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littlechinesedoll · 1 year

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My Happy Marriage - Chapter 2 | SasuNaru

Chapter 1

“In this house, my word is the law. You follow only me,” says Uchiha-dono. “If I tell you to get out, you get out. If I tell you to die, you drop dead,”

But it seems… Uchiha-dono’s scent is misleading. He is truly cold. “I understand,” Naruto bows again.

There’s nothing else he can say. This won’t be any different from what he’s dealt with in the past. If he’s being honest, this might even be easier, had there not be the possibility of homelessness if Uchiha-dono finds him unfit as a mate, or find out his secrets. He can take all the physical and verbal abuse, but if he’s kicked out, he might as well just kill himself.

Is this the price of his life? Servitude? Suffering? Is this life…worth the loss of his mother?

He sends the omega off to rest.

Naruto bows again. “Shitsurei shimasu.” Excuse me. Then leaves the room, sliding the door closed behind him.

Sasuke half flinches when the omega bows again when he excuses himself. Why is a child of a prominent family behaving so oddly? He’s never seen nor heard of a well-born child bowing and waiting for acknowledgement, no matter how long, before they raise their head.

---

“Okaa-sama’s clothes!” 8-year-old Naruto cried, rummaging through the dresser in his room, where his mother used to sleep in when he was alive.

All that’s left were his own ratty clothes. It’s all gone! Okaa-sama’s comb, his hair flower, and earrings! They were all gone!

He rushed out of the servants’ quarters, looking for Oku-sama and found her in the gardens. When he told her someone might have stolen his mother’s belongings, Naruto didn’t understand why Oku-sama was so angry with him.

She grabbed his arm with the intent to bruise and dragged him out of the gardens to the back of the estate. “Get me a knife!” she barked at a nearby servant, who scrambled to obey her.

“Oku-sama!” Naruto cried, “Itai desu!” Mistress! It hurts!

The same servant from earlier appeared at Oku-sama’s side, handing her the knife. “Open the storage house!” she snapped at the servant.

“Hai,” the servant obeyed the family’s mistress in terror.

Naruto pulled back from Oku-sama’s grip. “Oku-sama, onegai shimasu!” Please!

“I will not let this go, you bastard,” she said, throwing him onto the floor the large storehouse with an immense slap to his small cheek.

It stung his skin and it felt like it would snap his neck. Naruto’s face hit the wooden floor, bruising his brow, then tried to scurry away from her, but she grabbed his kimono and yanked him back to her. “Gomen nasai! Gomen nasai!” I’m sorry! I’m sorry!

“No amount of apologizing can let you get away from me,” she hissed at him, grabbing his neck. “This is your punishment for accusing anyone in this house of stealing the trash you call belongings,” she held the kitchen knife up. “You’re rotten! Bastards like you don’t deserve pretty things. Don’t deserve anything,”

Naruto screamed and screamed and cried. Nobody came to stop Oku-sama.

She dropped the bloodied knife. “I wonder what your whore of a mother would say of your beautiful whiskers now, bastard,” she laughed.

Why was she laughing? Naruto was hurt and bleeding. His face hurt so much.

“Lock him up, no food and water, and don’t let him out until noon tomorrow,”

Naruto gasped, watching as the servant locked him in the storehouse. It's large, dark, he couldn't see anything, didn’t know what was in there, and he was scared. With his remaining strength, and trembling limbs, he lugged himself up and pounded his small fists onto the thick, large door.

“Gomen nasai!” he cried, tears stinging the fresh, bleeding cuts on his cheeks. “Let me out, please! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

---

Naruto wakes up with a start.

Oh, he thinks. He dreamt about that day. How he got the scars on his face. He rises from the futon, realizes he’s cried in his sleep, calloused fingers brushing over the tears wet raised scars on his whiskers.

Okaa-sama called his whiskers beautiful. They made Naruto beautiful, he said. He believed it. No one else had marks from a god. Naruto can barely look at himself in the mirror now. It’s a wonder his face even healed.

Bewilderment fills him when he sees he’s in a different room, then, when he sees the Uchiha crest on one of the walls, he remembers he’s come to the Uchiha Sasuke-dono’s home. He lingers in bed for a while longer, soaking up the fine futon, so soft, smooth, and warm. He hasn’t slept so well in years. The futon he had back at the Haruno house was so worn, his feet were almost frozen every night.

Despite it a small home, Naruto is sure there is much to do. He puts away the futon, dresses up, places a pocket of herbs in the neck lining of his kimono, and ties his hair to the side in a knot before emerging from his room and getting started on breakfast. He may be doing different set of tasks now that he is in the Uchiha home. The cleaning and cooking are not something that is expected of a wife of the family head. He’s seen what Oku-sama does for Haruno-goshujin-sama as his wife and mate: welcoming guests, tea ceremonies, flower arrangements, playing music, calligraphy, art, and rearing children. He’s…he doesn’t know any of that. He’s…not what a good mate and wife should be, to a powerful alpha like Uchiha-dono. And what he’s seen…he barely remembers. He’s useless. (1)

Naruto’s aware that the position he might take as the head’s mate shouldn’t be doing manual labor; it’s simply beneath them. But this is the only thing Naruto knows how to do. Cook, clean, do the laundry. If he’s asked to scrub the floors clean twice every day he would, if it means he wouldn’t be thrown out.

Back…with Haruno-goshujin-sama, his father… he was never treated any different from a servant. As a bastard he wasn’t family either. And always ignored by everyone, mistreated by Oku-sama and Sakura-ojou-sama whenever they pleased. Except Iruka-san. The omega who treated him like his own. The only person he received love from other than his mother. Who cleaned and bandaged his wounded face with patience as Naruto cried in pain every time he dressed the cuts on his cheeks. Iruka-san gave him his old clothes and made sure he had food. The worn kimono he’s wearing right now used to belong to Iruka-san. He left the Haruno household long ago. Naruto hasn’t felt love since he left; not since he was separated from Kiba. But Naruto is thankful. He can now be useful to another house. If this family can find him useful, that is enough love for him.

He’s in the middle of preparing the miso soup when someone comes into the kitchen.

A tall, elderly omega, with orange hair paling with into white in his age, shuffles in. “Ohayou gozaimasu, Naruto-sama,” Good morning.

“Ohayou, Juugo-san,” Naruto greets back.

Juugo-san is Uchiha-dono’s servant nanny who also took care of him when he was little and is still taking care of him now. Naruto knows he’ll learn a lot from him on how to properly take care of his fiancé and the home.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask permission before doing anything,”

“Oh,” Juugo says, “You don’t need that from me,” he chuckles, then bows. “I should be the one apologizing for bothering the future mistress of the house. You shouldn’t be up so early!”

Should Naruto not have done anything instead?

“Naruto-sama, thank you for your help,” he reaches for Naruto’s hand and gives it a few gentle pats of reassurance. “I’m not as young as I used to be, so I’m very grateful you’re here for us,”

“Ah, it’s nothing. No problem, I suppose,” Naruto replies.

“Right! We still have time before Bocchan wakes up! Is it ok if I leave breakfast up to you?” (2)

“Yes!” Naruto answers with an enthusiasm he’s never felt before.

“Hai, yoroshiku onegai shimasu,” Juugo smiles at him. “Which reminds me, I took the liberty of stocking your room with the tea needed for your courses, Naruto-sama. And some herbs you may choose from to regulate your scent. Bocchan is very in control of his instincts and urges, but you are young, and he might not be able to keep himself away from you,” (3)

The young omega’s cheeks heat pink. “H-hai, arigatou,”

How lovely, Naruto thinks of Juugo as he gets on with breakfast. He thought Juugo would be strict or harsh since he serves such a cold master. But instead, he finds Juugo thoughtful, welcoming, and gentle. It’s even adorable how he calls Uchiha-dono ‘bocchan’ which no doubt was what he called him as a small child.

Breakfast consists of rice, miso soup, grilled squid, rolled eggs, blanched spinach with sesame oil, pickled cabbage, seasoned seaweed, natto, and green tea.

When he’s done, Juugo brings him to the receiving room. They kneel at the door, Juugo slides it open. “Ohayou gozaimasu, Bocchan,” he greets their master jovially.

“Ohayou,” Uchiha-dono answers, glancing at them from the newspaper in his hands.

How dashing Uchiha-dono looks in his uniform, Naruto thinks.

“Juugo,” says Uchiha-dono, “Don’t call me ‘bocchan’ in front of others,”

They enter the room, Naruto slides the door closed, and Juugo serves Uchiha-dono his breakfast. “Hai, hai,” says Juugo as they set the trays in front of him. “Naruto-sama made breakfast for you today,”

Uchiha-dono looks at Naruto. “Did you now?”

Naruto gives him a low bow.

“You take the first bite,” he says.

What? Naruto wants to say. Why? It’s improper. The master of the house must eat first before anyone else can.

“Can’t eat it?” Uchiha-dono narrows his eyes at him.

Naruto makes a small gasp. That’s…how could a voice sound so cold? When Naruto initially found him so warm. “Um…”

Uchiha-dono quickly rises to his feet, looking down on Naruto who’s kneeling in front of him by the tray of food. “You’ve poisoned it,”

Poisoned? He stares up at enraged alpha. Why would Naruto do that?

“Do you honestly think you could fool me that easily?” Uchiha-dono throws the newspaper onto the food and leaves. “I can’t eat this. Who knows what else you’ve done with it. Throw it away,”

“Bocchan!” Juugo follows him out into the genkan. (6)

‘I failed at the one thing I could do right,’ Naruto laments as he clears the food.

---

“Bocchan!” Juugo admonishes his charge. “You shouldn’t have talked to him like that! Naruto-sama worked hard to prepare your food! He’s not the type of person who goes around poisoning people,”

“Food made by someone I just met. I don’t trust him,” Sasuke says as he fixes his cufflinks, then puts his shoes on. “It’s common sense.” Naruto comes from a family who wouldn’t think twice about putting Sasuke down to usurp his own family and claim his position.

“Common sense?” Juugo repeats, both confused and incredulous. Since when did his Bocchan become so mean?

“To poison me. How many families would like to see me dead, Juugo?”

Juugo sighed. “He won’t do that. He’s different, Bocchan, from all the people that came before him,”

It’s true though. Many were disgusted by the humble home Sasuke chose to live in. Many tried to seduce and charm him but mistreated and abused Juugo behind Sasuke’s back. Many demanded their rooms to be redone and refurbished since it wasn’t good enough. Sasuke sent them all packing and away.

Sasuke is also aware that the head of a family shouldn’t be living in such simplicity. But he has no tolerance for grandeur and pretension. He despises vulgar displays of money and power, which they want him to do because he’s the head of the house, and they deserve such things because they are to be his mate. If someone offers him marriage, he won’t deny them, but the moment they impose themselves and their opinions on Sasuke, the moment they show no attempts at understanding him, he sends them away.

“I’m happy, though, Bocchan. Naruto-sama is so sweet and considerate. The first one help me with my work,”

Suddenly, shame washes over the Uchiha family head. He may have been too harsh on his new fiancé. “I see,”

It’s a miracle Naruto even wanted to see him off to work. Sasuke gets in his car. “I’ll be going,”　

“Have a good day,” Naruto bows, and watches the car leave.

---

Uchiha Sasuke is the commander of a little known, small, and classified unit in the imperial military whose members all have abilities. Sasuke himself is gifted with fire and lightning. This powerful commander is swamped with paperwork.

And also unable to focus from thinking about what happened with Naruto that morning, nor the night before. He sighs. Juugo had a point. He had no right being that cruel to him. Sasuke sighed, leaning back onto his chair rest his eyes a while.

Last night, when Naruto introduced himself, it took all of Sasuke’s will not to defile his new fiancé right then and there. He had no trust in the omega as a child of Haruno Kizashi-dono, but Sasuke had even less trust in himself. The omega had smelled so inviting. Fresh bamboo, fresh flowers, and morning dew, even with all those horrible herbs trying to smother his enticing scent. Even with the sourness of his disposition and fear which he didn’t expect, the notes come through.

Sasuke wonders, if Naruto is a child of a prominent family like Haruno, why does he act like a servant? He’s never met a child of a good family to keep their head down until told to stop. He’s barely heard a word from him, from last night and this morning, and why didn’t he even try to defend himself if he truly didn’t poison the food? When all the others hadn’t run out of things to say, pointing out everything wrong about his home, about the food, about him.

He wanted to chase him away like all the others, but now… he finds himself sighing again, regretting his actions. It’s truly dreadful of him to have acted that way. He is responsible for his own infamy, treating omegas and people in general like that.

He is a beast.

---

“Okaeri nasai mase, Danna-sama.” Welcome home. Naruto greets Sasuke as the master of the house enters the home that night. (5)

“Tadaima.” I’m back. Sasuke replies, lowering himself down to sit at the genkan to remove his shoes. There it is again. Bamboo, flowers, and morning dew. With the sourness of fear and sorrow. But why? (6)

Naruto kneels by Sasuke. He’s been thinking about this all day, always on the verge of crying, heart pounding in his chest in terror like it’ll break his ribs. “Ano, Danna-sama?” he starts, then lowers his head. “I apologize for this morning. If I were you, I wouldn’t eat food made by someone I don’t trust. I hadn’t given it any thought or how you would feel. Juugo-san made dinner, and it’s been served just as Juugo-san prepared them,” he places his hands on the floor, lowers his head further to almost touching his knuckles. “Please forgive me,”

“I wasn’t truly convinced you did it,” says Sasuke, which he thinks isn’t any better or can comfort him. “I may have reacted too harshly as well,”

“No, not at all!” Naruto keeps his head down. “It is my mistake,”

Sasuke didn’t mean to scare him so much. Then upon looking closely, it’s difficult to believe that Naruto is a child of a powerful family. The kimono he’s wearing is so worn it’s on its last thread. Neck and wrists too thin to be considered healthy. Pale skin, chapped lips, and calloused hands. Damaged hair. Even commoners dress better than this. And what was the cause of the scars on his face?

The master walks past the genkan and Naruto follows him into the receiving room. “Have you eaten?” Sasuke asks, seeing that there’s food prepared only for one.

“Um, I mean…”

“You haven’t eaten yet,” it’s not a question. “Why didn’t you prepare a tray for yourself?”

Naruto doesn’t answer. Too terrified of how Sasuke will treat him tonight after today’s breakfast. Mentally preparing himself for the rejection he’s been dreading and waiting for.

“Did Juugo not prepare enough?”

“It’s not that,” Naruto tries to placate him. “I told Juugo-san there was no need since I don’t have much of an appetite tonight,”

“No appetite?” Sasuke repeats. Why? “Are you unwell?”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Naruto says immediately. “It happens sometimes,”

“Alright. If you say so,” Sasuke heads for his room. “I’ll get dressed,”

Naruto waits for Sasuke in the receiving room. It’s not that he doesn’t have an appetite, it’s just that… back at home there are times when he has no choice but to skip meals, especially if Oku-sama and Sakura-ojou-sama are being particularly vicious. They wouldn’t let him eat until the task is done. It’s a shame to be used to hunger. Even now, Naruto’s been too scared to eat anything, he hasn’t had a bite to eat all day and yesterday.

“It’s gone cold,” Sasuke says when he starts eating.

“Moushiwake arimasen,” Naruto supplies quickly.

“You apologize with every breath,” Sasuke points out. “Why is that?”

Again, Naruto finds himself unable to answer his fiancé. It’s not like he can say that the abuse at home was so severe, that if he didn’t apologize immediately, his half-sister and her mother will only continue and worsen their tirade or become violently physical. Even if Naruto wasn’t under their roof anymore, they still strike fear in him.

