feet like a kid who had just been promised a trip to the candy store after school.

Lena had debated throwing the shoes out the window, just for the scare they had given her, and also because she wanted to erase Kara’s smirk.

Now the blonde keeps referring to that moment to tease Lena, a reminder that the genius she is got fooled by glow in the dark material. But coming from the Luthor family, can you blame her for thinking of an assassination attempt first?

And if that incident wasn't enough, the hour-long rant Alex gave her about Kara's love for glowing things would have clued her on it.

The next day, Lena had dropped by the DEO, willing to apologize for the false alert of the previous day. She knew Kara had said they would all gather at the end of the day for a drink, but Lena felt the need to see Alex first thing in the morning. Those apologies also included freshly brewed coffee from the best roaster in town, and enough pastries to satisfy a small army. The redhead vented to her for an hour straight, using memories from their shared childhood in Midvale to illustrate her explanation. As well as justify her exasperation with her sister’s eccentricities.

Lena took the opportunity to learn what her girlfriend was like when she got on Earth, Kara oddly quiet about this period of her life. She also thought it was the safest move possible in her situation, to let Alex get it out of her system. No one wanna get on the bad side of their possible future sister in law, and even less when they work for a secret agency that has a knack for making people disappear.

What she learns though, makes her see some of her girlfriend's habits under a new light.

Lena knew it must have been incredibly jarring to not only start a new life on a foreign planet, but learning that she had been lost in space for decades, and that Kal-El didn’t need her anymore must have been devastating. It was her mission after all, the reason why her parents had sent her away. Knowing that now, she didn’t have any purpose anymore… And it goes without saying that the enhanced senses she suddenly gained thanks to the yellow sun, would be enough to drive anyone crazy on their own. Heart beats, motors, reading through a book, crushing your mug of hot chocolate accidentally,... And all that during teenage years. Earth must have looked like hell at first. No wonder why Kara is unusually quiet whenever this topic arises. But Lena sensed there may be something else lying there, and since she wouldn't pry at Kara's traumatic memories, Alex was the next best best source for informations.

So far, she only thought Kara was that kind of forgetful/lazy person that never really complete a task. When the blonde would leave the curtains in their bedroom slightly open, or their door ajar, or her phone on the bedside table and always displaying time. Lena simply thought that Kara didn’t mind any of it. And since it wasn't bothering herself much, she let her do.

For Lena it was just Kara's little quirks. Just like her love for phosphorescent things.

Though, now that she thinks of it, she can remember an incident that happened when Kara had first moved in with her.

So far, in their relationship, the blonde had rarely slept over at Lena's place. Either because Lena was actually the one sleeping over, or Supergirl was needed for an emergency mission, or when Lena was travelling the country for scientific and technological conventions and checking up on branches of L-Corp. They had decided to move in together to make things easier for both of them. There was no point in sneaking around like lovesick teenagers, and Kara had already claimed two drawers at Lena's (who was very keen on borrowing oversized sweaters from said drawers when her girlfriend couldn't be around).

The move in itself was as smooth as possible: Kara stacked her boxed belongings in the van, Alex drove it to Lena's place, Kelly had looked for the best itinerary during this busy week day, and Lena had prepared snacks for everyone once they'd arrive. All in all, it had been the matter of a day.

Alex and Kelly had stayed over for dinner at Lena's demand, and Kara had just dug out what she would need for the next day.

"It will all be unboxed tomorrow Lena. What would be the point in putting it all back in the boxes now?" Kara had said, when Lena pointed out she couldn't see the color of her couch anymore with all the stuff the hero had thrown on it.

At some point, Nia and Brainy had joined them, bringing a couple of bottles to celebrate "an event I didn't think I would get to see before having grey hair, considering the pace you were going!" Nia had said.

The evening had continued full of laughers, memories of moments the couple had been completely oblivious to one another, and potstickers of course.

When everyone had left it was finally time to go to bed, the super had become strangely agitated. Lena had brushed it off as all the emotions of the day and finally living with her.

It will all settle once we lay down and get some rest, she had thought.

She had been proven wrong. Kara had spent the night turning and tossing, unable to find sleep. Lena had tried to soothe her by pressing her front to her back, gently holding the blonde in her arms. But when Lena had woken up some hours later, Kara wasn't in bed anymore.

"Darling?" Lena gently called as she padded in the living room, barefoot and eyes still full of sleep.

Kara was on the couch, huddled against an arm rest and looking at her laptop without really seeing it.

Lena closed the distance between them before sitting next to her girlfriend. Sensing that she wasn't in the right headspace to explain what was going on, she simply decided to just lean against Kara, anchoring her in the present. Together.

After some time, the sun had started to rise.

Lena had slipped in a state between sleep and alert, still here but not fully conscious of how long they had stood there together. At some point Kara had closed her laptop, setting it aside on the coffee table, and she had pulled Lena on top of her, holding her close. The weight and warmth of her girlfriend must have calmed her nerves somewhat because Lena felt the stiff muscles finally relax under herself.

Lena was about to suggest they move to the kitchen to have a well deserved breakfast when Kara had softly said "It was so dark, you know. I just… it brought up some memories. I'm sorry."

Lena hadn't prayed any further. Kara had every right to keep some things secret, and she knew she would learn about it eventually, when the hero would be ready to face this.

After that, Kara had always left a small source of light in their bedroom. At the end of the first month living together, she even bought some star stickers that she put on their ceiling as well as on some furniture. Lena had raised an eyebrow at that, but Kara had brushed it off, saying something about how it remembered her of her apartment and that she thought it comforting to share this with Lena.

Showing the Luthor a part of the Super that very few select people had ever witnessed.

But now, after her talk with Alex, Lena knows that it comes from a different place.

From what Alex told her, on earth Kara had never liked total obscurity. Elyza and Jeremiah had tried to help her of course. They offered the teenage girl therapy, sophrology and many alternatives to help her conquer her fear. But nothing had worked.

Every night Kara would wake up drenched in cold sweat, her breath coming up in short pants, convinced she was back in the phantom zone. Those nights, Alex would begrudgingly get up and walk to this new sister she didn't ask for bed, and lay down with her. She would take Kara in her arms, because that was the only thing that would ground her in the present.

Until one night, when Alex slept over to a friend.

[miekasa]

and i found them! the actual ac unit snippet was hiding with the last one, so i thought i’d just drop them both here 😅 your appreciation means the world to me 🌼

💉the broken ac unit snippet [not the previous choppy summary, but the actual snippet that was hiding with erwintholomew’s]

it’s summer—dry heat, humidity, and warm winds all around. oc has been working in the outdoor makeshift hospital for her month’s rotation shift. tents of covid cases have been overflowing. it’s patient after patient, and she’s in PPE—full-on hazmat suit for 8 hours (sometimes more). food and water breaks between shifts aren’t feasible because they’re saving suits, bathroom breaks are timed before or after she suits up. it was literally hell.

levi’s been noticing his roomie coming home even more exhausted than usual. sometimes, she just goes to the kitchen and drinks down two glasses of water before heading for a nap. he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t worried. she looked like she’s lost a bit of weight. she was always a little paler and seemed to be wilted these days. he’s been trying to quietly shoulder a bit more of her chores, but he’s also pretty amazed at how she manages to keep up.

it was on a saturday afternoon when he found out. he had work and errands to run and some packages to send to his mom. he knocks on his roomie’s door to ask if she wanted him to do anything for her. he’s willing to do her groceries or make her dinner if it meant seeing her eat something other than instant ramen or a peanut butter sandwich. her muffled voice bids him to come in.

oc: oh heya

she gives him a tired wave. she’s sitting on her bed, reading something on her tablet. the first thing levi notices is that it’s way too fucking hot. her room is neat with a bit of a mess, a few notebooks strewn around her bed and a shirt hanging on the study chair, but obviously clean. the fan she has turned on was doing nothing to alleviate the heat though.

levi: you know you can turn your ac up in this heat right?

oc gives a tired chuckle at that.

oc: it’s been broken for a few weeks, but don’t worry! i already got a new one

levi is pretty speechless, considering that the heat wave has only been getting worse for the past month. she points to the unopened giant box crowding the space by her work desk.

oc: work’s just been exhausti—busy lately, but i’ll get around to it. i just need to switch them out and take the old one to recycling downstairs.

levi honestly doesn’t have anything to say to that because what the hell—

oc: did you need something?

he snaps out of it.

levi: i’m—i’m going out for errands. want me to get you anything?

oc: oh, are you passing by the pharmacy?

he wasn’t planning on it, but levi nods.

oc: yeah hang on, lemme just write the prescription for my pills. thank you!

levi shuts her door and speedwalks to his room. he knows he’s being irrational, and he knows that it isn’t his fault but fuck, she’s been living like that for weeks on top of all her work. he turns up his ac unit, rolls down his blinds, and fluffs the pillows on his bed before pulling the covers down. he knows that he could offer the suggestion of sleeping on the couch in their living room (they had an ac unit there after all), but no. she deserves better than that.

when levi walks back to her room, oc’s head peeps out of the door.

oc: here, i just need three boxes and i can cashapp you the payment.

levi grunts, taking the prescription and folding it into his pocket.

levi: come with me.

oc is pretty taken aback at his gruff tone, and she wonders what’s gotten him in a twist. she’s on the verge of passing out because work has been brutal and she has a golden weekend, so she was planning to catch up on a lot of rest. she follows quietly, wanting to quickly resolve whatever this was. her roomie’s always been a little...weird. it gets weirder when she realizes that he’s leading her to his room. cold air hits her when he opens the door and ushers her in, and she feels reborn.

levi: you can rest here for now

oc’s eyes widen at that. they’ve been roomies for over a year now, and respecting personal spaces has always been a huge factor contributing to their civil harmony as roommates.

oc: levi, it’s fine! i can’t, really! i don’t want to intrude, and besides, it’s fine, i—i’ve been alright anywa—

she’s cut off when he starts nudging (pushing) her towards the bed.

levi: seriously, i’ll be out the whole afternoon.

her but’s and what-if’s and i’m-fine’s fall on deaf ears. her roomie maneuvers her expertly and practically trips her to make her fall onto the bed. when her back hits the soft mattress, she feels a wave of fatigue hit. then he’s guiding her head towards the pillows while she mumbles about feeling like she’s overstepping, but levi’s room was cold and comfortable. the bed was a cloud, cool and soft and dragging her further into sleep. she feels the covers pulled up around her shoulders, and darkness claims her.

levi leaves quietly after shutting down the fan in her room. his afternoon is spent running some on-the-ground tasks for projects for work and personal errands. he does take an impromptu trip to the old deli near their place to buy some cuts of beef and a cheap bottle of red wine for a stew. he wonders if he’s breaching boundaries, but he makes an impulsive decision for once. he’ll drag her to dinner if he has to, she looks like she hasn’t had a decent meal in days. when he gets home, it’s late afternoon, but the sun was still up in all its scorching heat. he disinfects the goods thoroughly before heading for a shower himself. oc is still sleeping soundly when he checks in on her [levi thoughts: good, she really fucking needs it]. he goes into her room and replaces her broken ac unit, easily installing the new one and padding up the sides tightly. he brings the old one down before sweeping up the dust in her room that has settled from his handiwork. he turns it on to test it, and her room cools in minutes. satisfied, he leaves the ac unit on and starts dinner.

oc comes to slowly, mind still clouded and heavy from sleep. everything around her is blurry and she’s engulfed in softness smelling of black tea and spearmint. the realization of where she is hits like a freight train and this wakes her right up. the time on the clock by the bed says it’s almost half-past seven, and oc panics. she’s overstepped, her roomie’s gonna be pissed, and oh god, she didn’t mean to take that long of a nap. she practically runs out of his room. levi is setting two places at their table when she dashes in. a pot of stew was simmering on the stove. he looks up and just points to her meds.

levi: it’s already been disinfected.

oc opens her mouth for what was going to be a long apology when levi interrupts her before she even begins.

levi: i also installed your new ac unit. the broken one’s already at recycling.

oc’s eyes widen and she can feel tears welling up because it’s been weeks of exhaustion and uncomfortable hot nights and she’s been trying to find enough strength to do that and—

levi goes tomato-red when his roomie launches herself at him and wraps her arms around his shoulders tightly. he can hear her voice quivering, tone hovering on about-to-blubber-and-cry, repeatedly thanking him and apologizing for overstepping and he kind of just stands there for a moment. he pats her back awkwardly, wondering how to respond to her and decides to keep quiet and let her break the hug first. she might actually cry if he pushes her away.

oc lets him go gently, a little embarrassed at her outburst but she gives him a small smile and mutters a soft “sorry.”

levi: cut the apologies, brat. i offered. it’d be inhumane to let you sleep in that heat.

oc is about to argue when he fixes her with a glare that makes her sigh. she presses her palms into her cheeks in resignation.

levi: come on, i made dinner. you really need to eat something other than synthetic garbage and peanut butter.

oc sniffles and giggles. levi sets the food down and takes a seat beside her. he freezes when she grasps his hand.

oc: really, levi, thank you

levi shrugs (absolutely melting at her smile). he doles out servings of stew and rice, and they have a quiet dinner.

💉erwin’s own private gym in his penthouse snippet [in which erwin’s not even in this snippet, but he and his gym are catalysts of sorts]

it’s a rare occurrence that oc wakes before noon on her days off. so when she bumbles into the kitchen at 7am, craving for some tea and the little tiramisu her patient from work gave her, she bumps into levi. levi—also fresh out bed and only clad in boxer shorts. plaid dark pink ones that did wonders for his ass.

oc, completely forgetting that she’s in an oversized shirt that goes past her shorts and that her hair is a mess, stops mid-stride. her jaw drops. levi is built. not to any extreme body-builder kind to any extent. but he was fit and holy fuck his back alone was oh wow. yeah, she’s awake. levi turns at the sound of footsteps and has to suppress his smirk because oc’s appraisal was very very distracting, affirming, and ego-boosting. he thinks his roomie doesn’t even realize she is gawking [levi thoughts: she looks way too fucking cute and soft for someone half dead from a toxic shift yesterday and he wants to run his hands through her hair and knead the knots out of her shoulders and feel those legs—].

he truly has to hold in his laughter when oc literally goes “what the fuck” while waving around her hands gesturing to his abs and pecs. oc squints in the midst of her appraisal.

oc: how do you maintain all that in a pandemic??

levi sets down another mug and pours out more tea while explaining that erwin, who lives in the penthouse suite of the complex, has his own home gym. levi, hange, and moblit have exclusive access to it because they’re friends, they live in the same complex, they all work from home plus they clean up and help him maintain it.

levi: it’s a lot safer than public gyms.

oc is still chewing on this information while now blatantly staring at his thighs.

levi: i’m pretty sure erwin will let you use it too if you’re looking for someplace to work out. i can ask him if you want.

he adds some milk to her tea before walking over to oc and handing her a steaming mug of chai. he does this on purpose just to get a reaction out of her because he is absolutely basking in this. she is usually very composed and almost nothing fazes her, and he thinks he’s never seen her flush this deep. oc snaps out of it as she thanks him for the tea. she just nods, her eyes a little glazed over and unfocused.

oc: oh, th—that’s nice. i’ll think about it.

she primly grabs her tiramisu and walks back to her room, leaving levi smirking in their kitchen. she has thoughts that need processing.

oc thoughts: erwin happens to be filthy rich and roomie-free and can afford a penthouse. he dedicated a room in his penthouse to a fully-equipped gym. this is some really good chai. she pretty much stared at her roomie, with his knowledge, very disrespectfully at seven in the morning. her roommate is hot. pretty. cute. sexy. his voice—how has she never noticed? arms? abs? those thighs?? all of the above??? anyway, that v down his hips, his chest—yeah, her vibrator’s batteries die that night, and she’ll have to remember to get new ones after work. this is very for her, very bad indeed.

this was the h-word snippet 🥵 LMAO i had to give oc a little something because this isn’t one-sided after all 😌

SDKJSGHLF;DS ANON YOU’RE OUT OF YOUR MIND YOU’RE A LITTLE GENIUS YOU KNOW THAT!!! INCREDIBLE!!

when levi walks back to her room, oc’s head peeps out of the door.

oc: here, i just need three boxes and i can cashapp you the payment.

levi grunts, taking the prescription and folding it into his pocket.

levi: come with me.

THIS PART!! IS SO LEVI!! I’M OBSESSED!! I’m obsessed with the whole concept of him just... affectionately forcing her to nap in his room because it’s the least he can do to help ease her pain, and show that he cares; but this right here!! The way he had no intentions of going to the pharmacy, but is going to help her out anyway!! Begrudgingly taking the perscription, and immediately changing the subject away from the topic of her paying him back!! So good!! (And why do I get the feeling that he never accepted her cashapp lmaooo). 

oc is about to argue when he fixes her with a glare that makes her sigh. she presses her palms into her cheeks in resignation.

levi: come on, i made dinner. you really need to eat something other than synthetic garbage and peanut butter.

oc sniffles and giggles. levi sets the food down and takes a seat beside her. he freezes when she grasps his hand.

oc: really, levi, thank you

levi shrugs (absolutely melting at her smile).

ALSO HERE!! I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know but the casual insulting her dinners lmaoo only to help her out; it’s the showing affection without outright saying it’s affection that’s so GOOD!! I’M OBSESSED!!

AND THE WHOLE GYM SEQUENCE!! YEAAAAAAAAAAAAH!! LOVE LEVI BEING JUST A LITTLE COCKY!! GOOD FOR HIM!! HE’S ATTRACTIVE!! HE SHOULD KNOW IT!! PLS but oc being just a little shameless and telling him how good he looks and just staring without feeling guilty LMFAOO GOOD FOR HER TOO!! GOOD FOR THEM!!

[me-myself-and-my-fos]

The Date

Pairing: Benji Dunn x Nicole Blake

Word Count: 2k

Summary: Nic and Benji go on their first date

A/N: Please be nice this is my first fic for Benji

The sidewalk outside of the five star restaurant was bustling with people. Some were on an evening stroll and others were leaving or entering the restaurant itself. It surely wasn’t Benji’s first choice. It was a suggestion from Ethan, to ‘impress’ his date as he put it. Speaking of Ethan…

“She’s five minutes late,” Benji said as he readjusted his tie for the millionth time that night. Speaking out loud, anyone would assume he was nervously talking to himself. However, they’d fail to notice the earpiece he wore. “What if she realized what she’s getting into and had second thoughts?”

“Then that’s her loss,” Ethan replied through the earpiece, checking into the restaurant under his own reservation. “And quit messing with your tie. You’re going to choke yourself.”

“Right.” Benji cleared his throat and forced his hands down. “I still don’t see her, though. I don’t think she’s–”

“Benji!” A voice called from behind him, and before he had a chance to react Nic appeared beside him. She wore a plain short sleeved dark blue dress that stopped at her knees and dark blue flats to match. “I’m sorry I’m late,” she apologized, her face red in the light. “I underestimated how long it would take me to get here. I’ve never been this way before.”

“It’s fine, it’s completely fine,” he told her, pretending he didn’t nearly panic at the notion of being stood up.

“Tell her she looks nice,” Ethan’s voice came through the earpiece.

“You look lovely,” Benji told her, smiling nervously.

“Thank you,” she replied, looking down at the dress. “I wasn’t sure how nice this place was—I probably should’ve looked it up beforehand. But the only dress I own isn’t very fancy, so I kind of bought this brand new for the date. It’s very different from what I normally wear—” Nic stopped herself mid-thought, her face becoming bright red as she let out a nervous laugh. “What I mean to say is: you look very handsome.”

“Thank you.” Benji resisted the urge to mess with his tie. “So, dinner?” He gestured to the doors of the restaurant.

“Dinner,” she nodded in agreement. Nic took his arm when he offered it and followed him into the restaurant.

It was fancier than she imagined—too fancy for her taste. And when they were seated at a table and handed their menus, she barely knew what the food was. She was not into fancy food. The pair sat in silence as they looked over the menu, a potential conversation hanging in the air.

“Small talk. Make small talk,” Ethan coached from his seat in the back of the restaurant.

Benji cleared his throat, pulling at the collar of his shirt. “Um, the steak sounds nice.”

Nic shrugged, fiddling with her bracelet. “I don’t really eat beef. I prefer seafood.”

“Oh.”

“I grew up right by the ocean so…” she mumbled. She cleared her throat. “Have you ever had scallops before?”

“I don’t believe I have,” he admitted.

“I’m gonna order it if you want to try them,” she said as the waiter arrived to take their orders.

After ordering their appetizers and entrees, the two once again sat in silence. It was very obvious neither had been on a date in quite a while.

Ethan sighed in exasperation and took a drink from his wine. “Ask about her interests, her job.”

“What, uh, what do you do for fun?” Benji asked.

“Oh, um,” Nic thought for a moment. She drummed her fingers on the table. “Well obviously I like to bake, otherwise I wouldn’t have opened a bakery.” She said, laughing nervously. “I also like to read; mainly fantasy or fiction. I write too, a bit. But it’s not like I’d ever get published.” Benji was about to reply, insist that wasn’t true and he was sure her work was great. But before he could, she added “I also like video games, a bit.”

This piqued his interest, Benji leaned forward in his chair a little. “What kind of video games?”

“Fighting games, mainly, like Mortal Kombat. That’s sort of my go-to.” She admitted. “I’m guessing you like video games too?”

“Definitely,” he gave her a shy smile. “I’m more of a Halo man myself.”

“I’ve heard of it,” she said. “It’s really popular, but I could never get into those games. What’s it about?”

Nic didn’t realize it at that moment, but she opened a floodgate. And as soon as Benji started to tell her about the games, he branched off into other things. Somehow, probably about the time their appetizers arrived, Benji managed to get from the topic of video games to the very first computer he ever owned. Benji was acutely aware he was rambling, but his nerves had the better of him and he couldn’t stop himself.

“You’re babbling, Benji,” Ethan warned him. “Stop it, Benji.”

“Stop it Benji,” Benji blurred out, cutting off his sentence. His face went bright red as he clamped a hand over his mouth. He was not supposed to say that. To prevent himself from speaking further, he stuffed some of his Caesar salad into his mouth.

Nic gave him a look of confusion and swallowed her bite of a scallop. “Are you okay?”

Benji nodded fervently. “Yes, yep, just fine. I’m just… nervous.”

“It’s okay, I’m nervous too.” She reassured him. “I ramble sometimes when I’m nervous. I didn’t… mind listening to you ramble. It was, um…” Nic looked down at her lap, “…cute.”

“Oh.” Benji swallowed, the red blush creeping down his neck. Nic felt her ears get warm.

“Do you want to try a scallop?” Nic asked, hesitant of the idea. There was a moment of silence that was interrupted by Ethan in Benji’s ear.

“Say yes, or no,” he told his friend exasperatedly.

“Sure,” Benji squeaked out, and he watched as Nic cut off a piece of the scallop and held the fork out to Benji. He leaned forward and took the fork, holding it with Nic. She sucked in a breath when their hands touched and she could hear her heartbeat. He ate the bite of scallop and leaned back, pulling his hand away. Nic put her fork back on the plate and waited for a response from him. Soon, she got one. “That’s good,” he told her. “I should’ve ordered that.”

She let out a giggle and ate what remained of the scallop. “Well now you know if you ever come back here.”

The plates for the appetizers were removed and not long after came their entrees. Nic scooped up some of her shrimp pasta as Benji spoke.

“So… you’re a baker,” he cleared his throat. “That sounds fun.”

“It can be,” she shrugged. “I love baking and coming up with new recipes, but it can be tiring, y’know? I spend all day in the kitchen so sometimes when I get home I don’t want to even step foot in my kitchen and order takeout instead.”

“That’s very understandable,” he told her. “The pot pie was delicious, by the way.”

“Oh thank you,” she replied. “So, what do you do for work?” Benji nearly choked on his steak. Out of everything to happen, he didn’t even think of an answer to give if asked that question. And he certainly couldn’t tell her the truth.

“Well, um…” he tried to think of a quick lie, but when he looked at her he couldn’t help but want to tell the truth. “Work is… complicated.” There—a half truth.

“Complicated, huh?” She gave him a mischievous smile. “Are you like a spy or something?” She joked.

Benji took a big sip of his drink to buy his time and think of an answer.

“Benji,” Ethan warned.

I know, Benji answered mentally. “I, uh, work for the government?” He told her, hoping that was a good enough answer.

“Oh,” Nic nodded. “That makes sense. I have family that works for the government—or did, they don’t anymore.” Benji let out a breath, a sigh of relief. “It sounds stressful.”

“It can be,” he admitted. “Takes me out of the country sometimes, but I normally work with computers.”

Nic hummed. “Makes sense. But I’m sure you do good work.” She put down her fork and stood. “I’ll be right back, gotta head to the restroom,” she mumbled and walked to the bathrooms. She hoped he didn’t notice how much her hands shook. God, she was so nervous.

As soon as she left, Ethan spoke up.

“Jesus, Benji, when was the last time you went on a date?”

“It’s been a while!” He replied quietly but annoyed. “It’s not easy when you’re chirping in my ear!”

“You asked for my help,” Ethan reminded him.

“Yes, help, not coaching me through the date.”

“This is helping. What’s not helping is how nervous you are.”

“You are not helping,” Benji hissed. “You know what, I can do this date without you.”

“Benji–”

Before Ethan could finish, Benji took the earpiece out and snuck it into his pants pocket. From his booth in the back, Ethan sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose.

A few minutes later Nic came back to the table and smiled at Benji. “I hope I wasn’t gone too long.”

“Not at all,” he told her with a smile.

“From your accent I’m guessing you’re from England?”

“I am,” he told her, cutting into his meal.

“What’s it like there? I’ve always wanted to go,” Nic said.

“It’s lovely,” he said. Almost immediately he went into detail about where he grew up and his college days. He mentioned his favorite foods from home, and brought up some local places he remembered going to. Nic brought up foods from her childhood, and told him about places she used to go to all the time in her youth.

“I should make you some one day,” Nic said, referring to her mother’s lasagna recipe that was stashed away somewhere in Nic’s kitchen.

A familiar warmth that Benji hadn’t felt on his face in nearly an hour came back as he blushed at the notion of having a meal at her apartment. “I’d like that,” he replied, smiling bashfully. “On a day I’m not busy with work, of course, and if you’re feeling up to it.”

“Something tells me I’ll have the energy to make dinner that night,” she said, unable to stop the smile on her face or excitement in her voice. “This has been really nice,” she told him. “I honestly can’t remember the last time I was on a date. A proper date.”

“Me either,” he agreed. “But I think this has been great too.”

Dinner finished and they left for the evening. As they left, Benji offered his arm to Nic once again, and she smiled as she took it. He walked her out and smiled at her softly.

“May I walk you to your car?” He asked her.

“You may,” Nic giggled as he walked her there. She silently hoped the walk would last longer, but they reached the old caravan she drove and she let out a soft sigh. “I really did enjoy tonight, Benji. Thank you for this.”

“You’re welcome. I liked it too, I hope to see you again.”

“When you’re not busy with work, you’re more than welcome to come by my place for that lasagna I told you about,” she said. Nic perched up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Goodnight, Benji.”

He watched her get into the car, and backed up a little as she started to leave. He barely was even able to wave goodbye as she drove off, still caught off guard by the kiss. He brought a hand up and touched where she had kissed cheek before smiling to himself.

“Aww,” Ethan teased as he walked over to Benji. “That’s adorable.”

Benji glared as his face got red. “Shut up.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll see your girlfriend again,” Ethan said, patting him on the back.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Benji corrected.

Ethan started in the direction of his own card and threw a smirk over his shoulder. “Yet.”

Benji paused and thought for a moment before smiling softly. “Yet,” he whispered to himself.

[kitty-cat-is-back]

What Am I Doing with My Life? Chapter 1

Pairing: Sero Hanta x Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: Hello everyone! This is my first fic, so I hope you guys like it! If I’m being honest, I have no idea what this is currently or what this is going to turn into, but this is just a very self indulgent fic, so I’m sorry if this isn’t for you! Definitely my inspiration to even take a crack at writing a fic is @reinawritesbnha, so you should definitely check her out cause her fics are wayyyyy better than whatever you’re gonna read now! Anyways, I’m terrible at writing summaries, so just have a quick read for yourself and see if you like it! Oh, also this is a real world au, so no powers for any of the characters! ANYWAYS, I hope you like it! :)

Warnings: signs of depression, a hint of angst (idk)

BEEP

BEEP

BEEP

With a groan, you rolled over and aimlessly searched for your phone, promptly shutting off your alarm. A sigh escaped your lips as you stared up at the cracked ceiling, already hearing the loud stomping of your upstairs neighbor so early in the morning. You gazed out the window, staring at the luxurious view of the brick wall from the building next to your apartment, anything to prolong starting the day. Once you didn’t think you could hold off any longer on getting ready, so you dragged your body up and out of bed, mosing into the bathroom as you pondered the same question you did everyday: What am I doing with my life?

You didn’t feel like you were sad per se, but you certainly weren’t thrilled about life. Everyday felt like a rut… Wake up, work, eat, sleep, and repeat. You honestly can’t remember that last time you really felt happy. Well… Maybe back then…

You walked into the classroom early groggily, the sun had barely even risen in the sky. The room was mostly empty, spare a boy sitting at his desk, looking much too mischievous this early in the morning. You placed your stuff at your desk and gave yourself a small pep talk in your head. Today was the day you were finally going to do it. With a few more words of your own encouragement, you slowly approached the boy’s desk, gaining a closer look at what he was doing. Curiosity getting the better of you, you pushed your mission aside and started off with some simple small talk.

“What are you doing?” you asked, an eyebrow raised quizzically.

The lanky boy with shaggy black hair and an infectious smile averted his gaze away from his creation to peer up at you. He grinned cheekily before looking back down and pulling more tape from the dispenser to add to the mass he had already formed, “Making a tape ball.”

You tilted your head in confusion before hesitantly asking, “...A tape ball? What for?”

He shrugged, “Dunno yet… Probably gonna throw it at Kaminari during 4th period. We’ll see how I’m feeling,” he stated, wrapping more and more tape around the sticky monstrosity.

You hummed in response, attempting to hide your smile at his antics, even though his attention was solely placed on creating the tape ball. A silence fell over the two of you as you continued to watch him, rocking back and forth on your feet nervously. Just spit it out already! This was your chance! You ceased your rocking and promptly cleared your throat, “Hanta!”

The boy’s brows shot up at the exclamation and turned away from his abomination, giving you his full attention. He just now noticed the makeup adorning your face, something he’s positive he’s never seen you wear before, but can recognize the effort you put into it. His cheeks flushed at his prolonged staring at your beauty and finally stammered out, “Y-Yes?”

This was it. You balled up your fists and tensed up, almost as if preparing for impact, “A-Are… Are you… Are you busy… this weekend…?” you asked, unsure of the words.

Hanta relaxed a bit, though still a bit on edge as to why you were acting so awkward all of a sudden, “Oh, that’s it? No, I’m not particularly busy,” he pondered aloud, “Probably just gonna hang with the squad… Hey, you can join us if you want to! I’ve been dying to properly introduce you to them! I mean, they all know you from around school, but they don’t like… know you know you, y’know?”

You visibly deflated, your mind racing to figure out how to remedy this problem, “I told you… I don’t think your friends would like me. I’m so awkward around new people, I would probably just embarrass you… B-But that wasn’t what I meant!” you paused and took a breath, mentally preparing yourself, “I was trying to ask if you wanted to go on a da-”

Your words were cut off by your friend walking into the classroom. They spotted you and quickly made their way over towards you, “There you are! We’ve been looking everywhere for you! C’mon, we’re gonna go chill in the cafeteria before classes start!” your friend said as they tugged on your arm.

Your mind went into panic mode, glancing frantically between your friend and Hanta, “N-No… Wait! I was just-”

You were cut off once again, “Just finished talking? Great!” your friend said, pulling harder on your arm, “Bye Hanta! I’m sure you guys can catch up later!” they said before successfully pulling you out of the room, leaving behind a confused Hanta.

Once having exited the classroom, your friend let out a disgusted scoff, “How many times do we have to tell you? No. Hanging. With. Hanta. It’s really that simple. That whole friend group of his is no good!”

Your shoulders slumped and your face fell into a frown, “There’s nothing wrong with Hanta… Just because Mina ghosted you after a hookup doesn’t mean the whole group is-”

“Oh. My. GOD. I told you not to ring up the ‘incident’ again! You know it makes me upset!” they said with a huff. They shook it off, “Whatever, but that doesn’t matter! I won’t have my best friend hanging out with those losers and then ultimately getting your heart broken when they don’t want you anymore! So you either listen to me and stop hanging around that guy or we’re not friends anymore.”

This felt like one of those moments in your life where the decision you make would drastically alter your life. You had a choice of two paths and whatever you chose, you couldn’t go back and try again. You stayed silent as you weighed out your options.

“Hellooo?? I’m waiting!”

“Hello? Are you even listening to me?!”

“Hello?”

“Hello? Are you ok?”

You snapped out of your reminiscing and looked up to see your office assistant giving you a concerned look. You started rapidly blinking in confusion, wondering how in the world your body had managed to take you all the way to work without dying while you were caught up in a daydream. You let out a heavy breath and leaned back in your chair, “Yea…” you started, “Yea, I’m fine. I just… didn’t get much sleep last night is all…” you said with a little bit of conviction.

Your office assistant nodded, definitely not convinced, “Right… Anyways, I guess now seems like a good time to bring this up. Your twelve o’clock appointment called and cancelled. That was the only patient you had scheduled, so I think you should take this opportunity and take the day off. In the year that you’ve been working here, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you take time off for yourself. You may not think it, but even psychologists need mental health days,” they joked, trying to lighten up the somber atmosphere of your office.

You rubbed the back of your neck, desperately racking your brain to come up with a reason to stay at work. If you were working, you weren’t thinking and if you weren’t thinking, you were better off that way. You opened your mouth to start spilling out excuses, “Well…”

“I’m gonna stop you right there. I know every single thing you’re about to say and I’m not having it today. I’ll stay and do some work around the office and answer phone calls if needed. You may be my boss, but I’m ordering you to take the day off. You deserve it. You need it.”

You sighed and hung your head. There was no getting out of this. You held your hands up in defeat, “Alright, alright, I give. I’ll take the day off. You win…” you grumbled. After a victorious cheer from your assistant, you packed up your stuff and headed out of the office. Now that you were alone again, you were left with nothing but your own thoughts.

Maybe your assistant was right about this whole day off thing. I mean, remembering back on your high school days? If you’re starting to believe that you peaked mid-way through high school, you must be going crazy. But… You felt like you were kind of right about one decision drastically changing your life. One choice led you down a path that you couldn’t escape and were forced to keep walking down, no matter how many times you wanted to walk back and find your way again. Maybe you wouldn’t be here if you had chosen a different path, or maybe nothing would’ve changed at all. It doesn’t make sense to wonder about it now. The choice was made and nothing can be undone.

Getting lost in your thoughts again, your body still magically transporting you from one place to the next, you missed out on the man chasing you through the bustling streets of the city, calling out your name like a madman. He pushed through the crowds of people walking in the opposite direction of him, mumbling out apologies every few seconds. He finally managed to make his way to you and grabbed your wrist to gain your attention,

“(Y/N)!”

You snapped out of your thoughts for the second time that day and whipped around to see the boy you knew long ago, but he had turned into a man. Your eyes became wide as your jaw dropped in disbelief, somehow managing to stutter out,

“H-Hanta!?”

[unpack-my-heart]

from out of nowhere (you came strong as stone)

This is the first story I’ve written since ... fuck knows when. It’s short, bittersweet, and I hope you enjoy it.

The summer that had taken too long to arrive ended on a sticky, sweat-slow September morning. Richie lay beached on his sea-foam bed covers, counting his breaths,

in and out,

in and out,

in and out,

His mother hasn’t seen the inside of his room since mid-April, and since then, the floor had become littered with the remains of food devoured long ago, a graveyard of chip packets and half-eaten candy bars grown furry with neglect. He’d lived the last few months in relative solitude, Diogenes in his barrel, his only reassurance the inevitability that this too shall pass.  The days had gelled together into a gelatinous clump of anxiety-infused monotony, a self-imposed isolation that had Richie desperately wishing that he’d tried harder at school from the beginning of his senior year.

Like the stem of a plant locked in darkness, Richie’s skin, blue-veined and sun-parched, twisted and turned on his bones, sunflower seed freckles waiting under his skin, waiting to be called to the surface by Helios himself. He’d spent day after day after night after night with his nose buried deep into various textbooks on subjects he couldn’t pretend to find interesting anymore, until, one afternoon, he was done. It was all rather anti-climactic, the walk from the exam hall to his car, the sun waving frantically at him from behind the thin icing-sugar dusting of cloud in the sky, you’re done, you’re free, your life is your own! Richie had pulled his prescription sunglasses down over his eyes, and climbed into his rust-bucket Ford, leaving the sun hanging bloated and ignored in the sky.

And now, as he lay on his bed, legs stuck in the air, parallel to the wall upon which they rested, all Richie could do was count his breaths and wait for Eddie to arrive.

Most of Richie’s life had passed him by as he waited for Eddie. When they were children, knee high to grasshoppers and twice as bouncy, he’d waited at Eddie’s house, hopping from foot to tiny foot, waiting for Sonia to baptise her son in sun-cream, waiting for the moment that Eddie would finally emerge from the dark, womby house, a thick film of white cream on his face, a sticky-sweet toothy grin. When they were middle-schoolers, Richie would wait for Eddie at the arcade, feeding quarters into the greedy machines as quickly as he could, trying desperately to stall for time, to hog the machines until Eddie would arrive, face crimson and knees knocking awkwardly as he walked, his long overdue growth-spurt still clinging to his bones.

Read the rest under the cut or on AO3

And so, now they’d finished high school, emerged not quite boys but still not men, Richie was still waiting. He spent the summer waiting for Eddie to finish his summer homework so they could go and watch the kingfishers dancing in the reeds at the barrens. He waited for Eddie to finish work at the library, standing in the parking lot, the August air wrapping itself around him, tickling his sunburnt skin. He waited for Eddie to open his window, witching-hour late, so he could clamber through and wrap himself around Eddie, terrified Tetris-pieces clutching at each other after nightmares, hoping that they were each braver than each other.

It's been nearly two hours since Eddie got out of church. The image of Eddie, knelt on the floor of St Benedict’s, hands clasped tight, so tight, eyes screwed shut, set Richie’s stomach alight, a forest-fire, destructive, lethal. The image floated in Richie’s brain for a while, Eddie knelt on the cold, stone floor of the church, Eddie knelt in the shower, rivers of water flowing across the parched plain of his back, Eddie knelt on Richie’s grimy carpet. So fucking dirty.