Sasuke understands that Naruto won’t tell him. “I see,”

“I’m sor—”

“Stop. Stop apologizing.” Sasuke tells him. He thinks he might run out of breath with all the sighing he’s doing. “They lose their meaning when used too much,”

Naruto gives him a shallow nod in response. He serves Sasuke another bowl of rice from the ohitsu when he asks for it and waits on him should he ask for something else. (7)

He’s terrified. Sasuke never seems to smile, and the way he reacted to breakfast this morning sends dread down Naruto’s spine. There is something chilling about his beauty expressing such cruelty. But if Sasuke asked about him having eaten, then…maybe be cared. Maybe for now, Naruto won’t be thrown out just yet. And he apologized for this morning and wanted to know about whether he felt unwell.

The omega remembers Juugo trying to comfort him this morning. “Deep down, Bocchan is kind,” he said.

Naruto thinks maybe there is more to his Danna-sama than his cold exterior. That maybe he was right about feeling warm when he first met him.

“Thank you for the meal,” Sasuke sets the bowl down when he’s done.

Naruto moves to clear the tray. “I’ll prepare your bath for you,”

“No need,” says Sasuke before Naruto can hurry to the furo. (8)

“But—”

The omega tries to reason, but Sasuke tries to cut him off as gently as he can. “The bath needs someone gifted to use it. Only I can use it,”

Oh, right. Sasuke has a gift with fire. So Naruto stays to accompany Sasuke before he leaves for his bath, so he can take away the bowls.

Sasuke notices Naruto has become tense. “Something wrong?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,”

Naruto doesn’t think Sasuke knows that he has no gift. He has a curse, though. The scars on his face now hide the light, thin marks of what used to be his whiskers, and the seal on his belly will be hidden behind his obi, unless he manages to stay in the Uchiha home long enough that Sasuke can remove his kimono off his body. (9)

Does Sasuke think Naruto has a gift because he’s from the Haruno family? Is that the reason he accepted this marriage proposal from Haruno-goshujin-sama? Did he even have any interest in all the other marriages offered to him?

As Naruto follows Sasuke down the hall to the furo to wait on him, it’s dawns on him more and more that he isn’t a suitable mate and wife to the Uchiha family head. Sasuke’s wife should have everything.

Like Sakura.

---

Notes:

(1) Goshujin-sama (ご主人様・ごしゅじんさま)　means master. Danna-sama can also be used as master, but I’m using Goshujin-sama instead because Danna-sama belongs to Sasuke.

(2) Bocchan （ぼっちゃん）is what servants call their young masters/charges. Connotes endearment.

(3) Yoroshiku onegai shimasu （よろしくおねがいします）can mean many things. In this context, it may mean encouragement.

(4) Ano, eto, （あの、えと）are filler words much like uh, uhm.

(5) Danna-sama （旦那様・旦那さま・だんなさま）can mean either master or husband. In this case, it’s husband, even though their engagement isn’t finalized/aren’t married yet.

(6) Okaeri/okaerinasai/okaerinasaimase （おかえり・おかえりなさい・おかえいりなさえいませ）and tadaima （ただいま）are expressions said when someone comes back home. Tadaima said by the one arriving, okaeri said by the one welcoming the arrival.

Genkan （玄関・げんかん）are traditional Japanese entryway areas for a house, apartment, or building, a combination of a porch and a doormat. It is usually located inside the building directly in front of the door. The primary function of genkan is for the removal of shoes before entering the main part of the house or building.

(7) Ohitsu （おひつ）is a wooden container that stores and keeps rice warm while the family eats.

(8) Furo. （ふろ）Bath.

(9) This is the wide belt on a kimono.

For the car... think Ford's Model T.

#sasunaru #uchiha sasuke #uzumaki naruto #omega naruto #alpha sasuke #mpreg #omegaverse #not for sakura fans

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lesbianbucky · 5 years

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anyone wanna uhhhhhhhhh write my last 3 finals for me

#i literally feel like im dying #i have one of my soc finals tomorrow #the final for my other soc course in on thursday #n i have psych next tuesday #i also have a paper thats two weeks late that i still need to finish and then email my prof begging him to accept it #n if he doesnt ill fail the course which is :))))))) so fcking embarassing bc its literally fucking soc 102 like fuckin intro sociology #n my other soc course is third level and im doing way better in it so thats embarassing if i dont even pass intro like #im just so upset bc i did so well all semester until my depression hit rlly badly after midterms #and i stopped going to classes and handing things it #so it's not even like i don't know the material or i don't understand it like it's my own fuckingg fault #bc i couldnt do the work like #and my mom is gonna fukcing kill me if i get bad gradesn so thats!!!! great!!!!#god i also have to pack up my whole dorm room by myself before i leave on the 25th #and lug it all to storage on my own god :(#im upet it's fine #personal

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bibliocratic · 3 years

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How about Jon Martin and the cursed trip to IKEA?

Thanks for the prompt! :D

I’m sure this absolutely could have been read as like ‘IKEA is not-so-secretly a Spiral domain’ but this non-Euclidean hell-hole is of mortal making I’m sure of it.

(I love and fear you IKEA, never change <3)

“I simply don’t see the reason why we’d ever need them.”

“If we have guests over!”

“We’ve never had guests over.”

“One day we might!”

“And over for what?”

“I dunno! Dinner or something, make a night of it.”

“Martin, neither of us can cook.”

“Well, we could learn.”

“Alright, fine. Pushing that to one side for the moment, my question is why do our hypothetical guests require a different set of fancier cutlery? What’s wrong with the ones we’ve got at home?”

“I mean, nothing really, just… well, it’s a thing, isn’t it? Having some nice stuff to bring out if people come round.”

“Will we be moving on to the fine china aisle next?”

“Maybe! Ha, ha, don’t give me that look – Why not splash out a little? At worst, we just have more forks and some extra knives.”

“…Alright, fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Before I come to my senses. But I reserve the right to refuse guests the good cutlery if they’re undeserving.”

“What, are you planning some rigorous questionnaire they’ve got to pass first?”

“Absolutely. Come on then, the fine china awaits.”

Alfonse has never really been one for home improvement. He’s got a rolled-up stick of posters that he’s dragged around from his old room to student digs to slightly nicer student digs since he was a teenager, their corners creased and dotted with blue-tack stains. He’s had the same chipped plate, chipped bowl, chipped cup set since uni, and has been belligerent about swapping them out for anything less likely to shatter the next time he puts it in the dishwasher. But it’s their first flat together, and it feels real, and grown-up, and kind of scary, and he thinks that it’s important to get this part right, to set their life together off with a different start than the other places. Meaning that now, somehow, they’ve got a squeaky-wheeled trolley full of pillows and a cheese grater and storage containers that aren’t see-through plastic boxes and honest-to-god frames for his Quentin Tarantino posters. He’s finding himself entertaining the rather luxurious thought of buying a large and leafy potted plant to brighten up their cramped living room.

Tom is in his element here, and he’s put on his ridiculous reading glasses that Alfonse says make him look like Dame Edna, peering over their chunky glittery frames to inspect the ballroom’s worth of lighting they’ve found themselves amongst. He’s humming as he does so, making notations with the pint-sized pencil they collected at the door. Alfonse is entirely content to let him take the reigns on this one.

He idly people-watches for a while, making noises of interest at another floor lamp when it’s expected of him – the students clearing out the kitchenware section, lugging around the straining blue blags, the parents with children who have been swayed by the toys – before he catches sight of a man circling the desk lamps. Glancing down at his phone, gnawing on his lower lip with some discontent before he glances up and around the terrain before frowning. He swings his phone in an arc, giving the hope of it a hopeful tap, muttering a comeoncomeoncomeon under his breath.

His mobile gives a chirpy buzz, and the man almost hits himself in the ear with the force of answering.

“Where are you?” Alfonse overhears. “I can’t… Jon… Jon, you’re breaking up, yeah, the signal’s… Jon. I’m by the lamps… The lamps. Lamps. I’ve got the trolley, yes, yes – you… hello?”

Alfonse hears a very emphatic fuck’s sake before he decides to go back to Tom and leave the man suffer in private.

Sinead’s planted herself on one of the sofas in the well-lit display areas and has committed to not budging an inch for at least ten minutes. The fabric is a cheery yellow, and it suits the colour-coordinated pretend living room, but she’s not sure she’d choose it herself.

She’s getting a headache. Mel’s off with her nephews and nieces over in the kid’s bedroom section and she just needs five more minutes before she can look at another floral wallpaper or toy car bed.

She’s disrupted from massaging her temples by an irate-looking man with some rather intense eyebrow game throwing himself down on the half-egg-shaped armchair nearby, letting forth a truly impressively disgruntled sigh.

“You look like you’re suffering,” she offers, because she is and she wants to know someone else is too, and he nods peevishly and gives another irritated noise.

“I didn’t realise there’d be so much drama involved in buying a sofa,” he grumbles.

“Amen,” she agrees. They share a quiet moment of strung-out solidarity as they sit moulded into the seat cushions.

“… What’s that one called?” the man asks after a moment of stewing in his own mood.

She shrugs but picks up the tag and squints at it.

“Brathult? With one of those… those A’s that have the little bobble hat. Apparently, it comes in yellow, blue and green.”

“Comfortable?”

“Not bad.”

“Hm.” For a while he goes silent. Then he points out two sofas tucked into different displays and artfully layered with appropriate throw pillows; the first, a stocky black number set upon a sleek wooden frame that serve as its legs, the second, a dense cuboid of cushions currently being looked over by in fastidious detail by a tussle-haired man wearing a t-shirt covered in lots of small cartoon cacti.

“Between that one and that one,” her companion in furniture-based suffering says. “What do you think?”

Sinead studies them carefully.

“The second.”

He huffs. It was clearly not the answer he wanted.

“Why?”

“Not sure. I guess, yeah, it’s not as flashy, but the cushions look deeper. And there’s more width there, even just looking at them.”

“But the first one has all that space under it to store things.”

“Yeah, but you just know it’s going to build up with dust, and you’d be having to get the hoover under it all the time. It seems a bit finnicky.”

The man gives a considering nod.

“You’re right.”

He hefts himself up and calls over to the other display room: “Martin!”

The tussle-haired man whirls around.

Her companion holds up his hands. “You were right. The second one.”

The tussle-haired man looks smugly victorious. Sinead tries to hide her smirk at the sight.

Andy’s heaving the flat-pack box for a small bookcase into their trolley when they hear a conversation bleed through from the other side of the huge metal shelves in the warehouse part of the store.

“I’ve got it, I’ve got it.”

“It’s coming down on my side – woahwoahwoah – ”

“It’s – Christ, swing it this way a bit – ”

“I’ve not – Jon, I’ve not got – it’s – Jon, it’s slipping.”

“Put it down – DOWN – yes, that’s… Right. Let’s… let’s just have a moment. Catch our breath.”

“God, why’s it so heavy? It’s not like it’s even that big!”

Andy pops their head around to the other side of the shelf. Two men are puffing and sweaty, the colour on their faces blooming with exertion. Between the two of them is the long and bulky cardboard box they are clearly trying to manhandle into their trolley.

“Do you… um, do you need a hand?” they ask.

The shorter one waves a polite but dismissive hand before they manage to wrangle some air into their lungs.

“We’re good, thanks.” He says. The taller one raises an eyebrow.

Andy knows well enough to leave them to it.

“Hmmm! You weren’t lying about the meatballs.”

“I know right, like, what’s the secret?”

“Probably E-numbers.”

“Don’t ruin these for me, Jon!”

“Haha, alright. Help me out with the chips?”

“You finished?”

“The hot dog was enough, I’m getting full.”

“Pass them over then…. You know, I think we did alright with our spoils today. And it wasn’t so bad, all told.”

“We have to get this all in the car yet.”

“God, don’t remind me.”

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #fic

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just-a-creep-babe · 3 years

Text

Work Pest

(Habit x Reader)

Commissioned again by @selfshippinglover thank you so much bby, I love this mans 💖👄💖 I hope you like it <3

This ended up having a lot more plot than I initially planned, so I hope that's alright :”) Also I’ve never worked at a grocery store so I hope this isn’t too inaccurate 😅

~Requests are closed~

Masterlist: x

“Hey, (y/n). Hope you’re ready to work a lot today—we just got a shipment twice as big as we’re used to”

You hold back a groan as you set your things down at your spot in the employee’s room

You haven’t even started your shift yet and you’re already dreading the monotonous, repetitive work you’ll be doing for the next eight hours

“And the new person we hired just bailed on us, so you’ll be on your own for a while…” she reluctantly continues

This time, you don’t bother quieting your disapproval

“Crap, really? I thought they liked it here”

“Yeah, well, apparently they didn’t… They said something about the boss being too demanding before leaving”

You sigh

While it is true that your manager orders you around a lot, you don’t think he‘s too overbearing

It is his job, after all—he does what he has to in order to keep things working

“Alright, well, any more problems I should be made aware of?”

You give your coworker a teasing smile, trying to lighten the mood

Despite being the bearer of bad news, you know none of this is her fault, and she’s just trying to make end’s meet

In fact, between the two of you, even though she does have a higher position, you’re probably in a better financial situation than she is, thanks to a certain powerful entity that’s on your side

“I think that’s it,” she answers, clearly relieved that you’re not upset with her

“And, hey, after our shift is over,” she adds, “how ‘bout we go out for some fast food? On me”

“That sounds good,” you hum, “I could go for some curly fries”

“Great! It’s a date,” she giggles

And before you can pipe in again, she’s gathering her things and heading out to the front

You shake your head, chuckling

She knows you have a boyfriend—and a very possessive one at that—but it never stops her from being flirty

If anything, she finds it funny

If only she knew what she was messing with…

Releasing another sigh, you shake the thought away and ready yourself for the day’s plentiful work

•••

The first half of your shift flies by without a hitch

You lose yourself in your work, mind zoning off to the familiar daydreams that always keep you company

It’s only when you finish stocking the fourth aisle that you realize you might not get everything done today

You hate knowing your boss will ask you to stay overtime, but you tell yourself it’s not your fault

You’re doing everything you can with the time you have—this just wasn’t meant to be a one-person job

Still, you try not to let it get to you as you stack cans of food together in neat little rows

Just as you begin pushing your trolley of now empty shipment boxes back to the storage room, you’re suddenly forced to a halt as you bump into a shopper you hadn’t noticed

“Oh, shoot! I’m so sorry, I didn’t—Habit?”

Surely enough, your one and only possessive lover is standing in front of your cart, his hand outstretched to stop you from hitting him, with that damn grin on his face

He tuts playfully

“You should watch where you’re going, little rabbit~ You could’ve seriously injured little ol’ me”

He flashes his pearly white canines, his lips playfully curling back

“H-habit, what’re you doing here? I have a ton of stuff to do today, I can’t get distracted”

His smile falters, but only for a second before quickly returning

“Aww, c’mon, little rabbit, don’t be like that”

He makes his way around the cart, casually sauntering up to you

You’re forced to step back a few paces as he presses closer into you—all the way until your back’s hitting the shelves and he’s got you cornered

Two strong, thick arms cage you in

You pray to god that no one—especially not your boss or coworker, walk in on you in such a predicament

“Don’t try to tell me your work isn’t boring. I’m just trying to help out by spicing things up a bit~” he practically purrs as he leans in even closer

“Besides, I’ve missed my little rabbit,” he admits, “I haven’t had nearly enough time to spend with you recently. I’m just trying to make up for that”

He’s so close

The distance between the two of you is nearly nonexistent

His eyes keep flickering to your mouth and you can tell he wants you to kiss him

You want to kiss him too

You really, really do

But just as you’re about to lean in, you manage to snap yourself out of it

There’s no way you’ll be able to resist giving in if you press your lips to his

He’ll have you wrapped around his finger if you slip up and you both know it

So, you press your hands to his broad chest and gently push him away, despite already missing his closeness as soon as you do so

“H-Habit, no—stop-stop trying to distract me,” you stutter

He “hmphs,” narrowing his eyes, almost challenging you to change your mind

But you don’t back down—you won’t

You cross your arms and quirk your brow, trying to look as set and confident in your decision as you possibly can

And, surely enough, a few moments of staring each other down, he gives up, sighing grumpily

“Fine. Can you at least finish early today? The house feels so empty without you,” he pouts, and you have to stifle your laughter because here he is, this all-powerful being, acting like a spoiled child because he wants to spend time with you

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” you apologize, “I think I’ll have to work overtime tonight”

You intentionally leave out the part where your coworker asked you out on a date, because even though it is platonic, you know damn well he wouldn’t react too kindly to the news

He groans

“You’re gonna be the death of me, (y/n)”

•••

After Habit leaves, you’re left to return your focus and attention back to your work without any more distractions

Or at least, for the moment, anyways

You fill out more shelves, meticulously restocking every product so that they look as appealing as possible for customers to buy

Back and forth, you move between the back room and the open aisles more times than you care to count, lugging box after box full of fresh, new supplies to place in their designated spots

You’re a little over halfway through the shipment when you get to the breakfast section

Half empty shelves of granola bars, oatmeals and cereals attract a few customers that absent-mindedly compare labels

Maneuvering through them, you spot what needs to be refilled and begin getting to work

You push the few boxes that remain to side to make room for the new ones

And, lo and behold, when you look back through the now open space in the shelves, you’re met with a signature grin from the other side

“Who’s this little cutie? Fancy meeting you here~”

“Habit!” you cry out his name, voice escaping much louder than you expected

You can feel the customers simultaneously all turn their attention to you—like you’re a madwoman for exclaiming his name to yourself

Your face flushes beneath their inquisitive gazes

You lean in, trying to ignore them to talk to the man on the other side

“Why are you still here?” you urge, torn between wanting to keep your voice down and being too surprised to control your volume

“Awh, you aren’t happy to see me again, bunny?~” he teases

Seeing him again does lift your spirits, but you know if you admit it, he won’t let it go

“You know that’s not the case,” you sigh, “I just have a lot to get done today”

A customer passes by behind you, and you watch as Habit’s face tenses and he almost snarls when they linger to give you a strange look

But then they move away, and his eyes snap back to you, carefree grin returning like nothing happened in the first place

“Well, don’t let me distract you. I’m just doing some grocery shopping. Why else would I be here? Certainly not because the enchantingly beautiful employee won’t get out of my head…”

You almost want to look mad at him for tempting you away from your work—again—but his grinning is contagious

And he looks so charming with that playful, mischievous look in his eyes that you’re utterly powerless to stop the smile from spreading to your face

You shake your head, and it seems like his demeanor relaxes a little, seeing that he’s made you smile

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

Before he can say anything else and further distract you, you replace the hole in the shelf with a box of cereal, effectively cutting off your opening for conversation

Hearing him grunt from the other side has you snickering

You don’t know what’s gotten into him today, but you do know he’s not gonna make this shift easy for you

Admittedly, can’t say you aren’t thankful for it, though

Finishing the shelf you’re currently on, you move onto the next portion of work ahead of you

You manage to finish up the whole aisle with relative speed and ease, thinking about Habit the whole time and how he‘s probably still lurking around the corner, waiting to surprise you

You bring your cart back to the storage room, unpack the empty boxes, heave on some loaded ones, and return to the front once more

You’re about to finish stocking up the next aisle when you feel a tap on your shoulder

You shake your head, smiling

“Habit, at least let me finish these boxes…”

When you turn around, instead of being faced with who you expect, you find your coworker, her brow quirked expectantly with her lips tugging into a smile

“Crap, I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else,” you laugh awkwardly, your face warming

How many times are you going to embarrass yourself today?

She laughs along

“Yeah, no kidding. I saw your boyfriend, though. He was chatting up the boss... more like threatening, actually. Just figured I should let you know,” she explains with a shrug

“Crap. I shouldn’t have told him I’d have to stay behind tonight,” you groan, smacking your face into your palm

“Hey, it’s no big. Maybe the boss will stop understaffing us if he scares him good enough. Here, why don’t you go check up on them?” she suggests, gently nudging you in the direction of his office, “I’ll finish this up for you real quick”

“Thanks. Really, you’re a lifesaver”

“Oh stop, it’s nothing,” she reassures you, laughing again

“We can reschedule our date, too. I don’t wanna face your guard dog’s wrath,” she teases

If you could sweat-drop like an anime character, you’d be doing that just about now

As much as you love her, she really has no idea what she’s messing with when it comes to Habit

“R-right, thanks again. I’ll try not to be too long. I’ll be back to pick up on the next section!” you call back over your shoulder, already heading to your boss’ rescue

But right as you’re turning around a corner, you bump into something hard and solid

The impact would have knocked you on your ass, if it wasn’t for the warm pair of hands wrapping around your hips to keep you upright

“Easy now, little rabbit. Didn’t I say you should watch where you’re going? You could’ve hurt yourself”

“J-jesus fuck, you’re gonna give me a heart attack one day!”

You press your hand to your chest, trying to calm your frantically beating heart

He chuckles, the sound smooth and husky, as he pulls you in closer

“Relax, bunny. You know I’d never let anything bad ever happen to you~”

You groan, stuffing your face into the crook of his neck as he rocks you back and forth

“You’re an absolute pest today, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know,” he snickers, “But, hey, on the bright side, your manager just had a sudden change of heart and he won’t be making you work overtime. I think he might even let you leave early. Isn’t that great news?”

He’s not even trying to hide the fact that he just threatened the person you work for

You groan and push away from him

“Habit, what did I say about threatening people?” you ask, admonishing him like you’re disciplining a new puppy

His smirk falls

“Not to,” he begrudgingly grumbles

Your mouth quirks into a smile

He’s so adorable, you can’t possibly stay mad at him

“Alright, it’s ok. All is forgiven. But I’m still finishing my shift for the day, m’kay?”

You gently pat him on the cheek, hoping he’ll agree without further argument

But, of course, him being him, he doesn’t drop the matter so quickly

“Why?” he huffs, “You don’t even have to work. I can give you all the money—all the crap you could possibly ever want. Why don’t you let me spoil you?”

He purrs out that last part, his voice splitting

You look off to the side, contemplating how you should word your next sentence

“Habit…” you hesitate, not wanting to hurt his feelings, “I just… I feel like I need to do this. It makes me feel productive, like I’m helping out. I don’t wanna sit around and just do nothing all the time, you know?”

“You wouldn’t be doing nothing all the time, bunny. You’d be keeping me entertained~”

He croons the last word in his true voice again, gently taking both your hands in his and pressing them to his chest, that playful expression never leaving his face

You roll your eyes, fighting off a smile for the umpteenth time today

“I have to get back to work, Habit. My coworker can’t cover me forever”

He groans when you pull away—again

“My shift’s almost done, I’ll see you in a few hours, m’kay?”

Without waiting for his reply, you turn the other way and start making a beeline to the next portion of stock that needs to be refilled

You feel his eyes on you the whole time that you’re walking away

•••

Finally

After what feels like way too long, you reach the second to last section you need to refill

You’ve skipped over a quarter of the work you’ve had to do, telling yourself you’ll just have to suck it up and do it on your next shift

But, for now, you have about an hour and a half to finish whatever you can

You think for sure Habit’s left the store by now

There’s no way he’d stick around that long just to mess with you

But you’re quick to realize you’re deeply mistaken as a familiar voice croons “missed a spot~” right near your ear as you’re stacking cans of soup

“F-fuck!” you swear loudly, jumping in surprise, hands fumbling with the can you’re holding until it slips from your grasp and onto the floor

But before it can hit the ground, with reflexes faster than you can keep up with, Habit snatches it back up like it’s nothing

Your whirl around to face him, only to find him inches away from you

His mouth, curled up into that same damn smirk, is unbearably tantalizingly close

“Careful, little rabbit,” he chuckles, “you almost made a mess. This could’ve burst open”

He throws the can up in the air as he speaks, then catches it back into his hands, toying with it

He’s so smug

“You scared the shit out of me! What’re you still doing here?”

He steps back, holding his free hand to his heart in mock offence

“I stay with you at your work, trying to make your day brighter, and this is the thanks I get? Unbelievable,” he shakes his head, tsking

As silly as it is, knowing he’s stuck around such a boring place for this long—just for you—has you feeling all kinds of warm and fuzzy

"Come on, you know I didn’t mean it like that,” you laugh, trying to bargain with him

It’s all it takes for him to drop the act

“I know,” he winks, “besides, I knew I had to keep an eye on you. You’re so clumsy~”

You decide it’s your turn to fake offence

“Oh yeah? And who’s fault is that?” you ask, sassily placing your hands on your hips

“Mine,” he proudly admits, voice splitting for a moment

You’re torn between wanting to smack that smug grin off of him and wanting to kiss him

Deciding the latter is probably better, you lean in

But just as your lips are ghosting over his, you hear a surprised “oh!” from down the alley

You pull apart immediately to find your coworker standing a few feet away

Her face cracks into a huge grin as you make eye contact

“My bad, didn’t mean to bother you! Carry on, lovebirds~”

“W-wait—!”

Before you can stop her, she’s turning on her heels and speed walking into the opposite direction

You’re mortified

You’re about to chase after her, but Habit wraps his arms around you and pulls you flush to him once more

“Ah ah ah,” he chastises, “no you don’t. I’ve been waiting all damn day for a kiss and I’m not letting you go until I’ve had it”

“B-but Habit—“ you whine, squirming in his hold

Unsurprisingly, you’re helpless to escape him

He’s so much stronger than you; he doesn’t even budge

“No buts! Only kisses,” he insists

You still want to head after your coworker, but how could you possibly resist that lopsided grin?

With an exaggerated defeated sigh, you give in

“Well… I suppose if I don’t have any other choice…”

“You don’t~”

He takes your hands and wraps them around his neck, making you hold onto him so that you can press your nose to his

“In 47 minutes and 56 seconds, I’m gonna get you out of this place and we can go watch some cheesy movie—your pick,” he hums

Your lips twitch into a smile

“I’d like that. But you’re still gonna owe me for distracting me so much today. My shift isn’t even over and you’re making me slack off as if I’m not on the clock”

“Yeah, well, about that…”

His grin widens, and you immediately recognize that look; he’s done something you wouldn’t approve of

“Oh no,” you groan, pulling away, “what did you do?”

He shrugs, snickering to himself

“Your boss thought you were working so damn hard lately that you deserve a break. So he’s been so generous as to give you the day off tomorrow”

“What!? But there’s so much work to be done!”

“Yeah, well, I managed to convince the fucker to hire someone else—someone who won’t bail on you and who’ll actually help out from now on. Tomorrow’s their first day, so you’ve no need to come in”

You look at him, beyond incredulous

“What? How did you manage to get him to do that on such short notice?”

“I have my ways~ Now. If I’m not mistaken, I believe I’m still owed a kiss. Two now, I’d say, since I saved your ass from having to do all this work by yourself”

You roll your eyes

Quickly leaning in, you give him a peck on the cheek

He quirks his brow, expecting more

And when you go to kiss his other cheek, he turns his head and your lips finally connect

You hum against him, savoring his warmth pressing against you, lingering for a moment before parting

“You’re an absolute pest,” you remind him again

“Don’t worry, little rabbit, I know~” he chuckles, “and you love it”

“You’re right, I do,” you agree, as you move back in to connect your lips to his one more time

#habit #habit x reader #emh #emh habit x reader #everymanhyrbid

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cringelordlikesplaz · 3 years

Text

Strange to be an Eel

Turning into silly putty wasn't the strangest thing that had happened to him, honestly. It’s everything that happened after that which was weird.

"Please! I'm begging you, Jake bailed last minute and we don't have any replacements! This musical is our last chance. If this flops, we'll never be able to keep this place open!" She cried. 'She' being a short woman with desperate tears in her eyes and too many freckles.

Eel pulled his wrist out of her surprisingly strong grip. He shook his hand off and observed the woman in front of him. She looked stressed, tired, and a general mess. Her name tag read ‘Penny’.

"Well, Penny." He said curtly, "I got things to do. Better things to do than-"

"But you're the perfect fit! You're the right size, you already know all the lines-"

"Seeing a musical five times doesn't mean I've memorized-"

Penny snapped to attention and pointed her finger into the air dramatically. The imaginary audience located in the storeroom fell silent.

"And if I'm not here to save the day- Then as God as my witness, I'll be here to save the night!"

"-It's 'then as the gods as my witnesses'." Eel pointed out. Penny smiled smugly and Eel shook himself off.

"That doesn't prove anything. And it doesn't change the fact I can't go onstage!" Eel said.

"You'll be wearing makeup and goggles! A hat too! No one will be able to recognize you in costume!" Penny said, suddenly desperate again.

"No! I won't do it!" Eel said in response to her puppy eyes.

"Please! Please, Bruce Wayne's out there and if this goes well the PR will be fantastic!" She said, tears beginning to fall.

Eel looked up at the cracked ceiling and let out a long, long groan.

"I want 100 bucks." Eel said.

"Deal!" Penny said, the tears instantly evaporating.

Damn actors.

~~~

So, the musical rendition of the hit show 'The Grey Ghost' went pretty damn well, in Eel's opinion. He was skeptical at first, as anyone should be, but he had to admit it, Penny was right. He was an amazing Grey Ghost.

It helped that Eel had been a fan of the Grey Ghost since he was a boy, and it also maybe helped that he had snuck into the theater to see the practice runs of the play five times. He had thought he was being sneaky, but apparently theater kids could like, smell intruders. Fresh blood, if you would.

He hadn't known what would happen when he was cornered by a very manic little blond lady, but it ended up surprisingly well. He even got paid.

After he and the other actors had taken their bows or whatever, Eel snuck back to the storeroom. He pried off the grey suit- it was kinda itchy honestly- and began to dig around for his usual clothes.

He put his suit on. The nice one, that didn't pinch his shoulders and had all his crap in the pockets. He buttoned up the coat and pulled out his glasses. They were black and pretty slick, if he was honest with himself. Which he was. Occasionally.

The temples were wide and helped hide his eyes from the side. They hid his scar even better. They were sunglasses, unfortunately, not the best eyewear to have in Gotham, but he liked them. And that was enough for now.

They were also expensive as all hell. Some sort of designer brand. He would wear them till they broke for how much they cost him.

There was a knock on the door.

"I'm decent," Eel said.

Penny opened the door and held her clipboard to her chest excitedly. Her eyes sparkled.

"So." She said.

"So?" He asked.

"So! Y'know how Bruce Wayne was in the crowd tonight?" She asked.

"Yup," He said.

"He liked it! He liked it so much he wants to fund us!" She said, "And he wants to meet you."

Eel blinked. "He what?"

"He said your performance was incredible! He wants to meet you!"

"No."

"No?" She asked, her head cocked, "But you've got so much talent! He could get you a job, y'know."

"No. Just- no." Eel shook his head. He could just hear the sirens now. "I can't, Penny."

She seemed like she wanted to press him- like she did with getting him into the costume. But something on his face made her reconsider, apparently.

"Alright." She said, sighing, "I'll tell him you're not available."

"Thanks, pal." Eel said.

They stood awkwardly.

"I need to go." He said, pointing behind her to the door.

"I- okay." She said. Penny stepped aside and Eel left the storage room, Penny following behind. She led him to the backdoor.

"Um, thank you...?" She said as he stepped out into the alley.

"It's best if you don't know my name." Eel said.

"Will you be back?"

"Probably not." Eel said, "What with your success here tonight- I think there's going to be too much foot traffic around for a crook like me to be hidden."

She smiled softly, "You weren't very hidden in the first place."

"I'll have you know I've hidden from cops in more obvious spots."

"I think that says more about the GCPD than it does your skill," Penny said.

Eel huffed, mockingly offended.

"Later, miss." He said, turning to leave.

"Goodbye." She said.

Penny waved to his back and waited for him to slink into the shadows before she shut the door.