Richie grabbed his half-interested dick, squeezing it just so, just enough, a whisper of friction. Half-interest turned sailed straight to undevoted attention, and Richie sighed. The air was too hot, stifling, judgemental, and his hands were already damp with sweat. Sliding off the bed with a grunt, Richie slunk into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

 *

 Another hour passed, and Richie was still waiting. The worst of the heat had gone, had sunk into the scorched grass, and the sounds of midsummer started floating back through Richie’s open window as people emerged from their houses. Children, screaming in delight, having wriggled free from the desperate clutches of their parents who stood, sunblock in hand, defeated. He’d run the water in the shower as cold as it would go, but it hadn’t been of much use. He’d come, gasping, face red with embarrassment and the release of a tension that had sat coiled in his abdomen for what felt like forever.

They’d spoken about it once.

They’d been at the library, Richie browsing the fiction shelves blindly, fingers skating over the spines of books he never had any intention of reading. They’d walked home together, an unspoken arrangement, and Eddie followed Richie up past the old well house on Neibolt street, and didn’t turn down the dusty track. They barely spoke as they walked, and Eddie kicked an old glass beer bottle all the way to Richie’s street, before sending it skittering into the undergrowth.

“Have you ever –”

The question died in Richie’s mouth before he’d realised he’d been half way to asking it. Eddie looked up from where he was lying.

“Huh?”

“Aw,” Richie started, throwing the elastic band ball he’d been working on at the wall, “never mind, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“No, come on, you can’t do that. Have I ever what?”

“It really doesn’t matter, Eds.”

thunk, thunk, thunk went the ball against the wall, a rhythmic heartbeat.

“I’ll fucking garotte you, Richie. Have I ever what?”

thunk

“Are you going to let this go?”

thunk 

“We both know the answer to that question.”

thunk, thunk –

“Have you ever wondered what it’s like …”

Eddie stared at him, slack-jawed, almost bored.

“What it’s like to what?! Stop being so cryptic, you’re not smart enough to pull it off.”

“What it’s like to suck someone off, like … a dude?”

Richie expected Eddie to react in one of three ways. One, to punch Richie on the nose and flee from the Tozier house never to return again. Two, to admit that yes, he had wondered what it’s like to suck someone off, why, isn’t Richie very perceptive for asking such a question. Three, to shrug his shoulders, all ‘nope, never have, never will, now stop fucking pining after me’.

Instead, Eddie just blinked.

“You’re killing me here, Eds. Are you gonna say something?”

“I’m thinking.”

“What is there to think about?” Richie babbled, motormouth running at full speed, max-fucking-horsepower, “it was a dumb question, just a joke. A classic Richie jest, heh. Don’t sweat your pretty little head about it any longer –”

“I’ve thought about it.”

Blink.

“Do you want to go and see whether Bev’s finished her shift? I fancy getting out of here, s’too fucking cold in your house,” Eddie yawned, standing up and stretching his arms above his head.

And that was that.

After that day, they never sat down and had a conversation about why they look at each other for slightly too long, eyes meeting over shitty diner coffee at two in the morning after an evening of tomfoolery in Mike’s barn. They never acknowledged that, when they walk home together after leaving the diner, six dollars left in a neat pile on the edge of the table, Richie would grab Eddie’s hand, and hold on tight, fingernails digging in, just scarcely, just enough. If Eddie thought it was weird, thought that Richie had a screw-loose and needed tightening, he didn’t mention it, he just rested his hand in Richie’s vice grip, barely holding on himself, but he didn’t need to. Richie had him.

They never acknowledged that when they said goodbye, Richie would duck down, face hovering next to Eddie’s, and he’d kiss the soft spot behind Eddie’s ear, a secret pressed into Eddie’s skin.

 *

 Eddie showed up close to midnight, when the sun had been chased across the sky by the moon which shone brilliantly in the sky.

 [Eds: 23:42: are you gonna let me in?]

[Eds: 23:42: i brought you something]

[Eds: 23:43: seriously trashmouth this branch doesn’t feel like it’ll hold forever]

[Eds: 23:44: OPEN YOUR FUCKING WINDOW]

 The window was barely half open when Eddie tumbled through it, limbs knocking together awkwardly. He’d had a growth spurt last year, shot up several inches in one summer, and Richie often found himself staring at the criss-cross silver slithers across his back when they went swimming at the quarry. Eddie hated them and had spent ages on the internet looking up remedies for stretchmarks, had even gone to the doctor, convinced that he’d need a skin graft, but Richie loved them, wanted to trace them with his tongue.

“I wish you’d let me use your door like a normal fucking person, asshole,” Eddie groaned, rubbing his elbow where it had fought with the sharp edge of Richie’s desk and lost.

“You really think Went would let that slide? Anyway, you’re a fucking liar if you don’t find this way more romantic.”

“Romantic?”

“Yup, romantic.”

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

Eddie was right, of course. Richie was a fucking idiot, with his heart glued messily to his sleeve.

“Here,” Eddie says, thrusting a small, wrapped package at Richie’s chest. His face has gone an odd colour, almost the colour of the marshmallows Richie’s mother decorated her apology hot chocolates with. “Just, don’t say anything until you’ve opened it, okay?”

The package was wrapped in newspaper,

‘the senator staunchly denies the accusations of …’

‘the next few days will be mostly dry, with the occasional …’

‘Mick Jagger, 77, has been caught with …’

“Stop reading the fucking wrapping paper, Jesus Richie,” Eddie snaps, and Richie looks up.

Eddie’s standing in the middle of Richie’s room, and he looks … panicked. Not the sort of panic that Richie is so used to seeing painted on Eddie’s face, panic that his mother will find out he’s snuck out of the house, panic he’s flunked a test, panic he’ll be late for his shift, panic he got some of Richie’s spit on his face when they’ve laughed with heads bowed close together. This panic, this is different.

“Eddie…” Richie warns, voice low, gravelly. “What is it?”

“Just … open it,” Eddie says, and there’s no bite, no sarcastic-witty-‘shut-the-fuck-up-Richie’-Eddieness. Richie doesn’t recognise the look on his face, can’t match it to the bank of Eddie expressions he keeps in his mind.

The paper comes away easily, and Richie’s left clutching a blank CD in a clear case.

“A CD?”

Eddie rubs the back of his neck with his hand, still not looking at Richie straight.

“Yeah, it’s … I thought about just sending you a link to a Spotify playlist but this … it felt more real.”

“Real? Eddie …”

Eddie shakes his head. “Shut up, okay. Just … listen to it. When I’ve gone, listen to it.”

The room feels smaller. The memories of them sitting here, playing video games on Richie’s dads old gamecube when they were seven, of watching horror movies about killer clowns and monstrous body snatchers when they were thirteen and Eddie would shriek loudly into Richie’s shoulder before punching him, of sitting and staring at the walls, a joint balanced precariously between Richie’s lips, Eddie bobbing his head along to Chris Cornell’s voice seeping out of Richie’s shitty speakers, the memories pushed at Richie’s arms, at his legs, squashing him. The room felt smaller, and Eddie, standing there, with his ridiculous determined expression and a set jaw, felt huge.

“Uh..,” Richie stammered, dumbly, staring at the CD in his hands.

“I’m gonna go now, okay? I think … I think it’s best if I go now. Text me, when you’ve listened to it. Text me and … yeah. Listen to it when I’ve gone?”

Before Richie could answer, before he could look at Eddie in the face, the room was empty.

Richie threw the CD on his bed, staring at it as if it might grow legs, arms, a mouth – as if it might speak to him, “this is what you think it is! It can’t be anything but this! Listen to me and find out! It’s what you always wanted!”

Richie stared at it. The insignificant chunk of plastic lying on his bed innocently, provocatively, as if it didn’t contain the secrets of the universe, as if it didn’t have the capacity to change Richie’s life in several short yet monumentally significant minutes. He’s almost sure he won’t’ listen to it. He grabs at it gingerly, holding it between his thumb and forefinger as if it’ll burn him, as if it’s something disgusting. He drops it in his overflowing waste bin, before marching out of the room, and down the stairs. The house is silent, and Richie stands in the sitting room, unsure what to do now.

Half of him wants to throw open the front door, and hot foot it to Eddie’s house, clamber in through the downstairs bathroom window that never shuts properly, tiptoe past Sonia passed out on her La-Z-Boy, pin Eddie against the wall of his immaculate bedroom, and demand that Eddie take it back. He wants to thrust the CD at Eddie, wrapped in the stupid newspaper, and leave. Pretend it never happened. It would be easier this way, nothing would have to change. They could go back to stolen glances across the room, clasped hands on intoxicated walks, dry presses of mouths to secret spots that no one else knew about. Easier.

The other half of him screams at him, begs him, to dig the CD out of the bin, to scrape the pencil shavings and the toenails off of it, and to put it in his Walkman, and to listen to what Eddie had to say. Hell, it might not even be what Richie thinks (hopes, dreams, dreads) it might be, it might be something mundane, a new album Eddie has found online, a new artist he thinks Richie will like, a recording of his new, perhaps ill-advised, stand-up comedy routine, and …

Not an expression of undying love, a token of affection, a symbol of everything Richie means to Eddie …

Wrapped up in a neat little plastic bomb that threatens to detonate and lodge shrapnel in Richie’s, till now, carefully-guarded heart.

Shit.

 *

 Most of Richie’s life had passed him by as he waited for Eddie. Only now, on this sweat-sticky summer night, Eddie waits for Richie. Impatiently.

 [Eds: 01:54: have you listened to it?]

[Eds: 02:13: this isn’t fucking funny]

[Eds: 02:43: Rich?]

[Eds: 04:20: im sorry]

 The sun filters in through the living room window, reborn. Richie’s still sitting on the sofa, head in his hands.

 [Eds: 05:12: Richie seriously]

[Eds: 05:45: listen to track 3 again]

 Track 3. Richie hasn’t listened to track 1, the CD is still lying in the waste bin, rejected, a grenade with the pin still intact, but waiting, ready, willing. It feels inevitable, really. Richie knows that, eventually, whether today, tomorrow, next year, thirty years from now, he’ll listen to that CD and he’ll run to Eddie. He’ll run, and it’ll all be different, the kind of different that sends electric-shock excitement shooting down Richie’s spine, and anticipation collects in his pores, seeping, oozing, unstoppable. It’ll be different. Richie needs, craves, different.

But, and it’s a huge, omnipresent but, they can’t go back from different. They can’t decide that actually, things were better the way they were, let’s stop being different and go back to what came before. Different is permanent, a deep gash that scars but doesn’t disappear, a tectonic shift, Atlas shifting his grip on the world, never again to place his hands exactly where they were before.

Whether it’s worth it, to take a punt on different, to screw his eyes closed and hope for the best, to jump into the void and hope it catches him with velvet-plush arms, Richie doesn’t know.

His phone buzzes, a long, prolonged clattering against the wooden coffee table.

[incoming call from: Eds]

Richie ignores the phone.

He sleeps the day away, a sleep that doesn’t quench his thirst for oblivion as he dreams vividly, dreams of difference and soft hands and eyes that roll and squint and of premature laughter lines etched on soft, youthful skin.

 *

 When Richie wakes up, it’s dark. He has 17 missed calls, and two texts.

[Eds: 14:52: don’t freak out, okay. I made that tape because I can’t bear the thought of you going off to college and of being such a fucking coward that I’d let you go without telling you. I’m sorry if it’s all weird now, but at least I’ve been honest with you. If you don’t feel the same, it’s fine, honestly. It’ll stop being weird eventually.]

[Eds: 17:19: I’m still coming to wave you off tomorrow, just FYI]

Ah. Tomorrow. The day Richie bundles himself into his father’s Subaru and leaves Maine for Chicago, the Windy City, the city that never sleeps, the city that Eddie won’t be in. Ay, there’s the rub.

Leaving Eddie behind as they are now, friends, best friends, best friends who look at each other for too long and hold hands in the dark, feels like a sucker punch that Richie can never recover from. Leaving Eddie behind as something different …

It’s half past eight and the CD is still in the bin, but now, Richie is in his bedroom, staring at it, daring it,

Make it different.

 *

 It takes him two hours to pluck up the courage to dig the CD out of the bin and put it in his Walkman. Another thirty to press play. He skips straight to track 3, fingers shaking.

 You have always been my safe home I walk, I run, I burn out into you You have always been my safe home My whole world has moved on

 Fuck.

Immediately, different settles over Richie like a thick smog. As soon as the song stops, before he’s even spoken to Eddie, it’s different. He can feel it, taste it, touch it in the air. And, as if he knows, as if he’s watching Richie at that very moment, Eddie texts.

 [Eds: 11:13: I love you]

[wu-sisyphus-gang]

Motion Sickness Chapter 72

pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq

The car I was driving in took a spill of a sheer cliff. It plummeted down for a terrifying moment and I was weightless until it can splashing down in the ink black water.

It started to sink and I panicked but I was locked inside the vehicle as the water slowly rose. In through the cracks the water poured into the vehicle. But it wasn't water. It was Grimm worms and centipedes. Tiny and crawling over each other as they spilled through the air vents and came inside.

The car slowly sank and the bugs came twisting and sliming their way towards me.

‘Just fucking take me,’ I told the dream.

The centipedes were up to my ankles now, slithering over my body and crawling their way inside.

‘It's not real. You'll wake up any minute now,’ I tried to remind myself. It didn't help much. I was in agony.

They crawled through my skin on dozens of legs. Slowly making their way up my waist as the car I was in sinking slowly and inexorably down into the murky depths. I could see nothing out the windows.

The bugs made their way over my shoulders until only my head remained. I tilted my head back up to try and stay out of reach of them but they piled on top of one another as they made their way inside.

They reached my lips and I held my breath and closed my eyes.

I woke up with a gasp. I was alone in my room at Atlas Academy. There were no bugs. I was safe. Or as safe as I ever was with Mother knocking on my figurative door day and night.

I was shaking and couldn't stand as I tried to leave my bed. Phantom pains wracked my body. From the head down I was in unbearable pain. My nerves pulled and twitched. My whole body was malfunctioning as I spasmed.

I didn't scream. I collapsed out of my bed with a gasp and landed on the hard floor. I crawled my way to the bathroom and shower. My body shivered all the while and I was sweating hard.

I crawled on my belly to the shower and disrobed with tremoring arms and legs. I turned it on and sat in the warm shower, letting the heat pour over me. I trembled in the shower under the water.

I tried to shake it off, tried to recover, but the dream stayed with me as I layed on the shower floor. I rubbed my face with my hands.

The medication was just not hitting my dreams. And I doubted they ever would. These were messages from Mother to my subconscious. It was a sign of her presence in my mind. She was there. Like a shark, shifting just beneath the surface.

I eventually mastered enough of myself to leave the shower on my two legs. I dried myself off briskly. I walked to a drawer in my room by the bed and pulled it open. It was full of little pill bottles. I read through the labels for a moment and pulled one open and popped a tablet under my tongue to dissolve.

I let it happen and relaxed into the sweet taste of the powdering pill.

It was one of the tranquilizers to help me relax. I was taking about six of them a day. My doctors wanted me to be at zero. The medication was addictive even at low dosages. But I needed them for the panic and what I was starting to suspect were small seizures related to the fear. The shaking was just too much. It made me feel epileptic, even.

There came a knock by my door. A crisp sound. I walked up and paranoia made me check the peephole. It was Weiss. I swung the door open.

"Weiss," I greeted.

"Cloud," she returned. "I heard the water running through the walls." They'd gotten me a room next to team RWBY's. "I wanted to check on you. It's the middle of the night. What are you doing in the shower?"

"Why are you up?" I asked. I dodged her question for a moment. I knew she wouldn’t let it go for real. I stood aside to let her in. She stepped inside with her hair drawn mid back height and down around her shoulders. Her blue eyes were like crystal in the dull, low light.

"I sometimes read late into the night on my scroll. It's a bad habit to have but it's one of my vices. Are you alright?"

"Just another nightmare. Moth-Salem related. I think. I can never be one hundred percent sure. I had to crawl to my shower I was shaking so bad."

"Shaking? From what?"

"The fear. The loss of control over my nerves. Take your pick."

"I didn't realize it was still so bad. I thought the medication was supposed to help."

"They are. But the shaking was pretty bad." I took a moment and breathed. "You know what?" I asked.

"What's that?" She asked. Concern written blatantly on her face.

"I've lived a while and been around and I think untreated PTSD and depression can cause mini-strokes. Or mini-seizures."

"Don't stop talking there for gods' sake!" She looked horrified.

"What else is there to tell? I think I'm going through it. Or it could just be Salem related or have to do with how I was grown. If I have serious brain damage as a result of one or both of those, I wouldn't be surprised."

"Did you take anything to help with it?"

"I just took one of the tranquilizers they prescribed."

"But you're not resting well," she concluded. She paced over and sat on my bed. She tapped next to her and indicated for me to join her.

I nodded and sighed but did, placing myself down beside her.

"Sleep is when I'm vulnerable. It's when she gets me," I informed her with a shaking voice.

"You need to sleep," she murmured gently.

"You don't think I know that?" I spat the words out. "Sorry. Sorry. It's just frustrating. You don't deserve that."

"When was the last time you got some real rest?" She wondered with a simple, minute nod to accept my apology.

"I've been double dosing on those tranquilizers at night. It's been helping a little," I informed her. I rubbed at my temple with my thumb and forefinger.

"Should you be abusing your meds?" She asked.

"It's not my fault. My meds abused me first. They all have side effects. All of them. And then they prescribe me something to deal with the side effects which in turn has its own side effects. It's a spiral but it's my brain that's being fucked up. And some of them have addictive properties in league with hyper. I can't miss a dose of some of them without going through miniature withdrawals. Suicidal thoughts are the best symptoms of that withdrawal I can hope for, there are worse ones. Ones that are indistinguishable from my symptoms."

"Is it really so bad?"

"It's not great."

"You always say you're doing alright," she whispered.

"I am alright. This is alright for me now. This is what that looks like."

"’Alright’ is mini-strokes and seizures?"

"Maybe " I shrugged. "Don't tell Ruby."

"Why not?"

"She'll just worry over me. No reason to cause her undue distress. This is just what I am now."

"I think she deserves to know. So we can make a decision together. The three of us can make a decision about your health together. You're not alone," she promised me. She reached out and took both of my hands. All but forcing me to look her in the eye.

"Like what? Putting me back in a hospital?" I asked.

"If that's what it takes for you to get better, what's wrong with that?"

"They'll take my weapon. Again. They'll take my weapon again and they'll lock me up, for who knows how long."

"Does your therapist know? About all this?" She wondered.

"I've been telling her everything. Even about my creation."

"That couldn't have been easy. That was very brave of you."

"I don't want to be pitied. You should get that."

"You don't have my pity. I admire your strength," she whispered back. She put her arm on the middle of my back. "You're sick. Not weak."

I laughed a little and she looked at me concerned. "I'm not going to get better from this. What Salem is doing to me is for keeps. This shit is eternal. Brain damage is permanent damage."

"You can fight her," Weiss vowed at me with big blue eyes. Her silvery hair strewn out behind her head in a curtain.  

"Hardly. She's so… so big. And I'm so small. I'm like a dog to her. I feel like I’m just a dog."

"Cloud, you've already done so much. I believe in you. Even changing your name."

"Symbolic and nothing more, that is. It changes nothing. She still has me."

"It isn't symbolic. You're beating her. You've been winning. You kept the relic safe. You killed Tyrian. You did what you could. And you fight so awake!"

"I feel half asleep all the time. I'm so doped up just to stay functional. I don't even know what it means to be awake."

"I don't know what to say. You seem to be okay during waking hours."

"I'll be fine. I'm still waking from that dream. Plus I've got somebody to complain at and that's only revving me up."

"Would you rather I left?" She wondered.

"No. No, not that. I'm not going to get any sleep so if you weren't here I'd just be alone. Awake and alone."

She held my hand in a tight squeeze. "I'm here for you, Cloud. Anything you need. I can help you as much as you want me to."

"You're already helping me. Just… thanks for listening. And for coming to check on me," I said.

"Of course," she whispered. She gave me a gentle kiss on the forehead. She ran one hand through my hair against the back of my head.

I leaned my head down into her lap and let her stroke at my long blonde fronds.

"Ruby and I are always here for you. You're doing so well. We're so proud of you and the steps you've been willing to go to get better."

"Talking about me behind my back again?" I wondered.

She laughed. A quiet peaceful noise in the emptiness of my room. "Not so much. But we both are. I know she is. And I am too."

"She's going to be the death of me, Mother is."

"Salem." She softly corrected me.

"Salem." I agreed. I groaned as she pulled her fingers through my hair. Her cool fingers touched my scalp. She tasted like something creamy and smooth through the space between us. Her dull white aura tasted delicious. So tranquil. It went down easily.

"You're so strong. You've grown so much. You're so mature and you seem so ready and responsible for whatever may happen."

"I'm not. It's fake. It's fake pressure." I exhaled into her lap.

"You are. I can see it. You can't hide it from me," she murmured. "It's why, well, it's why I think I started to fall for you. You were already like that in Mistral. Before."

"Before I knew what I was."

"No one thinks less of you for your origins but you," she purred at me. "Ruby and I adore you." I breathed hard. "It's only you that thinks that way. Ruby and I have no intention of abandoning you. We'll help you get through this if you let us. I understand if you have to do it alone. But don't suffer in silence on our account. We're here for you," she breathed. "I'm here for you. I trust you."

I kissed her. Low and silky. She bent down slightly over my lips. I sat up slightly and put an arm around her and the other on the inside of her thigh. She let out a shuddering breath as I did. I squeezed her leg and she shifted to rub her thighs together.

Her full lips and the pout of them ran against my tongue and she tasted like some sort of cream pie. Like a custard. Smooth. Sugary. Sweet. A flavor I was liable to gulp down.

I wrapped an arm around her and pulled her down onto me. She straddled me in her nightwear. The thin pants she wore did remarkably little at the range we found ourselves at with her legs on either side of my waist. Her breath came low and fast through her nose and she mewled quietly against me. I bit her lip and she let out a very feminine meek sound.

"Hah…hah..." She panted. "Ah."

The tips of her breasts swelled through her nightgown. I released her for a moment and she leaned back and flicked her platinum hair over her shoulder and out of her pretty face. Her eyes glowed down at me. Soft and blue. There was a heat in them that was difficult to describe.

"I've always wanted you," I panted up at her. "Always."

Her breath hitched slightly at my words and she descended back down on me. Her tongue wrestled with mine before they parted ways to examine the others' mouth. Her tongue was smooth and it glid along my teeth softly. It explored me carefully. Her hips rocked against me and she let out a quiet purr as she ground her pelvis downwards into my shorts.

I groaned. My hands came up behind her to grab her rear and pull her down onto me.

"Wait," she breathed. "Wait."

"Me wait?" I asked like the dumbass caveman I was. "You're on top of me."

She beat my hard chest with a tiny, tiny fist. "You know what I meant. This isn't what I came in here for." The effect of her hitting me was ruined when her hand turned flat and wound up stroking my firm pectoral with the whole of her small hand. Her palm rubbed from my collar all the way to my sternum.

Her other hand descended and came against my barrel of a stomach. She traced her fingers under my shirt and against my skin.

"Plans change." I gave her firm butt a squeeze through her night clothes and her breath hitched again quietly above me. Her pale lips parted in two for a quiet gasp.

"Not like this. I want Ruby to be there for it when we do… when we do anything," she decided on her phrasing.

"Then let's not do anything like that," I agreed with her.

"We already kind of are," she disagreed.

She ground her hips down onto me to prove the point and she made me gasp. I looked into her eye and I could see her desire to do it again. She wanted me to make that noise again. I wanted her to do it again too.

"We don't have to do anything more than what we are," I amended.

She traced her hand further under my shirt and splayed her fingers against my ribs. I groaned into her touch.

"You have so many scars." She pulled my shirt up and examined my chest. "These ones," she stroked across my upper chest and lower stomach. I shuddered and got goosebumps. "Were from Tyrian," she continued. "What about this long one?" Her fingers lined up over my new addition. The laceration under my ribs left behind by a blade of energy.  

"Taurus. Adam Taurus. He cut me with his semblance. It glanced off my armor, got me there."

I sat up and pulled my shirt all the way off rather than leave it halfway on. She looked at me and blushed like a virgin.

"Better?" I asked.

She nodded. She reached out tentatively and touched me. "Tyrian really did a number on you, didn't he?"

"He almost killed me. Turned my chest into hamburger for a bit there. Ruby had to run me back to town and get me stitched up. She thought I was going to die."

"You've been through a lot."

"And it all keeps coming"

"Which is how I know that you can get through this. Ruby and I trust you with our lives."

"You shouldn't, that's a mistake.”

"Maybe. But it's my decision. No one else gets to make it for me. I trust Ruby and I trust you. Try and get some sleep, Cloud. I won't go anywhere."

pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq

-WG

[quiet-kunoichi]

“ please….stay, just for tonight. ”

[ misc quotes meme | @suck-my-tomato | verse; post-modern ]

She had come over.

Well, that's not entirely true. Initially, Sasuke had showed up to her apartment after a missed call from her, followed by a quick [text:] im sorry about that. So; in lieu of their weird and strangled conversation the other night, where he offered his support any time she felt close to relapsing (or otherwise, but he wasn't ready to say that aloud just yet) -- Sasuke's slingshot brain thought of the worst conclusion and immediately called her back. But in fact, the call back wasn't so immediate, after all. It had been forty minutes since she had attempted initial contact. She doesn't pick up, and her awkward and uncertain voice tells him 'sorry you missed me. uh, yeah - leave a message and i'll get back to you .. eventually. probably.' The beep of her voicemail catches him off guard; a weird beat of silence begins the message before he mutters a quick, "Hey.. I hope you're alright-- Call me, okay?" Minutes pass with him staring expectantly at the screen. She doesn't call him back; he curses himself for getting caught up in his most recent painting. Unable to contain the swirl of emotions, Sasuke rises to his restless feet. He paces the room a few times, biting at the skin of his lip and glancing over to his blackened phone screen now and again. He even tried sitting back down at his canvas, picking up the brush and the palette again: just to get his mind off of it. Sasuke knew it would be pushing boundaries if he just showed up because she didn't reply in.. twelve minutes. "She's probably fine," He told the room, the drying paint, himself. But clearly he wasn't certain enough - because when his phone vibrates against the coffee table, Sasuke risks the detailed linework by nearly diving out of his seat to snatch his phone. But his once high-strung heart was now rocking heavy in his gut and making him seasick. Just a text from Naruto. He doesn't even bother to read it - instead pulling up the sporadic text conversation with Kimiko and rereading her short message as if he could read between the lines. Fuck it. In cases of recovering addicts, sometimes boundaries would have to be pushed; he was personally familiar. So, Sasuke snatched his car keys from their place beside the door and heads for her apartment. His hands were clammy and stuck to the steering wheel with an iron grip the whole time. What was he going to walk in on? Would this behavior bring up old, bruised memories - would it roll their hesitant friendship back a few steps? Maybe she truly didn't mean to call; maybe she was not even home. Or she was home, but had someone else over. That thought tightened his throat. But nothing compared to the nagging gnat of trauma whispering something much more foul in his ear: perhaps he didn't come soon enough, and the apartment would already be empty. Worse yet - a repeat of the scene he came across a few months ago. No. Sasuke refused to let his brain run down that beaten path: instead, he barely made it through a yellow light and parked on the street across from her apartment building. The next time he blinked, Sasuke was standing in front of her door, fist hanging in the air. Had he already knocked? He can't remember. Kimiko hadn't even the time to quickly soak up the leftover water from her hair and wrap up decently when the second knock came. It sends a zip of fear up her spine; her mouth is gummy, so she cannot even reply. She just wraps the nearest towel tightly around herself and quickly ( and carefully ) pads over to the front door of her rather.. 'minimalistic' apartment. No, she hadn't unpacked fully, yet. It wasn't that she was expecting to pick up and disappear at the drop of a hat; it was just too hard a task, truthfully. Opening the door a crack (seeing as this apartment didn't have the foresight to install peepholes) Kimiko peers through a sliver, a single dull yellow eye landing upon his face. Oh --

Blinking a few times, Kimiko's death grip on her door is slackened in surprise. The door comes open a few more inches, and reveals that she indeed just got out of the bath. "..Sasuke?" She questions, as though the man before her might chameleon into someone else with her next blink. He stammers a reply; an apology - and she tells herself that the color of his cheeks was likely due to the strangeness of his voice, because she could not picture any other reason why he'd feel embarrassed. "H-hey. Uh, I'm sorry. I was just --" He's struggling to figure out how to express his thoughts coherently while she's standing there with her hair dripping and a towel tucked tightly around her slender frame. "You didn't answer, so.. I'm just checking in on you." Was it more awkward to look at her while she was sorta-kinda indecent, or more glaringly awkward to obviously not look at her at all? Her neighbor's door opens; Sasuke is ogled at from across the hall. Kimiko's stare slides over and the decision is made for her: she opens the door and gingerly takes his wrist, beckoning him inside. Closing the door behind him and locking ( the knob, the dead bolt, the chain, the swing-bar guard ) it, Kimiko turns to him and draws his attention back from where it wandered about her empty apartment. Well - mostly empty. Suppose the issue of not having any clutter or decorations was that a lone bottle of whiskey appeared like a glaring centerpiece on her coffee table. She'll behave as though it didn't exist. "Sorry. It's nothing personal; she stares at me, too." Kimiko murmurs, catching that telltale look of concern hardly concealed in his stare as he turns back to her. "Kimiko.." His voice is careful, as though they stood on thin ice and he was chancing the very real possibility that whatever he would say next could make them fall through and catch hypothermia. "I should get dressed," She'd reply, dipping her head and passing him by on her way back to the bathroom. Despite her hope that he would ignore the obvious, too - Kimiko returns to the front room once dressed, and Sasuke is leaning his weight into the arm of her couch rather than sitting upon it. She catches him in a staring contest with the bottle of liquor. Arms tucked across her midsection, she stands adjacent to him and awaits the backfire from being caught -- even if she hadn't indulged in it (yet). "I'm sorry I didn't pick up." Instead of scolding her, Sasuke apologizes. It's.. strange, but quietly welcomed in the stead of worse repercussions. She doesn't respond, because she doesn't know quite how to. So, with fingers steepled and head dipped to the floor between them, he speaks up again; but it's not without strain. "I know I said I'd be available for support if you needed it-" She's expecting him to follow this sentence with a 'but I said it too soon' or a 'but I changed my mind', and she doesn't want the heartache that would follow hearing that kind of statement, so Kimiko cuts him off. "It's fine, Sasuke. Really.. I'm fine." She shouldn't lie like that, but old habits die painfully slow. At last, his gaze lifts and they share a look; one that's hard to place. She knows that he knows she's lying, and she swallows the guilt and shame that comes with that. "I didn't have any. The cap is sealed, if you want to check." She offers the olive branch, and Sasuke truly considers it: but decides against it, in an attempt to show his trust in her claim. Even still, a short sigh escapes her; fingers come up to rub at her eye. Now having a proper look at her, Sasuke recognizes an old shirt she used to wear in high school. It draws attention to how much she's thinned down since then, the fabric now loose in places that it used to hold onto her curves. Dark crescents are worn like ghosts under her eyes, her cheekbones are taut and pronounced in a way he hasn't noticed before. Kimiko speaks up before he has the chance. "I did think about it," She admits, sounding tired. "And I did call," Another admittance, this one with a twinge more shame behind it. He gives a little wince. "But I walked away from it." A half-hearted shrug follows. Actually, she had tossed her phone on the couch and fled to the bathroom, mid-panic attack and desperate to scald and then simmer in a soup of flashbulb memories: just so she could watch them wash down the drain with the soapy bathwater. But a knock on the door interrupted that sequence, and now here they both were.

"It's okay that you didn't answer. I know that .." She hesitates, the fingers at her side starting to pluck at the edge of her shirt. "I know you're busy, with stuff." Ah, real smooth, Kimiko. That totally wasn't obvious. Her lips press firm, and she can no longer bear to hold his gaze, so she drops her own while slowly curling her grip over opposite arm. "And I'm fine to handle it on my own. I've done it before." Yeah, that probably wasn't the best thing to add in, either. "I was working on a painting." Sasuke replies, then turns over his palms to expose the flecks and streaks of paint that litter his pale skin. He's not sure why he felt like she needed the visual proof; but she had offered some tactile evidence with the sealed cap to her bottle of whiskey, earlier - and he wanted to extend the same offering in exchange. To make it a two-lane street, like his therapist had mentioned last week. Before her.. self-inflicted incident - Kimiko had been the only one expressing her efforts to make amends. He wasn't proud of the result; so now, in light of the aftermath: Sasuke wanted to try, too. "Oh." She replies, dumbly. "Um," Umber hues roam around the room, but he continues to look up at her. "..Sorry you came all the way out here to check on me. I didn't have my phone, I was in the bath, and-" Her fingers are plucked from her side and engulfed by the dual caress of both of his palms. He holds her small hand in his own, and places his other hand on top. It strikes her heart, giving it a kickstart as she looks between their clasped hands and back up to him. "Don't apologize." He begins, "I came to check on you because I wanted to." A thumb runs over the top of her hand, trying to soothe. Instead it just gets her heart in a weird flutter; unused to this intimacy, even after all this time. Or, perhaps especially after all this time. "I see." Is her quiet reply. Parting his lips, Sasuke realizes that she's transfixed on her hand sandwiched between his own. He returns it, but admittedly, it isn't without some reluctance: like pulling apart two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle after finally connecting their uneven ends. "..Have you eaten?" He asks, and she appears dumbfounded by the question. "What?" It comes from her mouth laced in confusion. "Have you had dinner? I parked by a sushi restaurant and I was thinking of ordering takeout." He looks up at her expectantly: Kimiko clearly hasn't been eating well enough, and he wouldn't let that slide by him. So, without an answer - Sasuke is already pulling up the menu on his phone, swiping a finger down the menu. "Do you still like salmon, and eel?" He gives her an upward glance; she's getting obviously flustered. "Sasuke.." Now it was her turn to lace her voice with the careful and wary tone of warning. It dawns on him, then -- He'd just invited himself to stay in her space. Casually, too: as if it were commonality. It hadn't been, not in a long time. The realization ( and deflation ) must have been rather obviously etched upon his features, because Kimi is quick to the draw and apologizing. "I'm sorry, it's just- I don't mean-" His hand comes up, and she quiets down. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have jumped the gun like that." He rises to his feet, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. "It's not like that,.." She trails off, and without transparency, Sasuke decides to play it safe. "It's okay to be uncomfortable, Kimiko. You've done well to respect my boundaries, and I don't want to push you. I'm glad you didn't relapse." They stand there for a few beats more - until he can't take it anymore, all the things left unsaid hanging between them; he heads for the door. "Sasuke, wait." Kimiko's voice is pressed with a twinge of urgency; she's gone as far as to take a few strides and grasp for his wrist. When he stops and looks down at her over his shoulder, Kimiko reflects the little girl at the playground all those years ago: doe-eyed, perpetually a tad afraid, knowing what she wanted but not yet certain on how to ask for it. She lets go of his wrist and returns her hands to herself, one arm still tucked around her center as the now free hand comes up to collect a strand of her hair. Sasuke turns to face her properly.

"It's not that I don't want to spend time with you," She begins to explain, pressing the knuckle of her finger ( wrapped with a coil of dark hair ) into her cheek. "I really appreciate the offer of sushi, and.. your time." A little inaudible gulp, and a stolen glance back up at him. "I just don't want to be here, really." At last, she's admitted the true hang-up to this entire situation. Slowly, his eyebrows raise -- he understands where her reluctance is coming from, almost immediately. "Kimiko, did he send-?" His concerned question is cut off with a quick toss of her head: No. Or, more likely: No, I don't want to talk about this right now. With a nod of acknowledgement, Sasuke folds his lips before proposing a solution. "Do you want to take the sushi to my place, then? We could watch a movie." His offer is received with a hopeful look on her part: like he had offered a child if they'd like to get ice-cream instead of doing their homework. "..Are you sure?" She has to ask, and it brings a little smile from him, exhaling through his nose. "Yeah, I'm sure." ------------- So their night together had officially begun; ( Kimiko did in fact still like salmon and eel ) - sushi was secured, the drive to his place was shared in amicable silence with the background of music, and the movie was picked effortlessly. Of course, she had perked up after that first ( and hesitant ) bite - and also to nobody's surprise, Kimiko had easily agreed to the movie he suggested; for it was a movie that she was planning to watch, anyway. The night played on without a single scratch or trip in the record, and conversations flowed back and forth without a hitch. They were truly getting along without so much as a hiccup or awkward pause along the way. Now satisfied and lulled, Kimiko was starting to drift upon his couch, curled against the pillow between them. The TV screen washed in red, and Sasuke hums in amusement, dipping his ear towards his shoulder and murmuring, "I guess you were right, Brenda didn't last longer than Stacy. Still, I don't think there's going to be a Final Girl." Kimiko hums something nonsensical, half-muffled by the pillow she'd nuzzled down into. Properly looking over now, Sasuke double-takes the scene beside him; and his heart swells. She was ..well, undoubtedly cute, curled up and dozing off in the smack-middle of a slasher movie. In the moment of privacy, Sasuke unfolds into an unseen smile. A few moments pass as he studies her sleep-slackened face, peaceful and unmarred from bruises or tears. Picturesque from their early highschool years. A little sigh escapes his nostrils, the familiar sense of nostalgia clutching him. Reaching forward, Sasuke plucks the remote from the coffee table and turns down the movie a notch or two before rising to his feet and taking care of the takeout boxes. She's done well to eat most of her food; he's proud that she made the effort. Returning to the couch, Sasuke brings with him a clean blanket from his storage closet. Gingerly, it's draped over the slumbering girl. He returns to her side, arms stretching into his wingspan across the back of the couch. His weight pressing into the cushions beside her causes Kimiko to stir; she tucks herself closer to him, nose following his familiar scent and notching against his shoulder. Sasuke stills in his spot as his old flame stitches slowly back into his side, the familiarity in such an action eliciting a similar response from him. His arm lifts from the back of the couch; it hovers just over her shoulders before slowly settling upon her. A hand cups her arm, sinking down into his seat on the couch and feeling his heart hammer in his chest: God, how he felt like a teenager, again. Those first few instances of intimate physical contact with his best friend whom he had an enthralling crush on: it came rushing back in, now. That twist of excitement tightening his chest in all the right ways, a weird warm flutter in his gut.