~~~

"Eel O'brian." A gruff voice called.

Eel grinned and craned his head around to look at a familiar face.

"Matches! Ol' pal, where've you been? It's been ages." Eel said.

Matches Malone slid into the seat next to him at the bar. The bartender wordlessly handed Matches a drink and Matches wordlessly slid a few bills over the counter.

Eel took a sip of his own drink- a cocktail.

"I've heard there's work around." Matches said, taking his match out of his mouth to take a sip of his drink. Whiskey probably.

"I mean, yeah-" Eel said, rolling the cherry around his glass for the hell of it, "But there's always work around."

"Hmm."

"Yeah yeah, I know what ya mean." Eel said, nodding. "You want the work that won't have you dressed up as a daisy and punched by a furry. I gotcha."

"Hmm."

"I miss the good 'ol days, Matches. Before all these folks in spandex came along and started going nuts all over town-" Eel paused, taking a sip of his cocktail, "-But I do got to admit it; the spandex is pretty hot."

"I need cash." Matches said, ever eloquent.

"Cheers to that!" Eel laughed. He downed the rest of his drink, swallowing the cherry.

"Where's the work?" Matches finally asked, and Eel's grin faltered. Always work and no play with this guy.

But Matches seemed to like him well enough, so Eel wouldn't hold it against him.

"So, new boss in the West part of town looking to hire some folks. I think they're hiding something pretty big, but we won't know that 'till we get there, won't we, Matches?" Eel said.

"Hmm."

"Yeah, me too buddy."

~~~

Things at the new job were getting crazy. Like, really really crazy. Like the type of crazy he spent a great amount of his time trying in vain to avoid. Super crazy.

Pun intended.

It started off fairly normal. By Gotham standards anyway. Looting places. Stealing. Scarin' the living daylights out of folks. Keeping out of the limelight.

But the boss turned out to be working for an even bigger boss- who had a penchant for monologuing- and Eel couldn't help the sinking feeling he had in his gut.

And then the boss- the small boss and not the bigger, monologuing boss- somehow kidnapped Batgirl of all people and decided to drown her. And he did it in this big glass chamber with a valve on the side.

He stood in front of it, glaring at each of his men accusingly.

He had each of them turn the valve, adding a few inches of water to the chamber, and taking few inches of air away from Batgirl. He was trying to root out a snitch. Or, as he put it, a bat.

Matches didn't even hesitate. Eel wished he had that guy's confidence.

But Eel? He wasn't a big fan of murder. It made him feel icky. It kept him awake at night. He already had enough insomnia, thank you very much.

And Batgirl- She was just a kid. A baby-faced teenager. Up close, she was no longer a force of nature fighting alongside a cryptid. She was a teenager up to her nose in water, her clothes torn and bloody.

Eel went last.

He put his hands on the valve and-

He couldn't do it.

He wouldn't.

A lot of things happened after that.

The boss (the small one) told the rest to shoot him down, and Eel had a half a second to view his terrible life before Matches tackled him to the floor.

The glass of the chamber broke and the room was suddenly flooded with a lot of water and one very mad vigilante. Then a window got busted in, even more glass flying, and then two Robins showed up- There was the young Robin who was grumpy and the other older Robin that wasn't Robin anymore but Eel couldn't really be bothered to remember his name at the moment.

There was fighting, gunfire, blood, and then there was glass in his hands-

And then Matches had somehow manifested them both outside and set Eel on his feet.

"You-" Eel spluttered, "You saved me!"

Matches looked at Eel. Eel looked at Matches. The street was quiet. Inside the building, it was not.

"Thank you." Eel said softly.

"...You cost me my payment." Matches said at last.

Eel's face fell.

"I just- She's just a kid, Matches. I ain't a monster." Eel said.

Matches shook his head and walked away, leaving Eel on the sidewalk with glass in his hands.

Guess he was wrong about Matches.

~~~

That day wasn't too bad, though. In the middle of the night he was woken up to a knock at his window. His fourth story window in his crappy apartment.

He opened his window and suddenly a basket was shoved into his arms. He fumbled with it for a second, his hands still raw. There was a blur of movement and Eel was left standing half-naked holding a- a gift basket?

He sorted through it- it had cash and cookies and bandages. It also had a plain white card. He opened it and raised a brow in surprise.

"Thanks for not drowning me!"

It was signed with a little bat drawn in the corner.

The cookies were delicious.

~~~

The safe was built into the wall. The safe itself wasn't too big, and the wall was only made of plaster. It would be a pain to lug the safe back to base though. And it would cost precious seconds to hack away at the wall to get the safe out-

There was really only one option. The bomb he had was small and wouldn't do much in terms of excavation- but it would absolutely open up that pesky Wayne-Tech lock.

"Alright guys, we need to get back-" Eel didn't hear anyone. He turned- "Guys?"

"It's been a while, O'brian." Batman said, surrounded by the unconscious bodies of his crime buddies. Well, not really buddies- you get the point.

"Batman! Hello! I don't think we've met," Eel said, swinging on his heel and turning to face his doom.

"No, we haven't. But when I didn't hear word from the police of any of your activity for a few months- well." Batman took a silent step closer. "One tends to worry."

"Oh? Me? Lil 'ol me? You shouldn't have." Eel batted his eyelashes, though the effect was diminished as he was wearing his shades.

"You plan these heists well." Batman said slowly, "You waited until the Riddler attacked to go for this safe. You got past the cameras without setting off the alarm. You tipped off the police of where you'd be- on the other side of town."

Eel tried to reach for the detonator on the bomb. If he could just- "You flatter me, Batman really, but I-"

"We could use a man like that on our side, O'brian." Batman said. "A smart man like you could do some real good in the world."

Eel laughed. That was the most wrong thing he'd ever heard. He laughed but it wasn't funny.

He pressed the button and the bomb started counting down from 10.

"I don't think so, Bats. I'm not the hero type." Eel said, and then tried to make a run for it. Batman caught him by the collar.

"It's not about types. There's good in you."

"I really wish I could stay and chat, but I gotta split." Eel said, slipping his arms out of his coat and breaking into a mad sprint.

The bomb let out a single shrieking beep before it detonated.

Eel didn't turn back to see what happened to Batman.

~~~

A deal went wrong. Unsurprising. They broke his leg. Unsurprising. He was alive. Surprising! Unfortunately, he was still very much crippled and bleeding out from somewhere.

He limped along the sidewalk at night, always a dumb thing to do. His vision was either going or the lighting in this city was getting worse by the moment. Given that he lived in Gotham, it was likely both.

He limped into a grassy part of the city- a park of some sort. He'd get caught soon. Or maybe he'd bleed out and die. He couldn't manifest the energy to care either way.

He flopped down onto the grass, for lack of any other bright ideas. He couldn't see the stars through the cloud cover. Tragic.

"Hey." A commanding voice called. He looked around until he spotted a scantily-clad woman. She was green and wearing leaves and had bright red hair and was looking at him like he was a pile of dead slugs.

Oh. Oh crap. Oh crap that's Poison Ivy.

Eel tried to shrink into the ground.

"Hiiiii Poison Ivy, how's the weather?" He asked. He tried to smile charmingly but it was most likely very strained and bloody.

"Why are you bleeding on my flowers?" She asked, a single brow raised.

"Haa, would you believe that blood makes a great fertilizer?" Eel said.

"It does." She said.

"Uh," Eel had lost too much blood for him to come up with a witty remark.

"Please don't kill me." He said.

"Greater men than you have begged for mercy. What makes you better?" She asked, head cocked.

"I can, uh," Eel panicked, "I can give you my grandma's recipe for caramel coffee."

Poison Ivy's other eyebrow raised.

They looked at each other for a moment.

Then, a shrill voice called from across the park.

"Ivy! Come on!! What are you even doing?!"

Eel was fairly certain he was hallucinating now. Blood loss and all that. Because Harley Quinn, wearing a football jersey and sweatpants, came running up to stand besides Poison Ivy.

"We're going to miss the game," Harley pouted, then took notice of Eel, "Who's that mess?"

"Someone who can make caramel coffee, apparently." Poison Ivy said, bemused.

"I like caramel." Harley said.

Poison Ivy shrugged, "We can keep him if you want."

"I also like coffee..." Harley tapped her chin in consideration, "Yeah we'll take him. Come on, Ivy!"

~~~

That was how he ended up getting high with Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy. His leg was propped up on a table, a bong was being passed around, the apparent football game played on the TV in front of them. They were in a greenhouse and the city’s lights shone through the glass almost magically. This was probably not what someone suffering from blood loss should be doing. Eel almost considered making a break for it.

But Poison Ivy was the Weed Queen of Gotham, and getting this stuff free? Too good to pass up.

Harely had seemingly forgotten about the promised coffee, but since they hadn’t killed him yet and gave him weed, Eel decided he'd write the recipe down for them before he left.

"I don't get why capes dress the way they do," Harely said, "I mean, rogues have the same problem but like, it's more noticeable with the heroes, y'know?"

"Like, the boob windows?" Ivy asked. Harley nodded enthusiastically.

"Yeah, yeah! The boob windows." Harely said, "Why do all the guys wear kevlar and body armor and the girls got to show off their tits?"

"Maybe the dudes should show off their tits too." Eel said.

Poison Ivy laughed and Harely nodded even more enthusiastically.

"Yeah! This guy gets it!"

"See, if I were to go running around in spandex-" Eel gestured to his very much not spandex coated body, "I'd show off my cleavage all the time."

"Men don't have cleavage," Ivy pointed out.

"Not with that attitude they don't." Harley said, "Say, Eel, if you ever get tits, come over so we can prove Ivy wrong."

Eel cackled, "Sure thing! And if I ever start wearing spandex as a hobby I'll make sure the V-neck plunges all the way down."

"You'd better!"

Ivy laughed and Eel was handed the bong again.

~~~

Eel wasn't even doing anything. He was in his apartment, minding his own business. Well actually he was trying to sleep but that wasn't going so well.

Then there was a tapping on his window. Feeling a sudden wash of deja-vu, Eel turned around. There was an otherworldly, haunting green glow coming from his window.

Pausing, and exercising a healthy amount of caution, walked over to the window.

A UFO hovered outside his window. A tiny one.

Eel rubbed his eyes.

The UFO bonked against the glass, seemingly wanting inside.

"uh," Eel said. Against every ounce of common sense, he opened the window.

The UFO flew inside his room, casting its light oddly through his home. There was a mechanical whir, and suddenly a robotic arm sprung out from the bottom of the ship.

"Uh," Eel said, regretting everything immediately.

The UFO then grabbed Eel by his good ankle, his other leg still in a cast for a few more weeks. He lost balance and hit his head on the floor. The small ship lifted him off the floor by his ankle, and then dragged him out the window. He tried to claw at the windowsill but the ship was too fast.

"UH,"

He dangled dangerously over what was at least a thirty foot drop. The UFO paid no mind to his panicked flailing, and instead began to go higher.

"OH GOD."

~~~

The small UFO took him to a bigger UFO, of course.

A small hole opened in the underside of the ship, and Eel was brought inside. The inside of an alien spaceship looked nearly identical to its outside, apparently. Weird and green.

The smaller ship finally dropped him off in a large circular room. He was set down gently on his back, but he still hissed in surprise. The metal floor was freezing and he was only in his shorts.

"Uh oh uh oh uh oh..." He muttered.

"Hello, human!" A cheery, buzzing voice greeted.

Eel looked around frantically and finally spotted a small, glowing blue light.

"Uh, hi?" He said to the light. The blue light bobbed up and down- excitedly?

"Human!" It said, "We are the-"

It said something that sounded eldritch to his human ears.

"-and we saw your performance!"

He blinked.

"...my what."

"On February 7th, approximately 11 months ago, you performed in the musical "The Grey Ghost Strikes Back!"." The light said. Several other colorful lights manifested around him.

"...uh huh."

"If you are wondering why you did not see us, the-" [REDACTED] "-in the crowd on the date of your performance, it is because we were not there."

"Ooohh kayyyy...."

"Batman recorded it and sent us a copy!"

Eel blinked. They were speaking alienese, he was certain of it.

"He also sent along with it 307 other forms of human entertainment as a welcome package to Earth!" It said, "And we must say, we really enjoyed your performance."

A red light, hovering just a little lower than the blue one, perked up.

"We especially enjoyed your performance in the third act, and would like to compliment your singing skills." The red light said.

"Thank you?" Eel said.

"If it is not too much trouble, human, we would like what is most commonly known to you as an 'autograph'." The blue light said.

"...alright."

~~~

The night started off odd, he'd admit it. But it wasn't bad. He signed some stuff. He didn't know what the things he signed were or what exactly he wrote with, but it hardly mattered. They asked him to sing a song from the musical- he did- and they somehow applauded him.

They gave him alien food, and he'd be damned if he didn't accept free food. Even if it was probably radioactive. It tasted like cotton candy. Again, not bad.

They told him a bit about their situation. Their home- somewhere on a different plane of existence- exploded. They were the last of their kind. Batman approached them, because he could do that apparently, and offered them a place on Earth.

"Our culture is based on entertainment. Each piece of what you call 'media' is like a fine work of art to us." They said.

"Oh, cool. So do you kidnap actors you like in other stuff?" Eel asked, trying to figure out the best way to consume the slime on a stick he'd been given. He decided there was no proper way to do that so he just decided to slurp it off.

"We would like to meet the actors and actresses in other media, but they usually just scream the whole time they are here. We gain the impression that they do not appreciate our hospitality." They said.

Eel shrugged, "I can't imagine why. You guys are great."

"You have taken this whole experience very well, comparatively."

"I mean- I'm a bit desensitized to weirdness." Eel said.

"Is this experience considered 'weird' to other humans?" They asked.

"Nah." Eel said, waving off their concern, and set his slime stick down, "Hey, I'd like to get home now. This has been fun and all, but it's kinda cold in here."

"Of course, human. We wish you fame and fortune for your future."

"Uh, you too?"