Thumb slowly begins to slide up and down over her bicep, Sasuke looking right through the TV screen as he dares let his cheek lower, one centimeter at a time, until it brushes just over the top of her head. He could just close his eyes and be content like this, turn into a statue forever in this position that he didn't realize how much he truly missed. But a shrill shriek from the movie is enough to pull Kimiko from her dreams; eyes slowly blink open before she realizes the circumstance and quickly retreats from the intimate embrace. Kimiko's heart is thunderous in her ears as she reels from the comedown of her otherwise peaceful slumber - eyes rounded into full moons that blink at him while she tries to collect her surroundings. "I- God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to- I just; I fell asleep." She's tripping over apologies and excuses for her 'inappropriate' behavior, and Sasuke's face is burning with the childish shame of being caught. Now he's flustered, too. "No- It's fine, really -uh, I didn't mind; you were just sleeping- I know." Their awkward dance stifled down into an even worse silence. His fingers twitched at the back of the couch, wanting to reach out and grip her arm so gently, to just quietly pull her in and tuck her under his chin, like the old times. But he doesn't, and her unforgiving grip on the pillow clutched to her chest slowly comes undone. Sasuke watches her, but again, she's receded back into her shell, unable to look over at him while coming down from the level of embarrassment she'd catapulted herself into. On the table between them, Sasuke's phone lights up with a text. Neither of them can see who its from, but Kimiko catches the time before the screen goes dark. "It's late.." She trails off; and he doesn't pick up on what she was insinuating. It was one in the morning, and he’d received a text. She could’ve read the name if she really tried, but she already had a good guess; and it made her stomach curdle. So, with a small swallow, Kimiko rubs her arm and starts to stand up. "I should get going." Suddenly, Sasuke understands - and he cannot bear the thought at this moment, not after all that's transpired: even if given the option this morning, he would've likely not felt any one particular way. Or maybe he would have - thoughts and feelings are scattered all over the place. But one thing was for certain, it was screaming in his head as she collected her things and tucked hair behind her ear, lingering; as though she were waiting for him to say something, anything, god damnit-- "Um, well. Thank you for dinner, and.. sorry I couldn't stay awake through the movie. Guess I'm aging fast," Her attempt at a little laugh breaks his heart. He feels like such an idiot, his tongue tangled into knots and sitting useless in his mouth, his body sewn into the couch. She must think he was just sitting there, waiting for her to excuse herself from his apartment on her own. Fuck. So much time has dragged by, when in reality it was only a single beat of silence before she cleared her throat softly and dropped her arms down. "Don't worry about driving me back, I know the bus routes." Her voice falters at the end, and suddenly, she's turned on her heel and heading with purpose towards his door - like ripping off a band aid. "Kimiko, wait-" Finally, words choke from his throat with his sheer desperation to keep her from leaving. Not again. Up on his feet now, Sasuke made it a whole three feet before realizing with subdued surprise that she had in fact ..waited. Almost as though she were hesitant to actually leave, in the first place. So, she stalls facing the front door and clutching her phone to her chest, lingering - waiting to hear him out. A single golden beam rolls over her shoulder and drinks him in, eyebrow dipped up in an expression of both uncertainty and hope. “ please... stay, just for tonight. ”

Slowly, quietly, Kimiko turns. They share a encapsulating moment, holding a tender stare from across the room. She recognizes the fear etched into his face - that telltale look of expectant abandonment, the childish shrinking away from his own vulnerability. Kimiko won’t leave him; not like she had, before. Before she weighed the fear of entangling him into her corrupted life against the knowledge that every time she slipped away and into the night, a little piece of his heart broke loose. So, as long as he would ask her to -- Kimiko would stay. He holds his heart in the base of his throat - truly expecting that she would turn back around and leave him here, alone. Maybe laugh at him for the inflated hope that she would stay for the night; be there when he woke up in the morning. Instead, Kimi breaks his expectations and approaches with careful, practiced steps - returning to his side. Without a hint of hesitation this time, Sasuke reaches out and scoops her into his embrace. His body was moving of its own accord, playing out the complicated desires of his heart. Kimiko doesn't fight it, nor does she still into ice. In fact, the girl just melts against him; doing what came naturally. It was second nature to tuck her head into the crook of his collarbone, to delicately slip her arms beneath his and hook her fingers into the fabric just over his shoulder blades. His chin rests atop her head, fingers gingerly running large, comforting circles over her back. Everything fell back into place; as natural and second-nature as breathing. There was no effort involved, in this moment of soft re-collision. Only a wish, on both of their parts - that this connection would have happened sooner. That their selfish games of head vs. heart would have been silenced and put out well before this night. Accompanying that desire was the hope that things would really be okay, this time: he would ask her to stay, and she would - he wouldn't mind, and it wouldn't be just for tonight. So, Kimiko had come over; and in the end, she wouldn’t leave his side unless he had asked her to.

[victoria-daydreams]

Something’s Gotta Give

Chapter Five: Avoidance

AN: I can’t believe I’ finally finished this chapter! It took me forever to complete it, I thought I would have this chapter out by yesterday or even the day before yesterday, but for some reason I kept getting easily distracted by other things. Also, shout out to everyone who has recently followed this story! Truly, I am thankful, because as I said before I really didn’t think anyone would read it, this story was just a plot bunny that I needed to get out of my head.

Chapter Six: Let’s Try this Again

Summary: Livia and Booker have reconciled with each other, but Livia still feels like she needs to make it to him up and she’s got just the plan.

Slowly, I could feel the heavy fog of sleep lift from my mind as I felt myself waking up. My eyes gently fluttered open, my vision slowly clearing until I could see rays of sunlight peeking through the window. The rays illuminated the room, bathing it in a soft, warm glow. My eyes scanned over the room, my surroundings were incredibly unfamiliar, the walls were painted in a beige color and not in burgundy like I have in my own bedroom. Quickly, I pushed myself up from my sleeping position, knocking off the blanket that was covering me.

I went into a small state of panic as my head turned from left to right before it dawned on me where I was. My eyes had landed on the spines of the antique books that rested on the bookshelf near the bedroom door. Closing my eyes, I found myself being able to breathe a lot easier and reopened my eyes. I swung my feet off the bed and planted them on the carpeted floor before pushing myself off the edge bed. Sliding my shoes back on, I made my way to the en suite bathroom, flipping the lights on as I entered and stopped at the sink.

I groaned internally once I saw the state of my hair, on one side my hair was flat as a pancake and on the other side my hair had shrunk. Not to mention the fact that I didn't sleep with my satin bonnet over my hair. I twisted the knobs and splashed some water onto my face, the water awakening me even further. I cupped my hands together and poured more water over my hair, hoping to rejuvenate it back to its usual state. Using my fingers, I gently fluffed my hair out to restore some of its volume, it was decent enough, but I would have to wait to get back to my apartment to really fix my hair.

I switched the lights off and left the bathroom reentering Booker's bedroom and I opened the door leaving the room. The smell of toast, bacon, and eggs wafted into my nose, bringing a smile to my face. I ran my fingertips along the hallway wall and as I got closer to the kitchen the wonderful aroma of freshly brewed coffee teased my nose.

I leaned against the wall with a smirk on my face, "A girl could get used to this," I stated, folding my arms against my chest.

Booker lifted his eyes from the novel he was reading and flashed me a warm smile. "Good morning Livia," he greeted, placing his book down on the table.

"Morning Booker," I greeted back, pushing myself off the wall and walking to the small kitchen table. "You made breakfast and coffee," I remarked, gesturing towards the table as I slid into the seat across from him.

"Think of it as a thank you gift for all that you did me for yesterday," Booker stated, grabbing his mug.

My lips curved upward, "You're too sweet Booker," I replied, picking up the fork placed next to the plate. "Did you sleep well?" I asked curiously, sticking my fork into the scrambled eggs.

"The best I've slept in days," he answered, mirroring my smile.

I moved some of my hair behind my ear, "Yeah, sorry about falling asleep in your bed," I apologized, with a sheepish grin. "I know I said I would sleep on the sofa," I continued, picking up my own mug of coffee.

"You have nothing to apologize for Livia," Booker assured. "I'm sure the bed was a lot more comfortable than the sofa would've been," he joked, making the grin on my face grow wider.

"You even took the time to tuck me in," I remarked, before sipping some of my coffee, it was made just the way I liked it.

"I wanted to put you underneath the covers," Booker began, sticking his hand out. "But you looked so peaceful asleep that I didn't want to move you and risk you waking up," he explained, shaking his head.

I smiled, "Very considerate of you," I said, before digging my fork back into the food. I lifted the fork to my mouth, but then stopped when I recalled something that happened last night. "Booker?" I called, and he moved his eyes from the page of his book to me. "Why do you have a gun?" I questioned, before taking another bite of my eggs.

"For protection."

I narrowed my eyes, "It's practically to illegal to own a gun in France unless your job requires it," I pointed out.

"How do you know I don't need it for my job?" Booker challenged, and I just raised a skeptical brow. "You're American, your country is very gung-ho about guns, right?" He questioned, and I rolled my eyes. "Shouldn’t you be foaming at the mouth because the government is not allowing you to protect yourself?” He asked again, a smirk on his face.

"Really Booker?"

~~~x~~~

Placing, our dirty dishes down onto the counter, I turned the knob to the sink and water streamed out. I rolled my sleeves up and placed my hand underneath the water waiting for it to warm up.

"Breakfast was delicious Booker, thank you," I stated, looking over to him.

He grinned at me, "Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it," he replied, placing the mugs next to the plates.

I squirted soap into the sink, "Now, I may have imagined this because I was half asleep," I began, scrubbing a plate clean. "But did you mutter something after you wished me a good night?" I asked, turning my attention from the dish to him.

"No," he answered, a little too quickly for my taste.

My eyebrow arched, "Are you sure?" I questioned, handing him the cleaned dish to dry. "I could've sworn you said something in French," I recalled, moving onto the next plate.

Booker shook his head, "You must've of been dreaming Livia," he suggested, glancing over at me.

"You know I have friends that are French right?" I questioned, a playful smile on my lips. "I may butcher the words, but I think they'll able to decipher whatever you said Booker," I teased, smirking at him as I passed him the second plate.

"Livia."

A smile worked its way onto my lips, it was becoming a habit of Booker’s to groan my name in annoyance.

I lifted my hands in the air, "Fine, keep your secret French mutterings to yourself." I joked, dipping my hands back in the water to finish the rest of the dishes. "Will you at least tell me what you wanted to say yesterday?" I asked, cleaning off the forks and knives.

Booker stopped in mid-motion of drying, "I did promise you that yesterday, didn't I?" he responded, sounding hesitant. "Well, I...um...I'm..." he trailed off, seemingly unable to finish his sentence.

I could see the discomfort in his face about whatever he wanted to tell me. I placed my soapy, wet hand on top of his.

"Though you've been leaving me in suspense this whole morning," I quipped. "Whatever it is that you wanted to tell me, I can wait until you're ready," I stated, an understanding smile on my face.

Booker let out a sigh, "God, you have the patience of a saint Livia," he commented, shaking his head.

I chuckled, "I try to," I said, with a slight shrug of my shoulders and removing my hand from his wrist. "This is still a lot for me to take in as well," I added, finishing up with the mugs.

"I know it is,” he agreed, nodding his head. "And you honestly probably deserve to freak out more,” he admitted, looking over at me.

I leaned my head from side to side, "You're not wrong there," I stated, lightly laughing. "I deserve a nice, relaxing night. Maybe I’ll cook to de-stress," I said, nodding to myself. And that’s when an idea popped into my head and a smile formed on my face. "Let's have dinner at my place tonight," I suggested, and the mug that Booker was drying nearly slipped from his hand.

"What?"

"I wanna make it up to you, seeing how I made a muck of things a few days ago," I explained, drying my hands on the hand towel. Booker gave me an uncertain look at the idea of my makeup dinner. I placed one hand on my hip and the other on the sink. "Come on Booker, what's the worse that can happen?" I questioned.

Booker just raised an eyebrow that silently asked 'really?'. Just as he was about to respond, I removed my hand from my hip and placed my finger to his lips.

"You know what, don't answer that question," I stated, shaking my head. Pushing off the sink, I walked over to the armchair where my coat was resting. "An executive decision is being made and the decision is you're going to have dinner with me at my apartment," I ordered, pointing at Booker who just smiled at me.

Booker crossed his arms, "How do you know if I don't have plans already for tonight?" he asked, leaning back against the sink.

I rolled my eyes, "Booker, it's you, we both know you're not doing anything tonight,” I pointed out, walking backwards.

Booker chuckled, "Ouch," he replied, placing a hand against his chest.

"6:00 o'clock tonight Booker," I informed, unlocking the front door. "Be there or be square." I said, looking over at him.

~~~x~~~

For most of the afternoon, I have been running around my apartment like a chicken with its head cut off. The first thing I did when I got back inside my home was start cleaning. My apartment actually wasn't that dirty to begin with, but I just wanted to tidy it up before Booker came over later on tonight. So, I swept the floors of my kitchen and living room, vacuumed the rug, threw the trash out, and other various things. When I was finished frantically cleaning my apartment I was met with the most challenging decision of them all.

What I was going to wear tonight for dinner.

There were so many outfits laid out all over my bed, I paced back and forth on my bedroom floor glancing at the clothes. There were dresses, skirts with a matching top to it, or pants with a top that matched it. I thought about wearing a pair of pants because it's easy to move around in them, but then I questioned myself on if that would be, I don't know, sexy enough. I mean don't get me wrong, I can fill out a pair of jeans very well.

Wait a minute.

"Why am I trying to dress sexy for Booker?" I thought. "We're just having dinner tonight, it's not a date-" I continued. "Oh my god, is this a date?" I wondered.

Leaning my head back, I covered my face with both of my hands and a loud groan escaped from me. I am making this so much harder than it needs to be. I dragged my fingers down my face, wondering if Booker was going through the same thing or if it was just me and my tendency to over analyze things.

I glanced back over to my bed. "It's decided." I stated, clasping my hands together. "I know what I'm going to wear." I declared, scanning over the combination of outfits I put together.

"God, what am I going to make for dinner!" I fretted, scurrying out my room and to the kitchen to look for a cookbook.

After several hours of working myself into a frenzy to make everything perfect, I was finally done. The meal I had prepared was stored in the oven to keep warm, a fresh table cloth was draped over the table along with the utensils, plates, and wine glasses that were neatly arranged on the table. The small fireplace in front of the coffee table was lit, warming up the apartment to the ideal temperature where it wasn't too hot but not too cold.

I was lighting the last candle I pulled out when I heard knocking on my door. I watched as the wick flared to life, emitting a sunset orange glow. Placing my lighter down, I wiped my hands together and made my to the door. Unlocking the door, I pulled it open to see the back of Booker and I placed a hand on the door frame.

"You're not getting cold feet, are you?" I greeted, a smirk pulling on my burgundy painted lips.

Booker spun around, "No, I..." He trailed off, his eyes scanning over my outfit. It was a simple rust colored v-neck jumper that stopped just above my knees and underneath the jumper I wore a plain black long sleeve turtleneck. "Wow, you look stunning," he breathed, returning his gaze back to my own.

I felt my cheeks heat up as a bashful grin made its way on my face, "Thank you Booker," I said, my grin widening. "You're looking rather dashingly handsome yourself," I complimented back.

Booker wore a plain blue button down shirt tucked into his black pants, it was somewhat strange to see him dressed this way. I was used to his casual style of clothes that he usually wore, but yet I liked this change in style. Another thing that was different about Booker tonight was his hair, I've been accustomed to seeing his hair tousled in some sort of fashion, but now it was neatly combed over and parted to the side. I almost wanted to run my hand through it to mess it up a bit.

Booker mirrored my expression, "Thank you," he smiled. "I brought you these," he informed, extending his arms forward revealing a bouquet of blush pink peonies.

"Oh Booker!" I gushed, taking the flowers from him. "These are gorgeous!" I beamed, looking at the flowers and then back at him. "Come in, come in, before we let out all the heat from the apartment," I said, placing my hand on his bicep and gently pulling him inside and closing the door.

"It's nice and toasty in here," Booker commented, pulling his jacket off.

I locked the door, "It's not too much is it?" I asked, a slight panic building up inside me.

"It's perfect Livia," Booker reassured, hanging up his jacket on the coat rack.

A breath of relief escaped me, "Dinner is ready, I just need to take it out the oven." I informed, walking past him. "And the wine has already been uncorked, so we shouldn't have any accidents tonight." I joked, looking over my shoulder as I entered the kitchen.

"Ha ha ha, very funny Livia," Booker deadpanned, following behind me.

I flashed him a smile before squatting down to grab a vase from the island, pushing myself back up, I laid the flowers down and moved over to my sink. Turning the knob, I filled the small vase half full of water before shutting it off, carefully I walked back over to the island and placed the vase down next to the bouquet. My fingers found their way to the ribbon holding the peonies together, I gently pulled it and watched as the flowers released themselves from the brown paper. Gathering them all together, I held up the peonies to my nose and inhaled the sweet fragrance.

I lifted my eyes from the blush colored flowers to see Booker watching me with a satisfied grin.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" I laughed, lowering the flowers from my nose to the vase.

Booker shrugged, "I'm just glad that you like the flowers," he replied, before he raised his glass of wine to his lips.

I slightly cocked my head, "Is that really all?" I asked again, now sliding my oven mitts on.

Booker just hummed in response as I opened the oven before bending down and removing the beef stroganoff and placing it on the stove top. The mouthwatering smell of the meal drifts through the entire apartment.

"Whatever that is, its smells delicious," Booker remarked, and my lips curved upwards as I turned the oven off.

"It's beef stroganoff," I answered, pulling the mitts off and grabbing the wooden spoon from the counter. I scooped the pasta out and onto each of plates, placing a moderate amount on them. Plates in hand, I walk over to the table where Booker was sitting and handed him his plate. "Bon appetit!" I cheered, Booker grinned at me and shook his head as I took my seat across from him.

Booker dipped his fork into his stroganoff and raised it to his mouth, I held my breath in anticipation. He slid the fork into his mouth and slowly began to chew, I couldn't tell if he was savoring it or was disgusted by it. Swallowing his food, Booker placed his fork down and I felt my heart beat quicken as he leaned his head against his knuckles.

"This is d-" Booker began, I shut my eyes and clench my fist, preparing for the worst. "Delicious," he finished, and my eyes snapped opened.

"Wait, what?" I asked, furrowing my brows.

Booker just smirked at me, "I got you good, didn't I?" he asked back, picking his fork back up. My mouth opened in shock and Booker laughed at my expression, my leg shot forward and I kicked him in the shin. "Ow!" He exclaimed, still laughing.

"You ass!" I shouted, a smile forming on my lips. "Don't mess with me like that!" I said, joining in with his laughter.

"I'm sorry, I just wanted to pull your leg Livia," he explained, before taking another bite of the pasta.

I nodded my head and smiled, "I hate you," I declared, kicking his shin again but this time much softer.

The two of us sat in a comfortable silence as we ate, not feeling the need to fill in the quietness. We had just finished dinner and I was about to stand up to collect our plates when I felt Booker's hand on top of mine.

"Wait," he called, and I gave him a curious look. "I...uh, I'm ready to tell you my secret from last night," he said quietly.

My eyes slightly widened, "Okay," I nodded. "Lay it on me," I said, using my other hand to pick up my wine glass.

Booked looked at me warily, "You won't freak out on me?" he questioned, lifting my hand to his lips and stroking his thumb across my knuckles nervously.

"It's not like I can run out my own apartment," I thought. "Well, I mean can, but it would be pointless to do so,"

"I will not freak out, scout's honor," I promised, and Booker nodded closing his eyes as I lifted my glass to my lips.

"I'm immortal."

I spit my wine back into my glass, nearly raising up out of my seat had not it been for Booker who had a vice like grip on my hand.

Booker stared at me in desperation, "You promised you wouldn't freak out Livia!" He stated, his voice shaking.