They dropped him off on the roof of his apartment building. The sun was beginning to rise. He made his way down the stairs, nearly naked and his leg still in a cast. He slept okay.

~~~

Eel was known for many things. He knew most, if not all, of those things were bad. Hell, all of the things he was known for would be bad to the common man. But to the common crook? Only most of those things would be considered bad.

Some of the things he was known for made him desirable.

He was a safecracker, he never got caught, he could make a good plan and stick to it. He was good at his job.

But Eel was not... valuable, per-say. He was a tool in most people's eyes. Something to be discarded when the job was done.

Eel knew this. Made his peace with it. He knew when he took this job that the guys he was working with didn't give two shits about him. But he needed their muscle for the security guards, and they needed his skill to crack the safe. They all needed the cash.

They walked into this big facility during a storm. Mr. Freeze was causing havoc in city hall again. The outer parts of the city didn't get the blizzard- they got the freezing rain.

The security guard appeared- he had a gun and he was willing to use it. If the folks he was working with were smart, which they weren't, they would have ran. Don't shoot back, don't have murder put onto your sentence along with theft and arson and everything else.

But they were stupid, and they shot blindly, and the guard shot Eel in the shoulder. And the bullet tore through his shoulder and into a container of something-

Another shot rang out, the guard fell.

There was a crack and suddenly Eel was soaked in something- it was bright and hot and it burned like the embers of Hell. He screamed, of course.

The people he was working with, his 'pals', stared at him for just a second.

"Eel-!"

"Eel doesn't have the cash, now run!"

Eel got up, and gave chase. His steps faltered and his vision swam.

He made it outside just in time to see them get into the car and book it.

"Adios, Eel!"

"You putrid punks!" He yelled, his hand clutching his shoulder. Everything burned. Everything throbbed. His pulse beat in his ears, the rain came down like knives, and the bullet hole poured blood like a faucet. But it was oddly thick- was it? The world kept wanting to wobble and spin.

The- the police. They'd be here soon. Maybe. Eventually. He needed to go.

He walked.

Down the street, down an alley, then another, then another, until the buildings began to spread out and trees and grass began to coat the land.

The rain was softer here. Warmer too. He climbed a shallow hill. Like climbing a mountain. His heart slammed the inside of his skull like a drum. There was a tree on the hill, its branches bare.

He collapsed beneath it.

He didn't have time to see if he could spot any stars before it all went black.

~~~

Eel's life had always, always been strange.

But it apparently that was just the beginning.

37 notes · View notes

jimlingss · 4 years

Text

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.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #seokjin fanfic #jin fanfic #jin fluff #jin scenario #jin reader insert #seokjin fluff #seokjin scenario #Jin as a scary chef :( who's just hardcore about his passion #yo this got Jungle Park Hoseok vibes lol ngl #actually it was inspired by the k-drama Oh My Ghost #I never finished watching it really but I based off the way their kitchen worked with this fic #so if it doesn't seem like a traditional kitchen that's why #I hope you guys enjoy this oneshot!#It's a more classic Jimlingss fluff #with a decent storyline

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kelkat9 · 3 years

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3 and 4 look sooo good. Would you mind telling a little bit more about either of them or sharing a sentence or two? 😍

3. Nine/Rose Human Nature AU This is a fic set after they meet Jack but he's not with them. They are running from the family and Nine is fobbed leaving Rose to look after him. It's August 1984 in Arkansas. Oh yes this is fake married.

I'll put #4 in a reblog :)

“Hi Maria,” Rose greeted, shifting the weight of the box of supplies she carried. “Como esta Ana, Reyna y Marquito?” By Maria’s smile she must have gotten at least some of the language right.

“Bueno, good, Senora Smyth,” Maria said in tentative English, shifting her infant daughter, Ana, closer to her left shoulder. “Muchisimas gracias por tu ayuda and the Doctor for la medicina y los libros.”

Rose flushed at the word Senora. She wasn’t. But they’d gone with it when everyone in town made the assumption. The Doctor hadn’t said anything other than tease her about how she’d made an honest man of him. Oh, if he only knew.

“We’re, el Doctor and me, are just um muy feliz los ninos are uh better, yeah.” Rose reangled the heavy box. “Lo siento, I have to get this into la clinica. We’ll drop off more books and stuff for the kids later. Que tengas un buen dia.” She winced even though the other woman smiled and wished her the same. Or at least thought so as she squeezed by a few people to walk into the tiny reception.

“Hey Dot, is he with a patient?” The older woman with a helmet of poofed gray hair arched a brow at Rose even as she helped one of their patients fill out an intake form.

“Always with someone. I swear that husband of yours never stops talking or passing out bananas. I can’t even stand the sight of them things after smelling them all day. And we have worse smells here, ya know, hon?”

Rose bit back giggles. Human or Time Lord, bananas were a prioroity it appeared.

“Sorry, he’s a bit of a health nutter sometimes. I’ll have a word with him and get the banana crate moved further back so you don’t have to smell ‘em.”

“I’m teasing you, sweetheart.” Dot waved her on before slipping an intake form into a manila folder and waving the next person forward. “He’s a good man. Cares for his patients and don’t put up with crap from anyone. Solved my gout and never took a dime from me. Did the same for Mrs. Rayburn even though she was complaining about the clinic and our patients chasing off her nonexistent customers. A load of bull hockey, if you ask me. That store’s only open two days a week and she does all her business at the flea market.”

Gossip was a commodity traded like gold. Rose did her best to stay out of it. Although being white, blonde and married to a Doctor seemed to make her part of the inner circle whether or not she wanted to be.

She’d had to run interference with the whole church crowd early on. God, the last thing she needed was to be run out of town because the Doctor got into a philosophical debate over religion. They’d moved so much already. And they had good work to do here. Unless the aliens found them.

She lugged the box to the storage area which doubled as the Doctor’s office in their cramped three room clinic. The flourscent lights flickered in greeting.

“There’s my lovely nurse slash wife slash favorite pink and yellow human!”

Rose startled as he popped up beside her shoving his arm into the box she just plunked down on his desk. Stacked with files, a rotary dial phone, and ripped apart radio and cassette recorder along with stacks of pink while you were out notes, it was his own personal chaos.

His appearance still caused her breath to catch, tight short sleeved t-shirt and jeans revealing his muscled biceps and oh she never knew she had a thing for forearms.

“Fantastic,” he exclaimed pulling plastic bags and wads of ace bandages. “Amoxicilin. Henry came through. Have Dot get a hold of Jazmina to stop by for her husband’s infection. Not as much as I’d like but we’ll ration. Hydrocortisone cream was a nice surprise. So’s the Benadryl. You’re too quiet,” he set everything down and cupped her cheek. “Flushed and temperature a bit elevated.”

Rose tried to calm her racing pulse but too late, he already had one calloused finger pressed to her wrist.

“I appreciate you running the errands, love but you’ve got to hydrate. Don’t need another heat stroke patient.”

“M’fine.” Rose shook herself out of the state of stomach fluttering attraction. “Like they say around here. It’s a scorcher. I got stuck in front of the post office by that cow Mrs. Trowsly talking shite about our patients.”

He snorted and dropped his hand grabbing an armful of supplies.

“Stupid ape.” A bit of her Doctor slipped out. “She thinks she’s some grand time lady, overseeing the town like her own personal Gallifrey.” His brow furrowed as his words caught up with him. Time for Rose to intervene.

“Don’t worry, I sorted her. Promised we’d take people in through the back during the town’s big end of summer festival.”

“What did you do that for?” He shot over his shoulder as he darted into his patient room and began stowing supplies in a cabinet.

“Cause it was easier than listening to a bunch of accusations and her calling the Sheriff. You know how he is and he doesn’t like you very much.”

“Good. As the American’s say, he’s a dick, harassing my patients for walking through town and buying groceries.”

“Yeah,” she agreed and helped unpack bandages and stow rubbing alcohol and sterile pads. “But we’re stuck with him and all of them for now. We have to do the good we can. When we leave, our patients have to deal with it.”

Fall out. The one thing they’d never had to deal with before.

“Always a step ahead in the domestics,” he added with a soft low burr in his voice. Blue eyes lasered into her until Rose practically heard the hum of the TARDIS. She dreamed of it so much now. And a whole lot more, if she was honest. Which she tried not to be and especially with the Doctor nearby. Honesty led to her possibly saying something dangerous. Like talking about her feelings for him. Or the past. Like everything that happened at the Game Station.

“I’m sorry,” He startled her, his tall frame filing the small cubical of a room. Heat poured off him as he took her hands in his. “I drag you into so much. Cross country, small towns, tyrants, old enemies and war. You deserve better.”

“Told you, wouldn’t trade it for the world. You’re stuck with me an we’re going to keep going, yeah? Help these people till it’s time to move on and then we’ll help someone else. It’s what we do…who we are.”

#Nine x Rose #snippet #Human Nature AU

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nickywhoisi · 2 years

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HAAAAAAAHHH SO IT HAS BEEN A WHILE

Curently in a place where I can finally access battery for my phone, and internet. I really wish I didn't have this take so long, as I apparently...have an audience now? Who actually likes what I have to say and provide? O_O wowzers I am so unready for this love. But it is...you have no idea how welcome it is, to just be noticed by people. It has been ACTUAL AGES OF MY LIFESPAN before I was evr given a proper chance at healthy attention, and positive relations like this. I am so...overwhelmed, but for once, that's in a good way. For once, I can feel glad and good about it.

Which is especially importantin my life, as I have...kind of lost everything I had once known and valued, loved, in my life. My home many years ago that has only gotten worse over time with the strangers owning and tearing it up in ways I vould never even describe, the last places I had which were at least places I tried to relax and enjoy myself in and attempt to start my own life on my own terms, which didn't really happen as I wanted, even any other place which had a bath, private toiletry and no rent pay which was always more my speed of living to begin with, family that revealed their true ugly nature over time. Everything I ever knew got upended and I feel very driven insane. And in this year I was sickeningly and mercilessly kicked out, WITH NO FINANCIAL SAFETY NET OR FRIENDS OUTSIDE OR ANYTHING ELSE TO FALL BACK ON, MIND. I WAS LITERALLY THROWN OUT TO DIE BY THE ONE WHO WAS CALLED "MY MOTHER". But the truth is, I have never in my life had a real mother, or entire family, no matter how hard or how long I've been searching. And there were so....no, too much that happened inbetween then and these few months, up to this month, where I am officially homeless. I have already spent days sleeping outside and it has been both freeing, but terrifying. I can't enjoy the freedom while I've been scared of problems arising from being hit by weather storms. I have had to teach myself and macgyver so many things just to ensure unexpected things don't happen outside, and I still don't know what I'm going to do when I finally need a shower. The only funds I have left anymore are what I have to pay a storage, my phone data plan, and buy food ONLY. Anything else for survival, I have to either rely on what I already own or buy the cheapest possible to conserve money. I was so afraid that I would never have internet or power again and I wouldn't be able to contact you all or ever have fun again, but thank god there's been free wifi spots and charging stations set up in certain places so I can camp out. As fir sleeping, I only have one chair to lug around and it has been SO IMPOSSIBLY TIRING SOMETIMES but at least I have something with a hood over me, and the additional protection of building roofs. I almost...feel both the weakest I've evr been, and physically stronger everyday, and I am so damaged and driven insane with rage and grief and I wantto die because it has been truly unbearable to GO THROUGH ALL OF THIS AND STILL NEVERBE HELPED...RESCUED BY ANYONE. I...just want to be adopted by a good family and brought to a real good home, to stay forever, and forget I ever went through this. Truly start my life all over and begin it like it deserved to be.

So to anyone who has bothered to read this...my god, thank you. I did say once that I wanted to only save this blog for fun happy good things, but so far, my real issues and situations have bled through in my speech anyway, so I think there's no going back now. Now that you know my story, I desperately ask that someone help me out. I live in Canada, around 80ave, in a red chair with a little canopy cover on it. That's all I can really say safely, without being doxxed for my identity. I don't want anyone but the right people to find me now...just to help me, rescue me from this homeless, familyless, friendless, joyless hell I have to face now, without any choice of my own. But for once, I want my choices to matter, AND be finalized, unchanged, unchallenged, unstolen away from me. I AM SO TIRED AND DEAD. I WANT TO DIE EVERYDAY BECAUSE NOONE AND NOTHING IS ALLOWING ME TO LIVE, THE WAY I ONCE EARNESTLY WANTED TO. GOD, HELP. ME.

#yeah I am actually under all this #I am actually crazy...so driven crazy with nothing good in my life anymore #except this #Tumblr...just this place so far #But its not the same as a real house to live in and be safe #I need to live with someone just for free I just can't deal with taxes or rent or anything...#I am not equipped it's like I am a domesticated animal that's been thrown out to become a stray #Or dead #Dear god someone help me #I'm driven insane over all these....every single piece of negativity I have had thrown in my face #And I cannot take any more...yet things keep coming and it nevr stops and I can't take this death life anymore #help

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xbunnybunz · 3 years

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love you miles away [teddy jin x reader]

Summary: [Giftfic for a friend.] You're leaving for the holidays and require a big, strong man to help you lug your shit onto a train. Well, you suppose Teddy will do.

Genre: Romance, fluff

Date: December 25, 2020

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Snowflakes fall gently from the sky, illuminated by the setting sun and dripping orange skyline.

It was one of those nights where the cold bit into your skin just right.

A soft blanket of snow draped over the sleepy district of Yeongduengpo, tucking in it’s stony-faced homes and tinkering bell chime doors for a restful night.

You inhaled deeply, the chilly winter air cooling your skin and slowing your heartbeat. You could smell bits of the city when the breeze willed it, catching the tart scent of smog and cigarette smoke from wayward winds.

You turn away from the audacious city of Yeongdeungpo, it’s glimmering golden lights and sky-risen buildings growing stale to taste.

A train would be coming soon to whisk you away for the holidays, bringing you to a far more remote location and away from bustling pedestrians and honking streetcars.

“Come on, slowpoke! You’re going to make me late!”

A blond man trailed not too far behind you, arms and shoulders full of bags and luggage. He shoots you a look and you can’t help but laugh at his sorry state. After all, you might’ve given him the heavier bags.

“Hey! I’m going to make us late? What the hell is up with all this shit you packed? Are you going on vacation or moving to Australia?”

You leave him to fume with a giggle on your lips, much to Teddy’s distaste. You had needed some help moving some of your luggage today, and you couldn’t think of anyone better than the guy who acted tough but couldn’t say no to save his life.

“Hey, slow down!” He cried out behind you, faltering a bit when passerbys turned to watch at the commotion.

He jogs and catches up with you, hair gleaming in the city lights.

“So what are you even going into the countryside for?” Teddy asks, adjusting the bag across the expanse of his chest.

You look away, careful to avoid letting your eyes linger for too long.

“Well, ya know. Just the annual family visit.”

He looks skyward, letting out a whistle. “Damn. At least you get to travel a bit, this shithole is suffocating around the holiday season. Too many damn tourists.”

Just as he says this, a sign flickers to life above your heads. You peer up at the neon glow above and snicker, gesturing to Teddy.

“Hey look, thirty percent off Subreme leather bags. You can get this one to replace the one Gray trashed in the rain last time.”

Teddy flusters, blowing hair out of his eyes and snorting. “Ugh, seriously? You’re intolerable. I should just dump all your crap on the floor and go home.”

You poke fun at him a bit more because you know he won’t despite his huffiness.

You had met Teddy long before he broke things off with Phillip Kim. His violent reputation preceded him of course, so you were shocked to catch him outside of a pet store, ogling newborn kittens in the rain.

Though you remained friends through his more voracious phase, you had always tried to coax him out of street violence. Your requests fell on deaf ears before his belligerence and haughtiness were vanquished by Gray handing his ass to him. You hadn’t heard the details, but since then, Teddy had mellowed out nearly completely despite trouble seeming to follow him.

You sneak a look at Teddy. Despite his somewhat frail appearance, his arms bulged slightly under the weight of your bags. Of course it was no secret that lithe as he was, Teddy was definitely not scrawny. In the backdrop of the candied orange sky, his pale blond hair gave an almost divine glow. The snow settled upon it readily, as if nature herself were trying to take claim to the starlight he produced.

Teddy was far too good a person to succumb to carnage, you had always thought this. His brash and rowdy exterior was utilized to scare those he deemed needed scaring, but and oftentimes you looked upon his elegant features and gentle nature, wondering how someone as soft-hearted as Teddy could land such dire hits in a fight.

You clear your throat and divert your gaze as he returns your staring with a questioning look.

“So what are you doing this break?” You ask, peeking at your watch.

Fifteen minutes until the train arrives.

“Not much. Same as usual. Maybe laze around and wonder why my friends use me as a pack mule."