I placed my glass back down and lowered myself back into the chair, "I'm..." I trailed off, slowly letting my eyes meet Booker's. "I'm not freaking out Booker," I reassured, trying to catch my breath. "I'm just...processing," I corrected, briefly closing my eyes.

~~~x~~~

After Booker's confession, the two of us moved from my kitchen to the living room. At first, silence consumed us as we sat on my sofa, my mind was racing from what Booker told me. He's immortal. I wanted to say that it wasn't possible, that immortality was a thing of fiction. But deep down, I knew that belief was no longer true, how else could Booker's hand heal itself from such a deep wound and not leave a scar.

Immortality is real, and there's an immortal sitting next to me.

I clutched the pillow against my chest a little tighter as I stared into the reddish yellow flames that burst in front of me. I could feel Booker's eyes on me, they would often bounce from me to the fire as he anxiously played with his hands.

"Please, say something," Booker begged. "Anything," He added.

My eyebrows drew together and my lips curled up into a small frown, I knew that I had no reason to be scared of Booker. He's been nothing but a friend and gentlemen towards me, barring the first time we met each other. God, I probably shared more about myself to Booker in the month and a half that I've known him than I did with ex-boyfriend of six months. Meeting Booker was like a breath of fresh air, it was so refreshing to be able to talk someone who shared the interests and not feel like I was being brushed off. And the thing is, Booker didn't have to speak to me. He could've just turned down my invitation for tea and that would've been the end of it, but he didn’t.

Booker took a huge leap of faith by letting me in, rejecting him now for something he has no control over...would crush him.

I sighed and turned my head to finally face Booker. "So," I began, staring at the apprehensive immortal beside me. "Was Les Miserable anything like the actual French Revolution?" I asked curiously, my lips quirking up into a smile.

A sigh of relief left Booker's lips and his eyes lit up, a wide grin appearing on his face as well.

And that's how we ended up lazily relaxing on the floor in front of the roaring fire inside the fireplace, drinking wine from a freshly opened bottle. My legs had found their way onto Booker's lap which didn't seem to bother Booker too much as he let his fingers softly trail up and down from my knee to my ankle.

"Livia, I'm not teaching you any French countryside dances so you can live out your Pride and Prejudice fantasies,"

I pouted at him. "And why not?" I asked, taking a sip of wine. "It's not everyday you get to talk to a living relic," I pointed out, letting out a giggle and placed my wine glass down onto the coffee table. "I mean, the balls that were thrown in your time, they must've been so majestic," I swooned, placing my hands over my heart and momentarily closing my eyes.

Booker rolled his eyes, "I can't teach you the dances Livia because I don't remember how to do them," he explained, running a hand through his hair. "It's been well over two centuries since I was first taught them," he continued, shaking his head.

"Fine, I'll give you that," I conceded, with a chuckle as another thought crossed my mind.

"I wonder what he looked like before immortality?" I thought.

I tilted my head to the side, my eyes drifting over Booker's figure, trying to envision him in the elaborate fashion of eighteenth century France.

Booker quirked an eyebrow, "Why are you staring at me like that?" he asked, before downing the rest of his wine.

I chuckled, "I was just imagining you in one of those white powdered wigs," I answered, gesturing to my head with an amused expression.

Booker laughed and shook his head. "I wasn't a rich nobleman in the 18th century," he informed. "So, lucky me," he said. "Those wigs smelled quite terrible anyway," he added.

"You weren't some large estate owner?" I questioned, mindlessly playing with my hair.

"I wasn't a Mr. Bingley or a Mr. Darcey, if that's what you're asking," he replied. "Sorry to disappoint."  He added, a smirk on his face.

I grinned at his references. "So, a Mr. Collins then?" I inquired, cocking my head to the side once more.

Booker scoffed playfully, "Not a Mr. Collins either," he answered. "And please don't ever compare me to such a repulsive character," he requested.

"Never again," I swore, placing a hand on my heart. "So, what did you do for a living then? I'm very curious now," I said, aimlessly flexing and extending my feet.

Booker glanced down at the rug., "I was a master forger," he answered, looking back up at me. "Particularly in gold coins." He clarified.

"That takes a great deal of skill,” I remarked, nodding my head, sort of impressed.

"Yeah, well, my forging caught up to me one day. I was convicted of fraud by the French government," Booker stated, a slight frown on his face. "They gave me a choice, I could either hang for my crimes or join the Grand Armee," he explained. "Begrudgingly, I joined the Armee where I would be later hanged for desertion," he finished, with a sardonic chuckle.

I let out a breathy laugh and shook my head, "Wow," I breathed, running my hands over my hair. "I feel like I'm talking to a history textbook." I commented, staring at Booker in awe.

This has to be the coolest day of my life.

I leaned back on my hands, "You're so old Booker," I teased, and he playfully squeezed my calf in retaliation sending me into another flurry of giggles. "So, you were born in 1770, right?" I asked, laying down on my back and gazing into the fireplace.

"That is correct."

"And you died in 1812," I recalled. "By that math, you died at age forty-two," I stated, dragging my hand up and down the rug.

"Where are you going with this?" Booker asked curiously.

I smirked, "That even in your own time, you would be considered an old man," I pointed out, a snicker escaping me, but the snicker soon became a full on giddy laugh that vibrated through my chest.

Out of nowhere, I felt myself being dragged across the plush rug and I let out a yelp that was followed by laughter at the sudden movement. Placing my hands on the floor, I pushed myself up to look at Booker and noticed how close we were to each other. My thighs were covering his lap, one more tug and I would be practically sitting in his lap.

"I wouldn't be completely opposed to that," I thought.

"Then you should respect your elders," Booker retorted, smirking at me.

I rolled my eyes and lifted my legs from his lap. "That sounds like..." I trailed off, sliding my knees up to my chest. "Something," I continued, maneuvering myself around to bring each of my knees on either side of Booker's legs, trapping him between my legs. "An old person would say," I quipped, placing my hands on his broad shoulders. I ducked my head down to his ear, teasing him once more. "Booker," I whispered, my breath tickling his skin.

I pulled my lips away from Booker's ear, grinning ear to ear as a string of giggles bubbled out of my mouth. Booker swallowed thickly as a red flush crawled up his neck. I'm not sure what came over me, it had to been the wine that was making me this bold, I could never see myself actually straddling Booker. In my head, maybe, but physically doing it, no.

Shout out to the wine for the liquid courage, I guess.

"You know that I'm-"

I was cut off mid-sentence by Booker pressing his lips firmly against mine, his hands cupping my cheeks. My heart felt as if it skipped two beats and my eyes widened, I was completely caught off-guard and I felt my body stiffen a bit. It took a moment before my eyes slowly slid shut, my body relaxing into the kiss. My mind went blank as Booker began moving his lips against mine and I responded to the kiss in kind. The kiss deepened and I could feel my head spinning, the lingering taste of wine on his lips caused me to sigh wistfully against Booker.

Booker gently broke the kiss, the two of us catching our breaths. He pressed his forehead against mine, using his thumbs to softly stroke my cheeks. My eyes fluttered opened and his blue eyes looked into my brown one's. And it felt like a thousand butterflies were loose in my stomach.

"I'm sorry," Booker apologized breathlessly. "I just couldn't help myself," he admitted, his voice slightly hoarse.

My lips curled into a grin, "Please, don't apologize," I stated, letting out a breathless laugh. "You don't know how long I wanted you to do that," I confessed, looping my arms around his neck.

His eyes lit up, a smile washing over his face before he placed another soft, chaste kiss on my lips. Just as he went to pull away again, I leaned my head downwards to keep our lips connected. My fingers found their way into Booker's hair, my thumbs stroking his neck as Booker returned the kiss eagerly. His hands traveled down my body, one of them tightly gripping my waist while the other one slipped under my dress, running up and down my thigh, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He pressed me against him as physically close as possible. My breath caught in my throat and I drew back slightly, my heart hammering wildly in my chest as Booker began nipping at my chin.

Booker pulled back, "Am I moving too fast for you?" he asked, concern painted over his face.

"No," I answered, shaking my head. "You're perfect Booker," I reassured, running my hands down his shirt and over his chest.

"What's wrong then?" Booker asked softly, rubbing the pad of his thumb in a circular motion against my thigh.

"I was just thinking," I began, feeling Booker's nose bump against my jaw as he hummed for me to continue. "That my bed is a lot more comfortable than the floor," I finished, an impish smile forming on my lips.

Booker drew his head back, "God, you're amazing," He breathed.

Chapter Seven: A Sunday Kind of Love

[nerdywriter36]

Contest Prize #3 - Like Me

my final prize for @blood-and-lychee​! i got a little carried away with this one, but i hope you enjoy! i’m really happy with this one :) 

erik finds out that christine is pregnant and is afraid the baby will be like him, but doesn't want to upset christine, so he stays silent while it consumes him from the inside

FFN: Like Me 

AO3: Like Me

~ 

Erik’s eyes were wide open and locked on the ceiling, even though the bedroom was dark and Christine slept soundly beside him. He couldn’t fall into a peaceful slumber as she had, not with the news she had given him earlier that day that he was still trying to comprehend.

Pregnant! But how could that be? Well, he knew  how and he could practically see the smirk on Nadir’s face already; they had had an incredible awkward discussion about protection, after all. That conversation had gone out the window, though; Erik couldn’t exactly recall a night of intimacy where he completely forgot that factor, but that had clearly been the case at least once or he wouldn’t be in the state of panic that he was. 

Panicked was a remarkable understatement - petrified was probably a better description of what he was feeling. Turning his head to look over at his wife, the knot in his stomach only tightened when he noticed the slight swell of her abdomen, plain evidence of the life growing inside of her - the life that they had created. Something so small and helpless, yet it instilled so much fear in his heart. 

He didn’t know the first thing about being a parent! He had never known his father, Giovanni had tried and failed in Italy, and Nadir was more of a brother than anything. On top of that, his mother was far from a good example, so he had no true reference point to pull from, and that inexperience terrified him. Not knowing was not something Erik was comfortable with, that much was for certain. 

With a heavy sigh, Erik slowly sat up and got out of bed, pressing a light kiss to Christine’s forehead before stepping out of the room to slip on his cloak and go to see the only person he knew he could talk to about everything on his mind.

~

“So Christine is pregnant. That is...quite the development,” Nadir said softly as he set a cup of tea in front of Erik. Admittedly, his friend had been rather peeved when he had arrived in the middle of the night to awaken him, but once the circumstances had been disclosed, he had relaxed quite quickly. 

“I don't know what I’m meant to do,” Erik replied, twisting his wedding band around his finger. 

“To be frank, not leaving your pregnant wife at home alone without telling her where you are going is a good start.” 

Erik looked down at his feet, ashamed of his own actions. “I didn’t know how long I could keep my feelings to myself. She had been gushing about the baby all day since she told me; about its nursery and names and all its little clothes. But I said nothing because I’m so terrified that the child...that they will…” 

“That they will look like you,” Nadir finished, his voice quiet as he sat down next to his friend. 

A simple nod was Erik’s initial response. “I couldn’t bear it. You know I have never been inclined to have children because I didn’t want them to carry the burden of the life I’ve led. I couldn’t curse them with a face like mine that will only mean suffering for them.” 

“Their life would be nothing like yours, Erik. They would have a mother that loves them, and a father that would do anything for them,” Nadir said, setting his hand on his friend’s knee. “They would be so well protected from any sort of adversity that might come their way.” 

“But I don't know what I’m doing,” Erik said, clenching his fists in frustration as he tried to get his companion to see the viewpoint. “I have never been around a child, have never felt any connection with one. I don't know how to be around them, how to be so...so gentle and tender.” 

“Well, that is a remarkable lie,” Nadir said matter-of-factly, giving Erik a small smile when he turned to him. “I’ve seen you with a little boy - with my little boy. You were the kindest and the gentlest I have ever seen you when you were with him. You do know how to be around a child that you care for, believe me.” 

“And then I betrayed the trust I had built with him and took everything from him,” Erik whispered as he looked down at his lap and tried to blink back the tears brought on by his ever-present grief over Nadir’s son. 

He only lifted his head when he felt Nadir tip his chin up with the crook of his finger and found his friend giving him a small smile. “I won’t let you apologize because what happened was in his best interests; we both know that. What I don't think you understand, though, is that you were his world, Erik. WEll, second only to me, but you were up there,” he said, his smile growing slightly when Erik laughed breathily at the comment. “But you were so good to him, and you will be no different with a child of your own.” 

“You were such a model parent, though. I could never be like that.” 

The snort that came in response from his friend confused Erik; what he had said was a genuine comment, not one that was meant to be amusing. 

“I believe we need to discuss your definition of a model parent because I am not that at all. You came into my parenting journey seven years along, which might be why I appeared to have a head on my shoulders, but that was not the case at the start. I was a single father; I became a widower the day my son was born, which left me without the woman who instinctively knew what to do. I was raising a terminally ill child, which complicated everything, and I was so young,” Nadir explained with a slight shake of his head. “I was only 22; I hardly had a handle on my own life, never mind a little life that depended entirely on me. I was lost for a while. 

“What you have to remember is that there is no book of instructions - you learn through experience. Even having examples doesn’t guarantee that you have it figured it out; I loved my father, but I knew that his strict way of parenting wasn’t how I wanted to raise my child. I learned with time, and you will too. You can’t be so nervous, my friend, and you can’t keep hiding what you’re feeling from Christine.” 

“I know I can’t,” Erik said with a sigh. “I just don't want to crush her spirits. She is so excited.”  

“You won’t break her spirits. You just have to be honest with her,” Nadir replied. “Now, go wash up and then go home to her. All will be well, I promise.” 

With a nod, Erik got to his feet and shuffled down the hall to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door before he slipped off his mask and rinsed his face in the sink basin. As he dried off with the small hand towel, he glanced up at his reflection in the mirror and leaned back against the wall with a sigh, examining his features more than he had in some time; pale, no nose, thin lips. There was nothing that he wished to pass on to his child. And yet...perhaps some things were salvageable; high cheekbones, a sharp jaw, golden eyes. Those...more desirable features of him in combination with any of Christine’s beautiful characteristics might go well for their child. Perhaps he could grow to adjust to his new circumstances just as Nadir had said. 

As he was lost in thought, though, a very familiar female voice caught his attention. “Christine,” he whispered, slipping his mask back on before he walked out of the bathroom to the parlour. There, he found his wife in tears in Nadir’s arms, her speech too warped by sobs for him to understand it. “Christine?” 

She looked up with a gasp and immediately ran over to throw her arms around him. “I thought you’d left,” she said through her tears as she buried her face in his chest. 

“I am truly sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said softly, pressing his lips to the crown of her head. “I just...I needed to go out and clear my head. I should have told you, I apologize.” 

“I thought you left because you didn’t want the baby and just wouldn’t tell me,” she whispered. 

Erik sighed and tightened his embrace, noticing Nadir give him an encouraging nod just before he stepped out to the kitchen to give the couple their privacy. 

Finally, Erik mustered up the courage he needed to speak to his wife. “My dear,” he said with a deep breath, walking to the sofa and sitting beside her, “it is not that I do not want this child.” 

“Then what is it?” Christine asked quietly, dabbing at her eyes with the handkerchief Nadir had seemingly given to her. 

“I...I am afraid, if I‘m to be honest with you. I haven’t the slightest clue as to how to raise a child - I had no parents of my own to learn from - and I...to give you a child that resembles me is the last thing I want,” Erik admitted. 

As he looked up at his wife, he frowned slightly when he noticed fresh tears in her eyes just before she cupped his face in her hands, then gently slipped his mask off. “No matter what this child looks like, I am going to love them unconditionally, as I do you,” she said softly. “And I’m afraid too; I don't have experience with raising a baby, but we will figure it out together, I promise.” 

Tears of his own filled Erik’s eyes at that as he wrapped his arms around Christine, burying his face in her wild chestnut curls. “I don't deserve you,” he whispered. 

“You deserve love, my darling, and that is what I wish to give you.” 

“You are far too gracious,” Erik said softly, kissing the side of her head before he straightened up and glanced down at her stomach while his hand hovered in mid-air, not knowing if he should touch her or not. 

Christine smiled when she noticed, then took his hand and gently set it on her stomach. “They haven’t started to move quite yet, but they will. You’ll feel it once they do,” she said with a nod. 

“I’m sure,” Erik said quietly, a small smile on his own face as he ran his hand over her abdomen and felt the same small bump he had noticed earlier that night. “I don't know how I’m going to do this.” 

“With me there with you. We’ll be alright, and our baby is going to be so spoiled by their Papa that they won’t know what to do,” Christine said with a quiet giggle. 

Erik couldn’t help but chuckle as he leaned forward to gently kiss her. “Perhaps,” he replied. “I love you.” 

“And I love you more, my angel. Both me and Baby.” 

[gleekto]

Summary: College AU/Famous!Blaine and Fanboy!Kurt - Kurt POV

Kurt really doesn’t have time to figure out the dating world between being a freshman at prestigious theatre school, LAADA,  and his active but secret blogging life in the Sing!Fandom. So what if Sing! ended last year? There are still fics to read and actors to follow. Especially the uber talented heartthrob lead, Blaine Anderson. He can act. He can sing. He can even dance. He’s gay. He’s out. And he’s only 24. Kurt is willing to twiddle his thumbs and click refresh until Blaine Anderson’s next project.

He just didn’t expect the next project to be on his roommate Rachel’s new TV show.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Even Better Than the Real Thing (5/15)

Kurt is sitting at his desk, completing his essay on queer subtext in ‘Cats’ when Rachel rushes in the front door like a hurricane. “Please help me clean, Kurt. They’ll be here soon.”

“Who will be here when?” Kurt is immediately irritated. 

“You know, the cast, hair and make up, whomever can make it. I really felt that as the star of the show that I should be hosting a get together evening. I’ve got the wine, we can warm up some easy appetizers, cut some veggies. Oh and can you make your guacamole?-”

‘Wait what? Did you even think to ask me if tonight worked for me? My essay is due tomorrow.”

“I did-” Kurt stares at her. “I didn’t ask? I mean I thought I mentioned it last weekend.” 

Kurt sighs deeply. “You didn’t.”

“Okay I’m sorry. But come on, Kurt. I know your essay must be almost done. You never leave anything to the last minute-”

“Unlike some other people, apparently.” Kurt groans and shakes his head but begrudgingly stands up and makes his way to the kitchen. “You clean. I’ll do the guac and veggies.” Rachel thanks him profusely and he shoos her away so he can get the food done. He will need to shower and change before anyone arrives. And clean his room. Because though he won’t ask Rachel who’s coming, he’s not going to risk Blaine Anderson thinking his home is a mess. 

...

By the time Kurt feels ready enough to enter the gathering from the safety of his bedroom, having carefully chosen a definitely flattering but not trying too hard outfit for the occasion - a skintight white long sleeved shirt under a dark grey vest with tight dark blue jeans - there are already a good ten guests in his living room, milling and drinking wine and laughing too loudly. But so far, no Blaine Anderson. He chats for a bit with Sarah and Joan, two of the hair and make up folks, and tries very hard to be interested in whose hair is the hardest to get consistently correct, and not to be distracted by who is not there.

“Rachel!” The door swings open about half an hour later and there he is, giving Rachel a big hug, handing her a bottle of red wine, and apologizing for being late. Kurt’s heart beat quickens slightly but he notices that he is not going into full on panic mode. They’re friends, buddies, and of course they’ll talk tonight. Yes, it’s Blaine Anderson and yes, he’s really very gorgeous, but it’s a bit more like hot gay friend has entered the premises and less like he’s holding his breath to catch a brief glimpse of Sing!’s most eligible bachelor. He can do this.

“You almost missed your chance,” Kurt wanders over and hands Blaine a Corona with lime. “It’s the last one but lucky for you, I set it aside.”

Blaine smiles widely, looking genuinely thankful  - Kurt thinks more appreciative than a saved beer would warrant. “You know my drink of choice?”