“Oh you—” You lean over and try to grab a bag from Teddy, but he twists away from you with a smirk. You can tell he wants to laugh at you from the way his dark blue eyes curve, practically feline in it’s nature.

“We’re nearly there, don’t try and take these from me now!”

You roll your eyes and listen to the rhythmic beat of your luggage wheels upon the concrete sidewalk, savoring this moment with the mischievous delinquent.

Both of you come across the stairs leading into the station and make your way up, Teddy assisting with hoisting bags over the gate, though not without his share of whining.

“Ah, geez. I’m gonna be fucking sore tomorrow. You better tip me for this service.”

“Oh hush up you big baby. Don’t make me toss your present out the window.”

Teddy begins to retort but bites his tongue when he hears about the present. He becomes reticent immediately, lips pursing and eyes busy reading departure times on the electronic billboards.

You shake your head and smile to yourself, not missing the blush dusting his cheeks. His tough façade couldn't fool you for a second, he would always be just a touch too shy. You recalled the times he asked your opinion on whether or not he had made new friends at Eungang, despite kicking ass beside them on multiple occasions.

You rub your hands together and blow warm air on them, condensation immediately catching on your fingers and chilling you even more.

“Come on, loser. We’ve got a train to catch.”

You grab his hand, still cold from the winter wind, and pull him along.

When you get to the platform, you find that the train has already been situated at the station, doors ajar and waiting for a few straggling passengers.

“Oh, shit. Teddy, my bags!”

You rush into the train and find an empty seat, dispensing your items into the overhead storage. Teddy follows close behind, dumping the remainder of your belongings on the train floor beside your seat, rolling his shoulders and enjoying his newfound freedom.

“Ah, that fuckin’ sucked.”

“Tell me about it.” You followed in suit, stretching out your back. “I’ve never heard so much whining in my entire life.”

Teddy sucked his teeth and reeled back, as if to punch you, then flicked your forehead instead.

“Ow! Teddy!”

“Keep talking like that and I’ll take all of this back outside.”

You rubbed at your head, thinking of all the ways to get back at the little punk until the intercom sounded static, then an announcement came on.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the train is now scheduled to depart. Please take your seats and keep all valuables by your persons. Thank you, and have a safe ride.”

Your eyes met Teddy’s and you almost thought he looked reluctant to leave for a second, then he sighed and began walking away.

“Thank god, I’ve had my fill for the day.”

Oh, the asshole.

You tailed him to the door of the train, “Teddy, your present!”

He stops just outside the door, situated on the platform.

“What? Oh, I nearly forgot.” He billows mist from his mouth as he speaks, lips pressed into a peculiar smile that ensured you he hadn’t forgotten for a second.

“Come here.” You wave him over, unveiling a wrapped gift from your pocket.

He scooches closer timidly, eyes searching for anything but you. “Thanks, I guess.”

You grin at his signature Teddy awkwardness. For every second he tried to hide how happy he was, you swore you’d strangle him in a hug.

When he’s finally close enough, you hold out the present to him. He reaches forward to accept it and that’s when you shift, pulling him closer and pressing his chapped lips on yours, warmed by the heating of the train.

His near-violet eyes widen, taking in your proximity, your hands on him, your lips on his own. Only when he begins to return the sentiment does the chime for the doors play, and you pull away just as the doors seal shut, chuckling when you notice his lips follow yours for a brief second.

You give him a cheeky grin from behind the door and point to his hands, still grasping the present.

“I’ll see you later” You mouth to him, then make a heart with your hands.

You expect him to fake a gag or even pretend to wipe his lips, but he reacts with nothing, only pressing his fingers to his mouth in disbelief.

You wave until the train pulls away, out of the station, and until you’re just a speck in the distance, the only thing warming Teddy being the heat still residing in his cheeks.

He looks down at the present and feels it crinkle in his grasp, tips of his fingers reddened from the cold. He looks around auspiciously for witnesses, and when he sees none, peels away at the paper carefully with agile hands, heartbeat still thrumming in his throat.

A pair of designer leather gloves sat inside, alongside a pink notecard.

“Something to keep you warm until I come back!”

You had signed off with little hearts and strange faces, a trademark of your strange personality that Teddy had come to endear.

“Sheesh,” Teddy huffs, holding the gloves to his pounding chest, already feeling hotter. “What a weirdo.”

#weak hero #webtoon weak hero #teddy jin #teddy jin x reader #reader insert #fanfiction

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cheeriecherry · 4 years

Text

Birds Of A Feather [4/7]

Hawks x Fem!Reader

Warnings: some swearing, a kiss

Part 4/7

By the end of the week, you’re walking into Hawks’ penthouse with nothing but a duffel bag of clothes. Most of your stuff had been moved to storage, but you’d told him you’d bring your own sheets, blankets, and pillows for the couch. He’d stared at you like you’d grown a second head.

He’d then gone on a tangent about how he had guest rooms, obviously, and how his sheets would be softer than yours. He’s probably not wrong, with his 1200 thread count egyptian cotton, but the way he says it ruffles you a bit. You don’t mention it, though. You don’t want to give him any kind of reason to kick you out.

“Hey chickadee, you gonna stand in the entrance all night, or are you gonna come in?”

You snap out of your stupor when Hawks calls to you, and continue lugging your things through the door.

The inside of the penthouse is beautiful; tastefully decorated (probably professionally), and it’s spacious rough that you could spread your wings out fully. The doorways are wider than average, likely catering to your boss’ specific needs. The entire place is gorgeous, immaculate even, and any person in their right mind would kill to live here.

You kind of detest it.

“I had some people come in this afternoon and set up the guest suite for you,” he says, kicking off his boots and flopping onto the couch. “They also brought some of your uniforms in from the agency, so you can change here. You won’t have to go in so early.”

“Thank you,” you tell him, and you mean it. Personal opinions aside, he’s let you into his home out of kindness. You’ll not soon disrespect that.

“Ah, you’re standing and staring again. Are you that impressed with the place?”

You snap back to attention for a second time, and hike your bag further up your shoulder. “I-it’s not that!” you try to explain, “I was just expecting something...different?”

Hawks sits up on the couch. “Whadya mean?”

“I dunno.” You shrug. “More lived in, I guess? Don’t get me wrong, it’s wonderful here, especially the balcony, but it’s also very...what’s the word…”

“Mature and charming?” he tries, but you shake your head.

He offers a few more suggestions, things like ‘perfect’ and ‘homey’ and ‘colourful’, each word hitting further and further from your mark.

Then it comes to you. “Monotone and sterile!” you nearly shout, your success momentarily quieting your desire to be polite. “It’s like it’s fresh out of a magazine, or a model home. Don’t take it the wrong way, Boss, I’m not hating on your tastes, but if I’m gonna be staying here indefinitely, I’m gonna have to add some personal touches.” You remember your manners. “If that’s okay…”

You worry that you may have offended him, with the way he’s looking at you, but a smile slowly spreads across his face, his eyes sparkling.

“Finally,” he sighs, “someone who speaks their damn mind.”

“Eh?”

“Do you know how many of the people I’ve invited here tell me ‘how beautiful’ it is?” He adjusts his wings and settles comfortably back into the couch. “All of them. Every single one. And look, I’m grateful that I’ve got this place, but it’s just a house. No sentimentality, no memories...just a space.”

“Well...it’s polite to not insult someone’s home when they invite you over…” you mumble, the severity of your outburst making your face heat up.

“Maybe,” he says. “Or maybe they’re all schmoozing and hoping to get on my good side.”

The bitterness in his tone doesn’t go unnoticed by you, but you decide to leave it be. He should be free to be himself in his own home, and not have to put up any kind of front. You hoped he’d supply you the same courtesy, when you inevitably would wake up on the wrong side of the bed some mornings.

“Anyways,” he flips the TV on and tosses the remote to the side, “it’s late. You should probably unpack your stuff before you’re too tired.”

“Yeah…” you realize how wiped out you are as the weariness starts to settle in. “I’ve got tomorrow off though, so...if I wake up on time, I’ll bring you curry.”

You can hear him cheering as you walk down the hall to the guest room, and you smile. You’ll never understand his love for chicken, even though his enthusiasm boosted your confidence.

The room is spacious and airy, and has a beautiful view of the city. The bed itself is probably big enough to hold three people, and you’re silently grateful that your wings won’t be hanging on the floor while you sleep anymore.

You set your bag down by the door, and flop face first onto the mattress. God, it was the most plush thing you’d ever had the pleasure to lay on.

“I’ll unpack tomorrow,” you mumble, sinking further into the sheets and, eventually, sleep.

In the distance, you hear Hawks snoring.

----

You wake up the next day to sunlight hitting your face. It’s bright, and annoying, and too warm, and your bed really wants you to keep sleeping but you don’t think you can.

You sit up.

You can feel that your hair is a disheveled mess, and your tongue feels gummy and sour.

“Blegh.”

You (regrettably) roll out of bed and make your way to the bathroom to fix your morning vibes, checking the time along the way. Ten is later than you would have liked to wake up, but you suppose you really needed the sleep. And you did, surprisingly, feel more rested than you had in months.

It’s ten thirty by the time you’re done in the washroom, overall energy more put together and presentable, and you waste no time heading for the kitchen.

The kitchen which is...painfully under-stocked. A couple of condiments and wilting vegetables in the fridge...some frozen meat in the freezer...a bag of rice under the sink, for some reason, and...a completely full spice rack, every bottle unopened.

You knew your boss didn’t spend a lot of time at home, but this was just sad.

You make a mental note to go shopping later.

Thankfully he seems to have the necessary ingredients for chicken curry, which you’re happy about. It means you won’t have to brave the store just yet.

Bit by bit, you pull out what you need in order to cook, only sitting down when you have a moment to spare as the rice cooks.

‘Hey Boss, I’m making curry for lunch. Want me to bring you some?’

You send him a text. It’s still fairly early, and you know he has his meetings in the morning, so you doubt that he’ll get back to you before-

Your phone buzzes.

‘Chickadee, you sure know the way to my heart. I’ll leave my office window open.’

You send him a thumbs up emoji.

----

Once the food is finished, you pack it up into two containers, opting to leave the rest in the pot for now. You made lots, enough to get several meals out of it, just in case Hawks pulled his ‘too busy to cook’ excuse when trying to convince you to order take-out.

It doesn’t take long to fly to the agency, the skies much clearer than the roads. The city itself seems relatively calm, no sounds of explosions or screaming. There is a distant plume of dark smoke on the horizon, though…

But there were other heroes in the area. You wouldn’t be missed if you didn’t show up for one disaster...right?

But then you land in the window of your boss’ office, and your worry spikes. The room is empty, door closed, lights off, paperwork strewn about on the desk...like he’d run off in a hurry.

You pull your phone out and send him a text.

‘Lemme know if something came up. I brought lunch, but I can put it away for later. Stay safe!

-Chickadee’

He doesn’t reply, but that’s expected if he’s dealing with some kind of crisis. Maybe you should have headed to whatever disaster you’d seen earlier...if it was bad enough to call on your boss, it must be a pretty dire situation. Maybe he could use an extra pair of wings?

You sigh and take a seat beside the window, staring out at the city skyline. The black smoke across the way has turned to a dusty grey colour, a much less threatening hue, and one that bode well for any possible fires.

He’ll be fine, you decide, with other heroes undoubtedly on the scene. By the time you’d get there, whatever was happening would be dealt with.

You pull out your phone to scroll through the news while you eat.

Nothing urgent appears on the screen, nothing to incline that you were needed somewhere, nothing to say extra help was needed. Just day-old stories, gossip columns, the occasional media review. You do startle a little when a new article pops up that’s focused around your boss. You click on it, expecting to see some kind of haggard scene...but you only laugh.

“Hawks, most eligible bachelor in Japan, off the market?” You scroll further into the article to see what kind of nonsense the reporters have come up with this time.

What you don’t expect, is to find pictures of yourself littering the page. Pictures of you and Hawks together. On patrol, talking over lunch at a cafe he took you to one time, walking into his agency side by side, and -most recently- the two of you landing on his balcony.

You’re slightly panicked, and very, very flustered. Had he seen the column? God, he was probably used to it, though, being as popular as he was. All he had to do was look at someone and the media would start crying wolf, which in your opinion, was stupid.

Still, the more you read the article, the more you find it has some good points. You two did spend a lot of time together, more than he did with any of his other friends. But that’s all you are. Friends. Friends, and completely platonic roommates.

You weren’t sure why that made your heart sink so much.

So you copied the link to the article and sent it to him, typing a quick ‘lol’ afterwards. At the very least, he might get a laugh out of it.

----

You finish eating in record time, scarfing down a portion and a half of curry. It was lonely, sitting in Hawks’ office by yourself. You wondered if he ever felt like that when he was up here on his own. He was too busy for most things, too fast for his own good. Did that include friendships? He made time for you when he could, but you understood the busy and demanding life of a hero...other people might not.

You...understood.

The dull ache that you’ve felt in your chest for the past year returns, suddenly. The sadness and grief, the emptiness and all-encompassing tiredness, the big overhanging question of ‘what’s even the point?’. The point of being a hero, the point of suffering for the people who love you and hate you and who don’t even know you.

“Shit,” you sigh, your head and shoulders hanging low, wing dragging against the floor.

Hawks had brightened your life up so much these last few months. He’d brought the smile back to your face, the joy back to flying. You missed him when he was gone, worried for him when he was off on missions, fuck, you even cooked him lunch of your day off just so you could spend time together.

You were head over heels for him, and so totally screwed.

----

Hawks doesn’t return home until late that night. Far past your usual bedtime, but you’re far too distressed to sleep. If you hadn’t had your earlier revelation, you’d have chalked it up to ‘being worried’. But now?

Now that you knew you had feelings for him, all your thoughts were clouded. You were concerned because you liked him. You hung out with him because you liked him. Everything was because you liked him!

It was fucking with you a bit.

“What are you still doing up?” his voice sounds from the front entryway, startling you bad enough that you almost fall off the couch.

Your wide eyes snap to him, immediately taking him in. He’s worse for wear, that’s for sure. His uniform is singed in places, and you’re pretty sure the scuff on his neck is a burn. Most notably are his wings. Or lack thereof.

Featherless red nubs is a more accurate description.

“You look like shit,” you say, keeping the air about you casual.

He makes his way over to you and finds a seat on the couch adjacent, wincing as he sits a little too quickly.

“Thanks, chickadee. You always know what to say to make me feel better.”

Your face heats up. “I-I just mean! Long day?”

He groans, letting his head fall back against the cushions. You’re vaguely aware that he’s started talking, but the only thing you can pay attention to is the narrow column of his exposed throat, and how badly you wanted to lean over and press your lips against it.

You snap out of your daze when he nudges you with his foot.

“I feel like I’m talking to a wall,” you quips, devoid of any malice.

“Sorry,” you mumble, “what were you saying?”

“I was saying that we should hang out now that I’ve got a few days off. Kick our feet up, instead of culminating in a stuffy office.”

You shake your head. “As much as I’d love to, I still have work. Remember? I was already off today, I can’t miss more days.”

He whines, looking at you with sad puppy eyes. “It’ll be boring here by myself. You make the day more fun.”

“Hawks, I can’t-”

“Keigo.”

You perk up. “Huh?”

He rearranges himself on the couch so he can look at you more comfortably. “My name is Takami Keigo. Call me Keigo when it’s just us, okay?”

You consider it. “Why not Takami? That’s polite here, right? To use the surname?”

He nods. “Unless you’re close with the person. Family, good friends, the like.”

Your wings puff up, fully betraying the fact that you’re pleased he considers you a ‘good friend’. It doesn’t go unnoticed, and a teasing grin spreads across Haw-Keigo’s face.