“Given that it’s all you’ve been drinking each time I’ve seen you - I guess I know your “drink of choice.” Kurt makes quotation marks with his fingers.

Blaine raises the bottle in a cheers-like gesture. “So this is your home,” Blaine takes in the apartment, looking at both Kurt and Rachel. 

“Two bedrooms, two bathrooms-” 

“That was a requirement,” Kurt adds. “I have a very particular nighttime skin routine and there was no way I was competing with Rachel Berry for the mirror.” Blaine laughs and keeps smiling at him with those sparkly eyes.  It’s unnerving.

“Kurt, why don’t you give him a mini-tour? I need to refill the Sangria bowl,” Rachel says, flitting off to the next thing.

“Why don’t you, then?” Blaine says. Kurt surveys the room. The apartment is not that big.

“Well, this is the living room slash kitchen slash main room.” I mean, Blaine can’t really think there is that much of a tour to take, but he’ll humour him. Kurt leads Blaine to Rachel’s unfortunately overly pink room and bathroom. “I couldn’t convince her that it was not a bold choice, but a bad choice.” Blaine’s eyebrows rise as he takes in light pink walls with splashes of bubble gum pink accents, and he laughs genuinely at Kurt’s commentary. Neither this tour, nor Kurt, are really that amusing but okay. Blaine Anderson is having fun. 

“I guess she really is a girly girl at heart,” Blaine says as he follows Kurt into his own room. Much more soothing, and more adult, shades of blues and greys, with some bold orange accent pillows on his bed for flare. 

“A girly girl can still have taste - and that room, Blaine, is too much pink.” 

“I dated a guy last year who had a pink room,” Blaine rolls his eyes at the memory as he sits down on Kurt’s bed. Okay. Guess they’re staying here for a bit.

“Just really proud?” Kurt pulls out his desk chair and faces Blaine.

“A proud gay guy can still have taste,” Blaine mimics, looking approvingly around Kurt’s room.

“Indeed.” There’s a brief pause and Kurt’s heart starts to race again, worried it might get awkward. “Wait - didn’t you say you couldn’t meet anyone while working on Sing!?”

“Yeah, but it didn’t stop me from trying. Or sort of trying while enjoying,” Blaine pauses. “The LA scenery.” 

Now Kurt laughs, shaking his head to himself. “Honestly, I can’t imagine having a life where there are so many options that they are all just part of the pretty scenery. Although I suppose Mr. Pink’s room didn’t qualify.”

“Mr. Pink,” Blaine pauses, looking like he is assessing whether he should say whatever is on the tip of his tongue. “Had a body to make up for the room,” Kurt’s eyes widen but he wills himself to play it cool. No big deal. Friends chatting about past relationships. “So we had a week of torrid sex and the rest is history.”

Kurt bites his lip. This image is too much. Blaine Anderson having torrid sex is too much. He knows he’s red. He just says the first thing that comes into his head, “Honestly, Blaine, I’m from Lima, Ohio and your life right now, it’s outside my mid-western frame of reference.”

Blaine chuckles again but he nods. Does he think Kurt is just hilariously innocent? “I know. You know, I don’t completely forget what it’s like to arrive in LA from small town Ohio. I’m only 24.  Did you ever get out to Columbus for any of the  LBGT youth dances or game nights? I used to do that. Even got my first kiss from a drunken college freshman behind the community centre. Very romantic.”

“Nope.” Kurt answers quickly. “Never went to Columbus. No dances or games. No kisses.” He’s embarrassed but what else was he going to say? Blaine’s suspicion of his innocence confirmed.

“No first kisses?” Blaine repeats and Kurt shakes his head quickly. 

“Why is that so hard to believe? I thought we already discussed that Lima is not exactly a gay mecca.”

“No, it’s not. It’s not. Lima would not exactly be the best place to meet someone.” Blaine agrees, shaking his head and looking down slightly before looking right back into Kurt’s eyes. “It’s just that,” Blaine breathes in, “You’re hot.”

What. The fuck. 

Great. Now the silence is going to be super painful because Kurt is certain no coherent words will come out of his mouth ever again. 

“Anyways,” Blaine bites his lower lip, shaking off his momentary slip of the tongue. “Thank you for the tour.” Kurt gets up to lead them back out to the others. “You’re one up on Mr. Pink.”

“For my decor? I hope so.” Kurt manages to speak words.

“In all areas,” Blaine says quietly from behind him and before Kurt can register the second less than subtle compliment in five minutes, and turn around, Blaine is back in the crowd, chatting with Joan and Sarah as if nothing could be more interesting than the perfect hair gel. As if he did not just say what he said. 

Kurt is done. For the night. Maybe forever. He’s sure he’s not capable of any more small talk with echoes of “You’re hot” and “In all areas” singing through his head. He quietly sneaks into his bedroom and closes the door. He may be innocent and even naive. But Blaine Anderson was most definitely flirting with him. He was honest, at least about his relationship past (or lack thereof), but Blaine didn’t run away. He stayed. And stared. And flirted. 

This situation is real. And very complicated. 

He needs to stop blogging. 

Out of respect for my source, who is a good friend, I need to stop posting on this blog. I will leave the blog up for all the fun gifs, and I may even be back to peruse on occasion. You know I will miss you all. Keep sing!ing, my friends -LimaBlaineFan

[slash-em-up]

Sanctuary: The Collector x Reader

A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE TO YOU ALL!!!! Why not start the holiday off right with some slasher goodness?? This is a holiday gift for the lovely, amazing, cursed, CCO @voorheehees LOVE YOU KAT!!!

—————————————————————

You had no idea how things had gone so wrong so fast.

Asa had awoken you from a deep sleep, looking like he’d just walked through hell to come find you. He was covered in small burns and favoring one leg as he quietly told you to pack a bag and get to the car as quickly as possible.

The chilly December air nipped at your fingers as you were hustled into the old green Buick, quietly asking the stiff man at your side where the dogs were.

Asa didn’t respond, which was enough to tell you that your canine companions would not be joining you on your journey.

The car smelled strongly of smoke and the tang of iron blood; and you took another long look at Asa as he fiddled with the radio, quickly finding a local news channel before starting the car and driving away from your quiet neighborhood.

You opened your mouth to ask for an explanation when the newscaster mentioned the Argento – you were immediately and entirely focused as the story (or some version of it) was laid out in unemotional reporting.

The fire, the bodies, Arkin O’Brian, and the masked serial killer who’d been threatening the city… thought to be dead in the blaze.

Your gaze returned to Asa, finding his jaw clenched and his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

“Asa, I..”

You were brusquely interrupted.

“Don’t.”

You closed your mouth, turning away to stare out the window at the cars speeding past on the highway.

“Where are we going?” You softly inquired.

It took a moment for Asa to answer, his voice uncharacteristically rough when he did.

“My family had a cabin on a lake about two and a half hours from here. I still technically own it. It’s as good a place as any to lay low for awhile.”

It didn’t feel right for you to be the pragmatic one in your relationship; but you had to ask…

“Won’t people wonder where we went?”

Asa let out a small chuckle that was anything but humorous.

“I was planning on taking you there this week anyway. For Christmas. Myrtle and Hiram promised to check our mail.”

That was… unexpected. Though you’d been together for well over two years now, you had yet to celebrate any holiday’s together. Asa had expressed his disdain for the seasonal celebrations on multiple occasions (especially Thanksgiving for some reason he refused to share); scoffing at your happy recollections of family Christmases and Easters.

So to have him plan something like this was unanticipated in the extreme – and you knew that were the final circumstances surrounding your swift departure different you’d be giddy at the prospect of sharing the Yuletide with Asa.

The early morning sun was covered by grey clouds, and the first drifts of white snow began to fall gently as you curled up in your seat and fell back into a fitful slumber.

You woke up in a bed you didn’t recognize.

The momentary panic this brought you quickly abated as you discovered yourself wrapped tightly in Asa’s large winter coat, and saw both your bags sitting by the gigantic picture window against one wall.

With a sigh, you leaned back and surveyed your surroundings – they were quite frankly atrocious if you were being completely honest.

Not the bones of the room - high wood beams and a small fireplace giving the space the potential for coziness; but the décor had clearly not been updated since the 60’s, and every surface you saw was covered in a thick layer of dust.

‘Something to work on tomorrow…’

Shuffling noises from the nearby ensuite drew your attention, and you could see Asa through the cracked door, shirtless, clad only in his boxers, gingerly dabbing some type of ointment on fresh pink burns that littered his torso.

You watched quietly until he picked up a needle and surgical thread, moving to sew together a slice on his midriff.

Quietly crawling out of the warm bed, you pulled his coat closer around your body as you stepped into the bathroom.

Asa looked up at you without comment as you surveyed the damage done by his eventful evening.

Burns covered knife wounds, both small and large and one eye was beginning to swell with what you suspected would be quite an impressive shiner by the next morning. His jaw was likewise beginning to show signs of bruising; and you had to hold back a sympathetic wince, knowing he wouldn’t appreciate your pity.

“Let me.”

You took the needle from his hand, noting that he’d already stitched up a small puncture above his knee – that must have hurt like a mother fucker.

He did no more than sigh as you quickly pulled the thread through, neatly closing the wound, before wrapping it in soft gauze and surgical tape.

Surveying your work with a critical eye, you were surprised when a large hand rose to wrap itself in your hair, pulling your head down to rest against Asa’s. Forehead to forehead you stared into his jet-colored eyes, trying to make your gaze say what your mouth wouldn’t.

‘I’m glad you’re alright. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I need you. I love you.’

Asa closed his eyes and shivered, feeling the weight of the day come down on him all at once. He rose slowly, still holding you close, and walked you both back to the bed.

He was out like a light the second his head hit the pillow; but you stayed awake. Watching the bruised face of the man you couldn’t help but love soften in sleep.

The future was more uncertain than it had ever been before for the both of you; but you knew that whatever happened, you’d face it by his side.

———————————————————————

Asa slept through the day, and into the next evening.

You’d taken it upon yourself to make the old cabin a bit more habitable while you waited for him to wake.

The snow, which had begun falling in earnest when you’d poked your head through the god-awful puce curtains that first morning now coated the forest and nearby lake like frosting.

You were eternally grateful that Asa’s bug-out supplies held a large selection of canned goods, otherwise you might have starved or needed to brave the treacherous roads in search of food. An ancient tea kettle served it’s purpose well enough, and after a thorough dusting, you sat contemplating the winter wonderland outside the window, hands curled around a steaming mug of earl grey.

The fireplace crackled with burning wood as you made every effort to warm the large living room – age and disuse making the electric heater give a sad splutter before wheezing out a small gust of warm air, barely enough to feel – thus, a fire, and several layers of thick blankets had become your best friends as you rested on the couch.

The coffee table in front of you held the spoils of your cleaning endeavors- two worn photographs of the cabins former residents.

It was easy to see where Asa got his looks from – he’d grown from a small, chubby boy into the spitting image of his father. But what you were most interested in was the mousy woman and three slender girls standing to either side of Asa and his father.

The contrast between the two pictures was startling – the image of the whole family showed a bleak, unsmiling group – the large man who’s face Asa now bore grasping the shoulder of his wife and son perhaps a bit tighter than he ought, while the three young girls (Asa’s sisters?), stood straight backed, and wide-eyed.

The second was a picture of just the children.

The sisters and Asa were scattered about on the same couch you now inhabited; gathered around an old board game. One of the girls looked like she had been caught mid-laugh, and the other two were smiling widely as well. The tiny boy who would grow to be the man resting upstairs was standing, arms thrown up in what you could assume was victory – looking like the very picture of youthful innocence and joy.

“That was the last time we stayed here.”

You gasped in surprise and whirled in your seat, finding Asa standing a few feet behind you.

“I’m sorry… I found them while I was dusting… I…”

He waved from your apologies, coming to sit next to you with a low groan, clearly still feeling the impact of That Night on his body.

Asa lightly ran a finger around the corners of the picture of himself and the girls, a small smile quirking the corner of his bruised mouth.

“It was always… good… when we were here. Father spent most of his time out in his workshop, so we’d be left to amuse ourselves. This was the first time I’d beaten Erin at Monopoly.”

You didn’t want to interrupt this uncharacteristic peak into Asa’s past; but you couldn’t help but ask;

“Erin?”

Asa nodded.

“My oldest sister. Erin, Patricia, and Clara.”

“They were very pretty.”

Asa snorted. “No, they weren’t. They looked too much like mother… but they were smart.”

His fingers glided over to the second picture of the entire family; mouth thinning into a firm line before he turned the image over – revealing handwritten text.

‘The Emory Family: Giles, Anne, Erin, Patricia, Clara, Asa – 1976’

He leaned back into the couch, lost in thought, and you took the opportunity to scoot in a bit closer to his side.

You wrapped an arm through his and leaned your head against his shoulder, smiling a bit as you felt his gaze turn back to you and huff in amusement.

Threading your fingers together – being cautious of his bruised knuckles, you squeezed his hand affectionately.

“Thank you for bringing me here.”

“We’ll go back to the city in a week – wait for things to die down again and start over…”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

Asa made a questioning noise.

“I mean, even if things hadn’t all gone to hell, you were going to bring me here, to your family’s cabin, where you have good memories… for Christmas. That means a lot to me.”

The large man next to you said nothing, always awkward and uncomfortable when things became emotional.

He cleared his throat.

“I’ll shovel the driveway tomorrow morning … there should still be a pine farm close by if you want to go pick out a tree…”

You grasped his head gently between your hands and planted a soft kiss on his lips, cutting off whatever else he would have said.

“That sounds perfect. Now come over here and hold me before I freeze to death.”

Asa did chuckle at this, and returned your smile with one of his own as he pulled you in closer to his body, rubbing your arm through the blanket.

You both turned to quietly watch the snow fall, hiding you away from the world and it’s worries for just a little while. No matter what came in the future, you knew you’d hold this Christmas close to your heart.

Just like Asa had known in his youth, sometimes all you needed to make the world seem less bleak was a little sanctuary.

[fanficimagery]

Imagine being sister to Thor. Having fled your home after your mother's death, you went on a mission to find yourself. Then landing in Midgard, you lead a life of normalcy. That is until you fall for one of Midgard's Mightiest Heroes. He can only keep his secret for so long, but yours, on the other hand.. you're going to keep it as long as possible.

Steve X Reader

Midgard was dreary compared to Asgard. There were a lot of rude and obnoxious people, but for every one of those there was a kind or courageous individual. It really depended where on Midgard you were, but you were willing to deal with it since it was your choice to leave home.

Some places in Midgard were quite peaceful, while others were colorful and loud. Las Vegas was a little too wild for your tastes, so the next best thing was New York City- the same city your adopted brother once nearly razed to the ground with an alien army. There were many pros and cons about the city, but you managed to settle in quite nicely and find your own little niche after converting all the Asgardian money you had smuggled out with you into American dollars.

Almost a year in and you could pass for a local midgardian.

Sitting outside at your favorite cafe, you enjoy your breakfast while simultaneously reading George R.R Martin's latest novel in the A Song of Ice and Fire series. You finish your first plate of food and then enjoy a couple cups of coffee while reading before ordering your next plate of food (this was the only reason the cafe tolerated you reading and taking your time; your Asgardian appetite gave the cafe a lot of business). And it’s midway through your second plate that your senses go into overdrive and you realize you're being watched. 

As you slow your eating, you subtly glance around your surroundings to find who the culprit is. Spotting the stranger almost immediately, you realize he's staring at you before glancing down at some sort of journal. He has a pencil- or was it a pen?- in hand and it furiously moves over the paper before he glances up yet again.

Finishing the rest of your food, you then ask for your table to be cleared. Once that's done you ask the waitress, just loud enough for the stranger to hear, where the bathrooms are even though you know exactly where they are located. But instead of actually using the bathroom, you ask for a to-go cup of coffee and pay your bill.

As you head back outside you see the stranger still seated and his attention solely on his book. So gathering yourself, you walk up to his table and take a seat across from him. When he glances up, his eyes subtly widen and you quirk an eyebrow at him.

"Hi," you muse. "Why were you staring at me?"

The man gapes as his cheeks flush at being caught. Up close you notice the man is quite handsome- from his stylish trimmed hair, to his beard, and blue eyes. "I am so sorry, ma'am." Ma'am? That's new. "I did not intend to make you feel uncomfortable."

"No?"

"Not at all," he's quick to assure you. "I was just- I'm an artist," he blurts. "And your hair, the braids caught my attention. More so the streak of purple against your nearly platinum hair that's weaved in and out of the one braid." He angles his book towards you and sure enough there's a sketch of your side profile. He paid a lot of attention to your braids and while the sketch is mostly black and white, the only color on paper is the purple streak in your hair. The man has some major talent.

Internally you're grateful it was nothing sinister, but on the outside you cringe. "Oh. You're really talented," you say as he lays his sketchbook back down. "And I'm sorry for thinking you were a creep."

That startles a laugh out of him. "You thought I was a creep?"

He's grinning and it's your turn to flush. "Well it is New York-"

"Fair enough."

"-and you just kept staring. I didn't know what to think and you sketching me didn't even come to mind as a possibility."

"Again, my apologies." You smile and his grin turns a little mischievous. "Then again it is your fault. If you hadn't done all those neat braids in your hair I probably would have been doing a crossword puzzle."

"My fault!?" You laugh softly to let him know you're honestly not upset at all. Amused is more like it. You shake your head, sipping your coffee.

"I'm Steve, by the way," he then introduces himself.

"Y/N," you return. Silence momentarily reigns over you two and you suddenly feel like you've overstayed your welcome even though Steve is still grinning. Pushing your chair back, you stand and offer him one last smile. "I really should be going now."

"Oh. Okay."

"If I see you around again, I expect to see a sketch of a new stranger."

Steve huffs a laugh. "Sure. It was nice to meet you, Y/N."

"You as well, Steve."

After pushing your chair back in, you take your leave. Then before you turn the corner, you glance back and see Steve still watching you. He waves and you salute him with your cup of coffee, ignoring the all too warm feeling in your chest at seeing his smile directed at you.

Over the next few weeks you run into Steve at the cafe and once at the park. The two of you always ended up sitting together and talking about anything and everything, so it's no surprise when he sheepishly asks you on a date.

You agree to the date and then to the four after, and it's really no surprise when the two of you become a legitimate couple. What is a surprise, however, is the third month of dating you find out he's none other than Captain America. There's a brief moment of panic because he's apparently friends with your brother, but fortunately it seemed like Thor hadn't even mentioned he had a sister. Steve seemed nervous when he let you in on his secret, but his story hardly fazed you. He was grateful you didn't seem to make a big deal out of it.

And after seven months of dating, the two of you move in together.

The smell of bacon is what wakes you and after blindly feeling around the bed you realize it's empty. Reluctantly you get out of bed, heading for the bathroom to fully wake yourself and freshen up before seeking out Steve.

Your boyfriend is scrambling eggs while the bacon sizzles when you sleepily walk up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist. Steve chuckles as you nuzzle the middle of his back and your hands find their way under his shirt to lightly scratch at his abdomen.

"Mmm. Food and abs. What did I do to deserve you?"

"A lot, sweetheart," he muses. "For starters, you accept me for me- shield or no shield." He scoops the bacon out of it's own grease and plates it on a paper towel to soak up the rest. Then turning off all burners, he moves the pan of eggs to the back cold burner. "And you put up with my creepy staring when I'm in a sketching mood." Turning around in your arms, he lightly grasps your face in his hands and kisses your forehead.

"S'all good. I do a lot of creepy staring myself. You're pretty."

"And you're still half asleep." He kisses the tip of your nose and you laugh, and then Steve walks you backward until the back of your knees hit a chair. Lightly pushing you down, you grunt as your bottom meets the seat of the chair. "Don't pout," he muses. "Eat your breakfast and then we can laze about all day on the couch. We don't have anywhere to be today."

"Yeah, yeah. Just give me the bacon."