“See? You waaaaant to. Say it with me: Kei-”

“Keigo.”

You don’t miss the way his cheeks tinge pink.

“You got it. And now, since we’re on a first name basis, I’m asking you to take a few days off to hang out with me.”

You’re exasperated.

“C’mon chickadee.”

“No.”

“Pleeeeease?”

“No!”

“Y/N…”

“No, Keigo.”

“Alright then. Now, as your boss, I’m officially giving you three days off.”

“You can’t just do that!”

“I can!”

“Hawks!”

“Keigo.”

“Sorry. Keigo!”

His expression is cheeky as you go back and forth for a while, and he’s unrelenting even as you gently beat him with a couch pillow.

It eventually morphs into a small war, the two of you chasing each other around the apartment, wielding whatever cushions you can get your hands on. You eventually end up tripping over the coffee table, shouting as you smack your foot and fall into an ungraceful heap on your back. Keigo wastes no time pouncing on you and pinning your arms beside your head.

Your wings are splayed out on either side of you, and he’s careful not to kneel on them. Even with your foot throbbing the way it is, he knows you could easily get away if you tried. But you don’t struggle. Instead you lay there quietly, out of breath, eyes locked on his. He can feel the warmth creeping up his neck, and you can see the redness returning to his cheeks.

“I...saw the article you sent to me today,” he begins, voice low. “I’m sorry they brought you into it.”

“I don’t mind,” you admit, “I just worry it might be detrimental to you. Some of your fans will be pissed.”

“Seriously?” He sits up on your chest, releasing your wrists. “You’re not online much, are you. Most of my fans ship us.”

“The hell does that mean?”

He laughs, soft of melodious. “It means that they like the idea of us. As a couple.”

“And it doesn’t bother you?” you wonder.

“No? Why would it?”

You avert your gaze from him, your insecurities and doubts creeping in under the scrutiny of his golden eyes. “I...guess you could just...do better, is all.”

“Chickadee...Y/N, look at me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head. You feel very exposed laid out on the carpet, and you wish you’d never said anything.

A warm hand cups your cheek. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let me see those pretty eyes.”

You’re so flustered you don’t know what to do with yourself. Your heart is beating rapidly against your ribcage, and you’re positive he can see your embarrassment when you finally do as he asks.

But he only smiles gently at you, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours.

“Listen to me, and listen well. You’re the best I can do. You bring out everything good in me, and make me forget the bad. You make me happy.”

“Keigo-”

He shushes you by bringing your lips together.

#hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #winged reader au

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squeeneyart · 4 years

Text

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter Fourteen

AO3

Beta read as always is @thesnadger

Martin returns a lost item.

It's cleaning day.

She was still in bed.

Martin breathed out his nose. This was normal, what with the early hours he kept. Still, as he shut the door, the smallest amount of tension left his shoulders. His mother would wake up in a few hours and go about her day as usual with what energy she had. Things were normal.

He pressed his forehead to the wood.

She hadn’t been holding her skin.

Stowed it away, perhaps, to keep it close and secure instead of sitting in the corner of a stuffy attic. Tucked out of sight, as if it had never been there. If this was what she wanted, fine. He would leave it. He stepped away and continued with his morning, leaving the silence undisturbed.

His routine dragged on, and yet before he knew it he’d sped through the whole thing. Teeth, shower, some small nothing of a breakfast that he barely managed to get down. Pill box set on the counter, the previous day’s dose empty. Some dishes left in the sink that he hadn’t gotten to the night before quickly rinsed and set aside. Then, before he felt any time truly pass, he was slipping on his shoes.

His bag felt heavy as he lifted it from the table, though the sketchbook inside was no physical burden. This would be over soon, he told himself. It made no difference to his nervous insides.

He should’ve gotten more sleep.

It had been a mistake to stumble out of the house the night before. He could’ve complied with his mother’s demand for solitude by simply leaving the room and going upstairs to his own bed. Instead, he’d had to be walked home late at night like a drunk after last call. And above all, he was up earlier than usual, the final nail in his sleepless coffin.

Martin rubbed away some of the exhaustion from his eyes and hefted the bag more securely onto his shoulder. Upon exiting his home he was met with a dreary, drizzling morning that sprayed his glasses with tiny droplets. Before long he would have to wipe them, but he kept his umbrella stored away.

“No reason to look up,” he muttered to himself, turning his back on the sea. It churned and scattered itself over the rocks. “Nothing but water in your eyes.”

It was easy enough to focus on the path as it sloped upward, and when he reached town he turned to walk on a street perpendicular to his normal route, that towering thing clawing at this periphery. He had another destination to avoid eye contact with first.

On the way he passed the storage house, doing his best to look like an uninterested pedestrian. It was hard not to stare. So quiet in the early morning, the building could’ve been unused for years if Martin hadn’t known better.

He shook his head. There was no more business to be had there, at least for the moment. If none of them had been tracked down by the police (or worse), it wasn’t worth worrying about. No, the only person who knew about their little investigation was ahead of him, and like a fool Martin had to trust that he would keep this whole thing quiet.

The house was probably the same as it had been. Martin couldn’t tell, as he kept his eyes away from its large frame and numerous windows. The front gate was open and inviting, the mouth of a whale waiting for the tiniest specks of sea life to float inside.

A woman in a neat suit stood at the front door, apparently waiting for him. “Martin. Simon told me to expect you. No problems, I assume?”

“No.” Martin sifted through his bag and handed her the sketchbook.

“Wonderful. I’ll deliver this to him for you.” She lightly brushed at the cover, lips parting in a smile. “Also, Simon wished for me to tell you that the view from up high later today won’t be one to miss.”

Her face said to be excited, as if she were telling him discreetly of a meteor shower or a fireworks display. A fun, secret end to his family vacation that wasn’t mentioned in the brochure. She tucked the sketchbook under her arm, never letting the friendly grin drop.

“Have a nice day,” she said, through her sparkling teeth. The door was promptly shut in his face.

Backing away, Martin almost looked up at the windows overlooking the front of the house, then snapped his head back down. There was nothing for him up there but dark glass and rainwater.

“That’s…hm.” Jon grimaced in his chair. “It’s certainly ominous.”

Martin sat at his small desk making a modest attempt at getting his work done. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be looking out the windows later.”

Jon nodded. “Yes, that would be for the best. I am concerned, though. The possibility of that book being something more significant hadn’t crossed my mind with everything else going on. If I’d had more time to think, I would’ve asked to take a look at it.”

Across from Jon, Tim was flipping through Martin’s work contract with some intensity. Without looking up, he said, “Well, there’s no helping it now. It probably would’ve just given you a headache, or worse. Martin, is there a list of- oh, wait, I found them.”

Sasha leaned over to look at the pages in Tim’s hand, chewing on the inside of her cheek. When Martin had come in for the day, the three had already settled into their workplaces with a strange energy about them. Sasha in particular had been on edge, seemingly unable to sit for too long.

When he’d asked about this, her only response had been, “Elias hasn’t contacted us yet.”

Jon had argued that it was early, that he had sent out an email the night before and Elias might not have seen it, but there were lines of worry etched in his forehead and at the corners of his eyes.

Or perhaps he was also in need of a better night’s sleep. If Martin had to guess, none of them were running at full capacity. If combing through his incredibly boring work contract helped Tim and Sasha them feel productive, so be it.

“Well, whatever the book was,” Jon continued, “when you go upstairs later, make sure to take Sasha or myself with you. We’ve been largely unaffected by this place, so if anyone is to follow up on Fairchild’s… tip, it should be one of us.”

“He’s the type to rile people up for fun. Maybe it’s nothing.” Martin couldn’t even convince himself.

“Not worth the risk, what with the symptoms you and Tim have exhibited.” Jon glanced at the other two, who did not look away from their reading. He cleared his throat. “Better to be safe in this circumstance, I think.”

The group fell back into silent work, Martin at his desk, Jon on his laptop, and the other two scanning line after line of employment agreements and mind-numbing blocks of text Martin probably hadn’t read before signing. When he’d gone over it days before, there had been no secret clauses or double meanings. Maybe they would have more luck.

Tim eventually spoke up. “Huh. Martin, have you done any of the cleaning bit since we’ve arrived?”

Martin raised his eyebrows. “What? Sorry, did I leave a mess in the sink or-”

“No, no, that’s not it.” Tim tapped the back of his hand onto the page in front of him. “Says here you’re basically the janitorial staff. Something about having to go through the place and clean everything.”

“Oh. Right, yeah, it’s part of my job since no one else works here.” Heat crept up his neck. He’d completely forgotten in the week’s excitement. He muttered to himself, “Shit. I’d better get that done today. If Peter comes in tomorrow and sees it’s a mess-”

“Don’t worry, we won’t interrupt. Just tell us if we need to move anything.”

Martin nodded and pushed himself out of his chair. “Thanks for reminding me. It’s not a priority most of the time since it’s just me, but at the very least he’ll notice if the floors are bad.” And with all the weather and the people, they absolutely were. Goodness.

Tim clicked his tongue. “Can’t have him thinking of us as an intrusion, not if we want to keep the work going.”

“God, I hadn’t even thought about that.” Martin walked over to the closet and began to pull out cleaning supplies. It would have to be the kitchen first, then the floors…

Before long, he’d settled into his cleaning routine. All of the dishes were properly washed instead of just rinsed out, not that the tea stains would be coming off anytime soon. He did his best to mop the main area without disturbing the researchers. Besides some lifting of feet, there were no interruptions on his part.

He would have to go over some spots later, but there was no helping it with all these people about. With so many shoes on the tile and all the rotten weather, the place had gotten dirty and slick. He really would need to get a better mat for the front door if people were to come in more often, especially once it started snowing.

Pushing that thought gently aside, Martin walked toward the stairs with his mop and bucket full of sudsy water.

“Wait, you really have to lug that all the way up?” Sasha asked.

“Yeah…” Martin sighed and started climbing. “There’s nowhere to fill a bucket up there, but people go up just enough that it gets dirty.”

From behind him, there was the sliding of chairs on tile. He looked back. Sasha led the other two toward him and said, “With what Fairchild said, it’s best not to risk anyone going up there alone. Besides, I want another look at the windows before it goes weird.”

“Okay… Just don’t look too far down when you do.” He glanced behind her. “Tim, are you sure you don’t want to-”

“Oh, I’ll be staying nice and safe in the center of the room where I can keep an eye on everyone.” Tim smiled with at least some humor. “Besides, you were right. The contract was a terrible read.”

Martin shrugged and continued his ascent with everyone trailing behind. He wouldn’t bother with the stairs until he was on his way down, in part due to safety but also because it was the biggest pain to keep the bucket balanced.

Halfway up the stairs the shoulder pain kicked in as it usually did, near his neck and right between the shoulder blades. He knew it must’ve been from holding things wrong in some way. Maybe the shifting weight of the water messed with his muscles, but no matter how he held himself he had always managed to get at least a crick in his neck.

“Martin?” Jon said, sounding distant at the back of the line. “Is everything okay?”

Martin hummed in response, stretching his neck. He didn’t work with proper posture, so that was almost definitely a factor. Setting a timer could be helpful. How often were people supposed to stand and move when sitting for a long time? Every thirty minutes? That seemed a bit too often, but he was no expert in muscles or spines.

He wasn’t an expert in anything, really, but in this case he could at least google it. How often had he told himself he would google ‘when should you get up sedentary job?’ without doing so? Was thirty years when things started going wrong with your back? Martin was a tall man, and his back had never been great, not with his lifestyle or all the lifting he sometimes had to do at home, but he knew being tall could really mess up the spine. Herniated discs were apparently-

“Martin!” Sasha’s voice snapped, echoing up into the stairwell.

The sound of steps behind him had stopped. Martin paused and looked over his shoulder to find Sasha’s hand on it, giving it a shockingly forceful shake. The three of them seemed to sag in relief. Tim was gripping the handrail and leaned his head against the wall, while Jon just looked at him with his hands raised as if to prod Martin’s arm.

With a nervous laugh, Martin flicked his eyes between them. “W-what’s going on? You look like you’ve seen-”

“Martin, what just happened?” Sasha asked. Her fingers continued to dig into his shoulder, keeping him in place.

“We… walked up the stairs? I carried a bucket?” He lifted the bucket up as evidence, then stared at it. “Sorry, did some of the water splash out and make the stairs slippery? I tend to overfill it, but-”

Jon cut him off. “Let’s just- we’ll talk when we get upstairs.” He glanced behind himself with some alarm and hurried to the front of the group.

Martin was about to argue, to say that no, if something happened he deserved to know- but one look at their faces was enough to shut him up as they resumed the trek upward. He gripped tight the bucket and mop.

It became clear on the quiet walk that the others were waiting for something. Sasha kept lightly squeezing Martin’s shoulder as if to push him forward. Only once did they stop for Tim to get his bearings, after several instances of Tim waving off his own stumbles as nothing.

From the front Jon regularly looked over his shoulder, usually at Martin but occasionally past him down the winding steps. Martin attempted to catch his eye more than once to raise an eyebrow at him, but the man was distracted by whatever it was that had everyone all in a tizzy.

Besides those tiny moments of confusion, it was easy enough to settle into the now familiar headspace of focusing on Jon’s back and not thinking too hard about it all.

Finally, thankfully, they reached the upper floor. Bright morning light filtered through the panes of glass, a startlingly intense change from the stairwell. Despite this, Martin shivered. If he dared go near the windows, he thought, would they be at all warm?

Sasha’s hand guided him to a small, faded couch in the corner. He set the cleaning supplies onto the floor, sat with his hands together in his lap, and waited.

Sasha began, “So, I’m sure that was… strange for you.”

“I mean, yeah?” Martin replied. He started rubbing a thumb into the back of his hand. “Clearly something happened that I don’t know about.”

Sasha looked around at the other two before fishing her phone out of her pocket. “Well. Before we get into that, there’s something you should hear. Late last night, I received an interesting voicemail.”

Martin’s eyes grew wide. “Wait, she actually-”

“She didn’t actually claim to be anyone. Understandably suspicious.” Sasha looked at her phone and pulled something up on it. “Nevertheless, she had some… advice.”

She tapped the phone, then held it out.

A tired, irritated voice came through, muffled with static. “I’m not interested in talking, not if you’re involved with those people, that family. They’ve harassed me, stalked me, who knows what else.”

There was a quick sigh. “But you found my number and just... called me. No one would blow all that work on such a weak lie unless they were being sincere. I guess. Or it’s just easier to hope that someone else sees that something is wrong.”

“So, before I realize this is a bad idea, tell this to whoever they got to replace him: Don’t assume incompetence. They know how to get away with things. It’s all making you ignore what’s right in front of you because, no, of course it must be a mistake or a typo. It’s about getting away with a lie without actually lying.” Another sigh.

“That’s where he went, or where they took him, I know it. When he came out from- from wherever the first time, he found me losing it on the stairs after he-.” The person laughed, just barely. “Almost dropped the stupid water bucket when he saw me there. He was always- no. No. If you’re really trying to figure things out, then best of luck to you. You’re probably fucked, but either way, don’t… don’t go in alone. You’ll just get lost. Don’t bother calling this number again.” Click.

For a moment Martin stared at the phone. Her voice had been cracking near the end, and he pushed down the bile that rose in his throat. “This is, um… So, she saw something, and that something was…”

Tim nodded, fishing a folded page of the contract out of his pocket and giving it over to Martin. “She was right. It’s the smallest detail. No one would think it’s anything other than a mistake.”

Slowly, Martin unfolded the page listing his general duties. It took him a moment, but after scanning a few lines he found it. His stomach twisted. “‘Upper floors’. There’s only the main floor and the top floor, nothing else.”