Breakfast is then eaten at a leisurely pace, Steve chuckling every time he has to kick at your ankles when you nod off mid-chew. You kick back, grunting and whining when you miss and your toes smash into a table or chair leg. And then when you're all finished, you happily clear the table and load the dishwasher while Steve heads to shower off from his early morning run.

After a while Steve emerges and the two of you fall onto the couch. Finding a marathon of murder mysteries on TV, you leave it there before snuggling into Steve's side. Hours pass with the two of you barely moving and then around lunch time Steve's work phone is blaring it's emergency ringtone.

"Nooo," you groan, hugging him a little tighter.

Steve chuckles. "Sorry, sweetheart. Duty calls."

"I know. Before careful." You reach up and peck his lips just as he answers his phone.

Steve gets a brief rundown of what's going on as he moves from room to room gathering his suit and other necessities to shove in a duffel bag, and then he's giving off coordinates for a place to be picked up at since your cohabitation wasn't exactly known among his friends. You pick up his shield and place it in it's own personal bag before handing it off, you giving him another kiss but this time lingering a little longer.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," he says. "Aliens decided to pay a visit again."

You sigh. "You're going to be busy all night." He smiles guiltily and you press a kiss to chin. "Hurry back, but please be careful."

"Will do. Try not to watch the news."

"As if," you scoff. "I'm going to be glued to the TV as soon as you walk out our door."

He sighs. "I figured you'd say that."

"Yep. Now get out of here, babe. The world needs Captain America."

"Yes, ma'am."

The moment Steve is out the door and his motorcycle engine roars to life, you do as you said you'd do. You turn on the TV and immediately flip back and forth between all the news stations to see what the hell is going on. Aliens are pouring out of the sky yet again and Iron Man zooming around and blasting them is hardly putting a dent in their numbers. Even your brother and the Scarlet Witch can't quite keep up, and you're suddenly nervous that the Avengers are in over their heads.

You watch as the Hulk makes his appearance, he jumping and swatting aliens out of the sky like bugs. And still.. the aliens keep coming. Then fifteen minutes later, a quinjet is landing in the middle of an empty parking lot and Captain America, the Black Widow, and Hawkeye are seen jogging off the back ramp to join the fight. The Avengers seem to be holding their own even though they appear to be greatly outnumbered.

Not able to watch anymore, you put the TV on mute and head outside for some fresh air. To pass some time you decide to rearrange the porch furniture, but as you're doing so a feeling of dead momentarily overwhelms you. You stumble into the porch railing and the feeling of dread isn't evaporating. A moment later you're skipping down the porch steps and onto the front lawn. With your heart beating fast, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. Centering yourself, you concentrate and pull on your Asgardian magic to sense whether or not it's going to be a good day or bad day. All signs are pointing to something terrible happening.

Eyes flying open, you look to the sky. "Heimdall!" You call out. "Send down my beloved companion. They need my help."

Seconds tick by and you think Heimdall is refusing you because you had turned your back on everything after Mother's death, but then a portion of the sky shimmers and you can see a brief glimpse of the bifrost before the silhouette of a winged horse shimmers into existence.

Laughing, your gaze tracks the flight path of your pegasus. The pitch black creature lands and folds his wings in before trotting up to you, and you press your forehead to the pegasus' face. Lovingly scratching either side of his neck, you say, "Hello my morningstar. We have work to do."

The black beast neighs and paws at the ground before stepping back and trotting circles around you. You lightly smack him on the butt and he takes off in a trot down the street. Several people have come out of their houses and are staring, and you hear gasps all around as Lucifer's wings unfurl. He stops and turns back around, and then a moment later he's running at full speed. You smile ferally and put your back to him, you then running down the street. As you run you can feel your clothes changing on their own and the second Lucifer's at your side you jump and land on his back.

Your own blue and silver Asgardian armor covers you from the neck down, and a silver helmet sits atop your head with a piece of metal drooping down between your eyes to the tip of your nose. Your hands twist into Lucifer's mane and as you lightly kick his sides he jumps into the air. Guiding him towards where you know the fight is, you only hope you can get there in time.

     - X - X - X - X - X -

Out on the battle field, the Avengers are tiring. The team is at a loss of what to do, but at the moment they're just grateful that no more aliens are coming through the portal they had opened.

"Hey, Stark, I can really use another sweep," Clint says. "I just sent my last arrow into the field."

"On it, Bird Brain." Tony disengages from the alien he was fighting to collect all the arrows he can. "You really need to rethink your weapon of choice."

"Yeah, Barton," Natasha teases. "Upgrade, will you? Tony's new toys are fun," she says as she takes down four aliens, one right after the other with the glock that shoots energy blasts instead of bullets.

Steve jogs up to them, throwing his shield with a grunt and watching in satisfaction as it pings off alien head after alien head before hitting a wall and flying back towards him. "Guys, less talking more fighting. I really want to get home."

"Aw. Does Cap have a hot date waiting at home?" Tony muses. Steve falters, but doesn't rise to the bait. However, Natasha notices his little misstep and grins knowingly.

"Uh. Guys?" Clint then muses, staring up at the sky and following something with his gaze. "Am I the only one seeing a goddamn pegasus?"

There's a moment where the only sounds are of the battle, and then..

"SISTER!"

"Sister?" Every Avenger wonders as Hulk roars off in the distance.

The warrior on the back of the pegasus has a bow in hand, she loosing a volley of arrows with what appeared to be only one arrow. The winged horse swoops lower and the woman hops off, her horse taking flight once more and disappearing into the clouds.

Once your feet are on solid ground, you yank off your helmet at let it fall at your feet. You ignore the stares as you reach back into your quiver for another arrow, nocking it and grinning when the tip suddenly flames. With a whispered spell, you loose the arrow and smirk as it multiplies into a hundred and each arrow finds a place in an alien.

Before you can reach for another arrow, arms wrap around you from behind and you're suddenly being spun. Laughing, you let your brother have his moment. It's only when he sets you back down and turns you so you face him do you realize everyone but the Hulk gathering around.

"Y/N?"

You glance to your left and guiltily smile at a bewildered Steve. "Hi, honey. Surprise..?"

"Honey?" Iron Man muses just as Thor says, "You know of my sister?"

Clint snorts. "Shit. This outta be good."

You cringe as Thor continues to stare at Steve. "Uhh.. Steve and I are dating."

Instead of anger, Thor surprises you by beaming. "This is wonderful news!" You sigh in relief at his exuberance and then mentally groan when his smile falters. "But.. since when? You fled after Mother died. Have you.. have you been on Midgard all this time?"

"Yes." Thor suddenly looks unhappy and you frown. "I promise to explain everything later. Right now we have aliens to take care of."

"Yeah. About that," Hawkeye says. "Can you do what you did to your arrows to mine?"

You nod and hold a hand out for his arrows. Having collected them from Tony, Clint passes them over to you. Grasping them all in hand horizontally, you lift them so the shafts are near your lips. Then closing your eyes and muttering a spell, you hand them back to their owner. "There. You should be fine."

"Awesome."

Standing side by side with Hawkeye, the both of you nock an arrow each. As yours lights aflame, Hawkeye pouts and you huff a small laugh. Then angling upward, the two of you loose your arrows and everyone watches as they multiply mid-flight.

"So awesome," Clint muses again, watching as the aliens shriek and fall dead.

"All right. Now we're back in the game!" Iron Man zooms off, and after your brother shares a pointed look with you Thor twirls his hammer before taking flight.

Hawkeye and the Black Widow stare between you and Steve without an ounce of shame, and you sigh. Giving your attention to Steve, you say, "I'm sorry."

He frowns. "You could have told me when I told you about being Cap. Why didn’t you?"

"I knew you worked with Thor. I didn't want you to have to lie to him."

"I would have. For you."

Chuckling softly, you reach up with your right hand and cup his cheek. "Oh honey, you can't lie to save your life."

The Black Widow laughs at Steve's offended look. "I can to."

"Mhm. Then why did you have the guiltiest expression just last week when I asked what happened to the last of my honey butter?" Steve gapes and you lightly tap the end of his nose. "Yeah that's what I thought."

Steve sighs. "You'll tell me everything?"

"Everything." Leaning in you're quick to peck his lips. "I'll even tell you about that one time Loki tricked Thor into wearing a wedding dress and almost married him off to another Prince. I was sworn to secrecy, but I'll make an exception just for you."

"And me," Clint says, smirking. "Your other brother Loki might be a dick, but I need all the embarrassing stories on Thor I can get."

You roll your eyes, shaking your head in amusement. "Fine. You too." Clint fist pumps and you look back to Steve. "Now come on, babe. We got an Earth to protect."

[fangirlfiction]

Born to Hide

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: Part 2 of the Born To series. A foreboding warning from someone from your past sends you on the run. But no one was made to run forever.

Warnings: Mentions of explosions, death, injuries, blood. There’s also some fighting, and a break in. 

A/N: hi this is one of my favorite parts of this mini series, and I hope you like it too! I am still accepting taglist requests for this series and any of my other writings! just send me an ask :) i love you all

last part here // series masterlist

You open the door to the trailer, and look out at the twilight sky. The stars are beginning their slow ascent into the sky, and the cicadas are humming loudly. You breathe in the sweet Summer air, and you are just about to close the door when you see him. He’s sitting on the bench in your yard, and his hair looks longer than you remember it. As you draw closer, you can see the stack of photographs in his hand and sitting at his side. He turns as you reach the bench, before moving the photos and making space for you to sit beside him. Wordlessly, he passes the photos to you, and you look down at them.

They’re old and weathered, and the edges are fraying a bit. Some of the photos are torn or creased, likely from being stored improperly. You look over at him as you pass the photos back, and there is a soft smile on his face. You smile in return as he sifts through the photos and holds one up. You’re both sitting side by side, almost like you are now, and smiling at each other. It’s easy to miss the mess of bodies that lay around you in the picture, but your eyes start to focus on them the more you study the picture. “This one is my favorite.”

You frown, “None of them are my favorite.”

He cocks his head to the side. “Why not?”

“Because they remind me of a different me.” You meet his eyes. “And a different you. When we left, we swore we’d never become those people again.”

He shrugs, and returns the picture to the stack. You eye him suspiciously, “Bucky, what are you doing? Why are you here?”

He brushes the hair back from your face. “I’m here to deliver a message.”

You hear screaming in the distance, and you turn and look around in confusion. Bucky tugs your chin back to him, and you now see the fear deep in his eyes. “They’re coming, you need to run.”

“What?”

“They’re coming! Wake up, you need to wake-”

-

“UP!”

You open your eyes, and blink against the brightness of the sun. A shadow hovers in and out of your vision, and as your eyes focus, you watch as her mouth moves, but no sound comes out. Seconds later the ringing begins, loud and high pitched, and you grimace against it. As you blink and lift a hand to your head, the ringing starts to dissipate slowly, and the woman’s words start to get through to you. “Wake up! Ma’am, are you okay? You need to wake up!”

You pull your hand away from your head, shocked to find it coated in blood. You start to rise slowly, but she pushes you back down. “Woah, woah, hold on there! Help is on the way, but you need to stay still.”

Someone cries out somewhere behind you, and she glances their way and nods before looking back down at you. “Hold tight right here for me, okay? I’m just going to check on that gentleman over there.”

She runs off, leaving you to check your head again. As you start to rise slowly, something about her words stirs something up in your brain. Gentlemen. Danny.

You turn to your left and you are shocked to find that you are no longer in the car next to Danny. Instead, you are halfway between the remains of his truck and the sidewalk. All around you, various other cars and their debris are scattered, and there are bodies in every corner of your vision. Screaming, crying, bloody...dead. And that word is enough to make you rise to your feet, eyes scanning the area for any sign of him. 

You find him a minute later, also thrown from the truck, surrounded by debris. But you don’t need to get close to him to know one undeniable fact. Danny is already gone.

You drop to your knees beside him and close his eyes, before looking up and looking around. Something about the bodies pulls a memory from your head, and you suddenly remember Bucky and his warning. They’re coming, you need to run.

You scan the street again, and catch a glimpse of movement near the intersection. As your eyes strain to focus, a chill crawls up your spine. You don’t know what it is, because you are still too dazed to focus and process. But you trust your instinct, you grab your bag, and you run. 

-

As you run from the sirens and chaos of the explosion, you know that you need to get cleaned up, first and foremost, because running down the street bloodied and bruised was not the way to keep a low profile. You stick to side streets and areas with minimal traffic, as you search for a quiet neighborhood. It takes a while, but eventually, you find yourself at the front of a neighborhood with a pretty sign and rows of trees and flowers. The houses are modestly sized, but many seem empty for the day, with no cars in the driveway or lights inside. After racking your brain for a moment, you remember that the Patriots are playing today, and it’s a home game, meaning most people will be at the game or at watch parties. You send a silent thank you to the universe for this small gift.

After surveying the houses on the street, you settle on an empty one near the back of the neighborhood, which appears to be surrounded by equally empty looking houses. You sneak around the back and slip in through the back gate, careful to keep your face low in case they have security cameras. You creep towards the back door, and almost cheer when you see two french doors, made of mostly glass. You find a rock and smash the glass, before reaching in and unlocking the door.

You step into what appears to be their dining room, and you move through the dining room, past the living room, and down a short hallway into what looks like the master bedroom. You make a beeline for the closet and pull open the doors, pleased to find a closet full of clothes that will fit well enough. You grab a pair of jeans and a long sleeve shirt, before searching for a dresser and finding a pair of socks. You stumble into the bathroom, and for the first time, get a good look at what the explosion did to you. 

You are covered in cuts and bruises, most of them unconcerning, except for the gash on your forehead, and a cut on your left calf. You are covered in dirt and grime, and your race suit is burnt and torn. There’s also a burn on your lower back, likely from some flying debris. But all in all, you feel lucky to be alive. You clean up the best you can, using the first aid supplies you find in the bathroom cabinet. After bandaging the worst of your injuries and cleaning the dirt from your face, you pull on the clean clothes, lace up your boots, and pull your hair out of your face. You reach into the backpack beside you and find the cinched bag that you normally keep in the money box. Airport security is still no match for partial alien tech, and you were able to smuggle it on and off the plane with no issues. You leave the buckle in the bag and shove the bag back inside your backpack before tucking the gun into the waistband of your pants at the small of your back. 

You leave the bedroom in search of the kitchen, where you manage to find some food to bring with you, and you happily stuff it into your backpack, along with a few bottles of water. The last thing you do is look for a pad of paper, where you scrawl an apology to the homeowner, and drop a wad of tips from the diner. You know it’s not enough to cover the damage, but at least it’s something. 

You grab the tattered remains of your suit and your backpack, and you leave the house, being careful to avoid any prying eyes or nosy neighbors. When you reach the end of the street, you look around before jogging into the wooded area around the neighborhood. You follow the sun through the trees until it brings you out into a neighborhood that is mid construction. As you pass a dumpster for the building debris, you toss your torn suit inside and cover it with some of the discarded materials, before scoping out one of the houses for a place to crash for the night. You end up finding one that is built enough to keep you sheltered from the elements, without requiring you to cause any more damage. You map out all the exits before you settle down for the rest that your body desperately craves.

-

When you open the door to the trailer, you find him sitting on your bench again. You wander out to meet him, slow and skeptical, more weary since the last time you saw him. This time, he doesn’t turn as you approach. He keeps his head turned to the sky, eyes mapping the stars. It takes a while for him to break the silence, but when he does, his voice is quiet and he almost sounds hurt. “Why did you leave?”

You rear back a little, surprised by the question, before turning to face him. “Honestly?”

He nods, eyes still trained on the sky, and you sigh. “When we left, we swore we’d change. We swore we’d never be the monsters they trained us to be. Instead, we joined the Avengers, and it felt like we were the same monsters, just fighting under a different flag. A different logo.”

He turns to you, “I love you.” Your eyes widen, surprised, before he corrects himself. “Loved. I loved you. And you left me.”

“Bucky…” You trail off, unsure what to say.

“Why didn’t you just talk to me? Tell me how you were feeling? We could have figured it out.”

You scoff, “Because we were never trained to talk it out, or discuss our feelings. We were trained to kill and we were trained to run. That’s it. And you had a family again, Steve and Nat, Sam. I didn’t want to mess that up.”

“But you were my family.”

You feel a lump form in your throat, but before you can answer, sirens cut through the air around you. You turn to Bucky in a panic, and he mutters one phrase, voice monotone. “Time’s up.”

-

Your eyes fly open, and you pull yourself to a sitting position quickly. Your blood turns cold when you realize the sirens aren’t a manifestation of your dreams. Instead, they’re echoing in the early dawn air around you. You grab your bag and run to the back of the half finished house, before flying out of the open doorway and into the cool dawn air. You are relieved to find no cops or cars outside of the house, but you know they are close. You take off running, sticking close to the treeline that surrounds the neighborhood. As you round a corner of houses to follow the trees, you nearly choke when you collide with a man a few years older than you. Your brain instantly reverts back to its training, and despite your head injury, you run through all of the information quickly. 

One man, alone. No back up. Uniform is neat, but the pattern of wrinkles look like he sticks to a desk job mostly. Low ranking, easy target. 

He seems just as shocked to see you, and fails to finish the command he’s directing at you before you attack. “Hands-”

The last word dies in his throat as you leap at him, using your momentum to spin around him and put him in a choke hold. He struggles against you, but his size gives him no advantage with you. You’re trained to eliminate the enemies advantage, no matter what. Eventually, he struggles less and less, until he is out cold. You lower him to the ground carefully, before eyeing the landscape around you, worried that he truly isn’t alone. Finding no one, you continue on your path, as quickly as you can possibly be while still being careful. You manage to follow the trees to the edge of the neighborhood, before it opens out into a road. There are no cars in the area, and the road is surrounded by a deep drainage ditch on either side. 

You make a quick dash to the ditch and jump inside, before crouching and following it up the road and away from the neighborhood. Up ahead, you can see that the ditch eventually ends, which will force you to jump out and travel along the road, in the open. You run through other escape routes in your mind, but struggle to find any that are less risky than this one. With a quiet sigh, you start to climb out of the ditch. As you pull yourself over the side, you are shocked to come face to face with a pair of boots, and before you can react, you feel no less than 6 guns press into your back. “Don’t move.”

You stay frozen in place, trying to map the location of the people around you, the early form of a plan already falling into place in your mind. They yank your backpack off and pull your gun from your waistband, before tossing it to the side, away from you. In order to pat you down and search for more weapons, some of the men step away from you, weapons lowering. You use the moment to your advantage, and as they roll you over to check your front, you leap into action. 

One man is leaning over you, checking you, so you pull your head back and then slam it forward, colliding with his and forcing him to rear back in pain. You jump to your feet and swipe your leg out, knocking over the two men that were situated to your left. Hearing someone approaching from behind, you swing your elbow back and connect with the man’s nose, breaking it instantly. He cries out and backs away from you, opening up space for you to swing a kick forward and catch another man between his legs. He drops to the ground with a groan, and you look around for your gun, preparing to take out the last man. You spot it on the right so you roll towards it, grabbing the gun in one smooth motion, before jumping to your feet and pointing the gun at the man in front of you. The man stands there, arms held up in mock surrender as he flashes you a smirk. And when your eyes meet his, you feel all the air leave your lungs in a rush, and your body go numb. You drop the gun, and as it clatters to the ground, you mutter in disbelief, “Bucky?”

-

part three here!