“Apparently not,” Jon said, sitting on the arm of the couch. “Because about halfway up the stairs you disappeared straight into a wall.”

#tma #the magnus archives #breathe in the salt #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #sasha james #timothy stoker #peter lukas #fanfic #au fanfic #selkie au #jonmartin

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goldcoinsinvestments · 3 years

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Buy Physical Gold With 401k

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#invest

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aryasbadbenergy · 4 years

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sugar we’re going down swinging

happy @gendrya-gift-exchange to @merrymhysa ( @renata-klein ) !!! i was so excited to see that you were my recipient because your blog is so pretty! i really really hope you like this because i really enjoyed writing it!!

prompt: Gendry carries his trusty hammer for smashing in zombie skulls, while riding around on his bike, which Arya has dubbed “The Murder Cycle”. She, on the other hand, prefers a bow and likes to keep a kill count as they travel from town to town.

We're going down, down in an earlier round

And Sugar, we're going down swinging

I'll be your number one with a bullet

A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it

Sugar, We're Goin' Down ~ Fall Out Boy

Arya’s last arrow struck the zombie pinning Gendry down in the throat. The zombie gurgled out a groan and collapsed next to him. Gendry clutched at his own throat and tried to slow down his breathing. “Saved your life. For the one hundredth and forty-third time,” she teases.

link to ao3

“Thanks.”

Arya shrugs. “I need more arrows,” she responds before she presses her foot to the dead zombie’s chest and pulls her arrow back out. She wipes the blood off on its grimy pant leg and slides it back into her quiver before moving to the arrow that had struck the bush behind its head.

143.

Arrow through the eye.

144.

Gendry’s insists that he killed four of the five, but he hit the fucker after her arrow had already made it into his intestines, so she had two kills.

146.

Dagger to the throat. She needs more arrows.

147.

Arrow through the decaying tit into the heart. The fletchings of one of her last two arrows tore off.

148.

Gendry stops the Murder Cycle in front of the Walmart and Arya swings her leg over the side. She nocks her last arrow from her quiver and starts walking towards the doors. The automatic door had come off of its tracks, so she ducks under the crooked opening. Gendry pulls his sledgehammer out of the seat compartment and follows behind her. Arya bangs a broken cart into the walls a few times to draw out any zombies in the solace of Walmart. Nothing makes a sound except for the cart. She steps further into the store.

The directional signs hanging from the ceiling were surprisingly still intact across many of the Walmarts that Arya and Gendry had come across, but the electricity wasn’t always stellar. She shines her flashlight at the signs to illuminate them and eventually makes it to the hunting gear section.

“Hey, how about we start eating this shit,” she teases and throws a pack of dehydrated spaghetti at Gendry. He catches it and laughs.

“Yeah, I’m sure it will taste just like your mom’s. How about dehydrated pizza? Just add water.”

“No, by far the best meal here is the dehydrated chicken enchiladas,” she grins.

A groan comes from behind one of the aisles to their left. “Motherfucker,” she grumbles and reaches for the sealed pack of arrows from the bottom of one of the shelves. She props up her flashlight to shine across the aisle which offers a little more light on top of the flickering LEDs above them.

Another groan to their right. And the sound of unbalanced steps from somewhere else in the store and more groans and limb dragging and Arya tugs on the plastic unsuccessfully.

Gendry raises his sledgehammer and takes out the zombie running towards him. Blood and brain splatters onto the ground. Another zombie gets his face knocked in before two more run into the aisle at once. Arya finally cuts through the plastic with her other arrow before the third zombie running in can get to her or Gendry. The zombie Gendry aimed for was smart enough to duck and grabs for his leg.

“Fucking hell, some help would be nice!”

“I’m trying!” Arya shouts back before cutting the one closest to her in the throat with the sharp edge of her bow. She nocks her arrow and kills the zombie limping behind Gendry and draws a new one out of the package, aiming for the zombie now latched onto Gendry’s arm. He tries to grab his hammer with his other arm so he can kill it before its snapping jaws make it too close to his wrist. “Don’t move,” Arya commands.

She releases the arrow, but the zombie yanks on Gendry’s arm. The arrow grazes Gendry’s arm, but still hits the zombie enough that it shocks it, but doesn’t kill it. It lets go of Gendry’s arms and he swings his hammer into its skull.

Gendry sets his sledgehammer down to inspect his arm. “You shot me.”

“You moved.”

Gendry huffs and shakes his head at her. “You say that like I moved on purpose.”

“Sorry,” Arya says and grimaces at the cut. She picks up her flashlight and motions for Gendry to follow her in her hunt for more antiseptic.

150.

“Looks like we’ve found somewhere to sleep,” Gendry comments, stopping in front of the smatter of motel rooms.

He pulls flat head screwdriver out of the storage compartment along with his sledgehammer and steps towards the main building of the complex. Arya follows close behind him to cover him while he picks the lock and raids the office for a room key. He finds one and holds it up. Arya grins and he tosses it to her so she can find the room that it goes to. When it opens the second door she tries she looks back at Gendry who is putting the screwdriver back in the compartment and pulling out his chain.

He chains his bike to the lamppost next to the door, which makes Arya laugh to herself because they hadn’t seen another living person for at least a week. He locks the chain with the key he kept around his neck and follows Arya into the room.

She tests the faucets with running water, but doesn’t let herself get disappointed when the only water is little drizzle that’s turned brown with rust.

She washes her hands with water from one of the water bottles instead. Their water supply was limited—like every fucking thing else—but that was because they couldn’t exactly transport 40 bottles of Great Value on Gendry’s Murder Cycle. They would usually just load up their packs with a few bottles and hope they pass another Walmart before they ran out. Arya wasn’t about to die from a fucking bacterial infection during the apocalypse though, so they still washed their hands whenever they could and tried to at least keep their faces clean. Arya would say she would kill for a shower, but now that she’s killed 150 times and still hasn’t had that shower, the proclamation has lost its meaning. But she might bite a zombie for a shower. She digs the first aid kit out of Gendry’s pack while he pulls the gauze off of the cut.

Arya pours a small amount of the antiseptic into the gash on Gendry’s forearm. Arya pulls the nylon thread out of the first aid kit and cuts off a strand to stitch the cut with. Her mother had tried to teach her how to sew clothes back up so they looked as good as new, but Arya was never very good at sewing prettily. It would get the job done, though. Gendry bites down on his bottom lip while Arya pulls the needle through his arm and sews it up. She tries to do it quickly, but she doesn’t want to mess it up. She finishes the suture and cuts the thread. Gendry hands her a new gauze bad to cover the stitches with. She tapes it in place and throws away the rest of the thread before she holds a flame from her lighter to the needle to sterilize it.

They pack up the first aid kit and clean up. They had been able to snag some new pants and shirts from Walmart, but they could only take a change or two at a time.

Arya rubs soap on her hands and Gendry pours some of the bottled water into her cupped hands. She lathers her face up next and Gendry pours water for her again. When her face doesn’t feel like it’s caked with decay she swaps places with Gendry and pours water for him. She pulls out her toothbrush and the squeezed-to-hell tube of toothpaste that she had been lugging around for a while and brushes her teeth. She peels off the layers that she had been wearing for the past several days and changes into the new clothes. Gendry changes, too, and they eat some of their jerky supply and dehydrated apple slices.

“Remember when you shot me?” Gendry teases. Arya playfully rolls her eyes at him and bends down to give him a soft kiss.

“I said I was sorry.” She starts to stand back up, but Gendry grabs onto her hand. He sets his other hand on her hip and Arya leans forward again. Arya cups his face and he hooks his finger through her empty belt loop to tug her closer.

Arya traces Gendry’s bull tattoo with her nail. It’s always been her favorite. The bull head covers his heart and takes up most of his chest. “Do you think that if we looked hard enough we could find an operating tattoo shop?” Arya teases.

Gendry lets out a half huff, half chuckle. “Only you could be in the middle of a goddamn apocalypse and want another tattoo,” he grins and Arya can’t help but grin back. It had been so long since he had truly grinned with his bright eyes and wide smile, and she didn’t know how much she missed seeing a smile on his face. “What do you want a tattoo of?”

Arya’s smile falls a little. She looks down at the three little flowers on her forearm. One for each of the Starks that she’d lost. That had been before though.

For all she knew, she might be the only one left. Her phone had died three days in, not like there was any manpower to keep the service going. She couldn’t exactly shoot Jon a text like “Hey, for sure at least 3⁄4 of this country has been wiped out, but how are things up in Greenland? Has whatever this is spread to your part of the world, yet?” And Bran had been up in Greywater Watch during the outbreak. Rickon was away at ROTC in God-knows-where this time—she wishes everyday that she would have asked before he left—but she didn’t know if he was safe with the military or not. And Arya didn’t even know where to start looking for Sansa.

“You want another flower?” Gendry asks. He had been with her when got the first flower, a Virginia Bluebell, for her father. And the sunflower and dandelion for her mother and Robb. “You don’t know that they’re dead, Arya. They’re still out there either waiting for you or looking for you,” he promises, so sure of the thought.

Arya nods a little. She misses them. Arya misses listening to music and eating food that didn’t come from a can or a vacuum-sealed bag and getting to shower whenever she wants to and being able to ride somewhere in a car even if she used to find Catelyn’s hatred for Gendry’s motorcycle alluring, but above all, she misses Jon and Bran and Rickon and Sansa. And there’s still a chance she can find them.

If no one is at Winterfell manor, which is where they are headed, Arya is going to keep looking. She won’t rest until she finds them.

They come across the bright red, bleeding handprint the next morning a few buildings away from the motel. Zombie blood was a dark brown, even if it was fresh. There might be a save-able human in the building. Arya presses her index finger to her lips and Gendry rolls his eyes, but nods. She slips into the building and steps carefully to avoid creaky floorboards. She goes into the first room on the left and Gendry takes the next room to the right. She shines her flashlight through the room quickly and moves onto the next. A clatter and a scream comes from the back room, and Arya’s grip tightens on her bow. She hated splitting up with Gendry. They worked better as a team, even if she had shot him.

Swift as a deer. Quiet as a shadow. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Quick as a snake. Calm as still water. Fear cuts deeper than swords.

She treads towards the sound and grimaces when she hears the horrible sound of a zombie feeding. She walks faster and reaches the still-swaying two-way door. The white paint had chipped over the years, but the bloody handprints were fresh here as well. She catches a glimpse of the room when the door swings in for a moment and counts at least two zombies. She draws her arrow and aims for one of the kneeling zombies. The door swings in again and Arya fires, knocking the zombie down onto its side with an arrow plunged into its back. The other zombie looks up from its meal with a grunt and Arya nocks another arrow. The zombie groans lowly and Arya strikes it in the head. She lets out a small sigh and steps into the small room. She nocks another arrow just in case and inspects the poor girl that had become the zombies’ lunch.

Arya’s stomach almost overturns. She takes a slow breath and debates in her thoughts for a second.

It was Bella. She was still alive, her chest barely moving, but she had been bitten, and her heart would stop soon enough. And Arya was going to have to give her mercy.

Gendry hardly knew Bella, but it would upset him to have to see her after she had had bites taken out of her. But there was no way that Arya was going to try to hide his sister from him. He had a right to know. “Arya,” Bella croaks, and stares past Arya.

Before Arya has the chance to call for Gendry, a zombie that must have been crouching behind the counter grabs Arya from behind. She flails and tries to get out of its grasp but it pins her arms to her sides.

“Gendry!” She shouts and kicks behind her. She digs her nails into its fragile flesh and tries to pry its hand off of her, but it doesn’t flinch. She swings her bow behind her and hits it in the legs, but the zombies are hard to injure enough that they let go of their prey, and harder to kill unless their heart stops. Its fucking mouth gets too close to her neck and Arya can only squirm away and kick harder. Gendry runs into the room and helps pry Arya from its grasp before he smashes its head. Arya takes a slow breath and leans against the wall. There was only about an hour between the human being bitten and turning into a zombie.

“That was close,” Gendry mumbles. “You okay?”

Arya nods. “Gendry,” she starts softly, “it’s Bella.” Gendry clenches his jaw.

“What?”

She points to the girl. They knew the consequences of not giving the human mercy—more zombies, more victims, more humans dying. Arya doesn’t want to kill Bella, but she has to do it.

Gendry kneels next to Bella and grabs her hand. She smiles a little at him and her eyes are already starting to glaze over. “Gendry.”

“Hey, Bella,” he murmurs. “I had hoped our reunion might have been a little nicer than this,” he admits with a small chuckle. Bella smiles again. Blood comes from her mouth, but Gendry gulps and pretends that he doesn’t notice. “It’s going to be okay,” he promises. “It’s going to be okay.” Bella nods a little and Gendry lays her hand over her stomach and stands. He grabs Arya’s arm and leans down into her ear. “She’s my sister,” his voice breaks. “You have to do it,” he says and steps out of the room.

“You understand what I have to do?” Arya asks. Tears come from Bella’s eyes, but she nods. “I’m sorry.”

Arya draws her arrow.

153.

#gendrya gift exchange #gendrya #arya x gendry #zombie apocolypse au #my fic #angst #gore #tw: blood mentions #tw: blood #arya stark #gendry waters #modern au

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dvp95 · 5 years

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quiet on widow’s peak (4)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up tags: paranormal investigator, mystery, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, trans character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.9k (this chapter), 13.5k (total) summary: Phil’s got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

Phil did not invite Chris and Sophie to come to Rossendale with him. Not because he doesn't like spending time with them, but because he wouldn't know how to explain a situation to his parents that he doesn't even understand himself. To his knowledge, PJ also did not invite them.

"Change it," Chris whines from the backseat. He'd lost the scuffle against Phil to claim the front, and he's been complaining about Phil's music choices for half the trip so far in retaliation.

"You like McFly," Phil huffs, continuing his search for an album that won't elicit a loud sigh from behind him.

"That's fucking slander, is what that is. You hear that, PJ?"

"Oh, I hear you both," PJ says, flat. "Loud and clear."

They've only been driving for probably forty minutes and PJ already looks like he wants to kick them all out of his car. Phil doesn't exactly blame him, although he resents being lumped in with Chris in the 'annoying background noise' category.

He has no idea how they've managed to invite themselves along, but Phil was too polite and PJ was too smitten to tell them off when they came out to the car with their bags.

So, this is a group activity now. Phil's parents had been thrilled to hear it when he texted them the updated situation - they're taking it as a sign that Phil has a motley crew of good friends again, like he'd had as a kid and again in uni. He supposes that they're not wrong, exactly, but he's definitely anxious about introducing them to Chris.

"I like this song," Sophie says, mild, and Chris closes his mouth.

"Fine, this one is alright," he says begrudgingly. Phil glances at them in the rearview - Sophie is patting Chris' knee and giving him the sort of smile that always makes Phil feel like he shouldn't be present. He looks back down at his phone so he doesn't have to sit with that feeling too long.

PJ turns up the volume, probably to curb any more bickering before he has to toss them all out of his car, and Phil tries to just lose himself in the music for a little bit.

His friends sing along at varying levels of obnoxiousness and Phil tries not to keep opening the Tumblr app to see if someone has messaged him. Well, someone specific. I'm going north today!, is the last message sent between them, and Phil is still waiting for Winnie to offer to meet up or something.

After their non-starter interview, Phil and Winnie kept missing each other's free time to finish it over Skype. Phil kind of wants to hear more from them before he checks it out himself, but that's not looking likely at this point, especially if he's lugging his housemates along with him all weekend.

Phil opens a puzzle game on his phone and lets the mostly-mindless swiping distract him. It's a long drive up to Rossendale, and the last thing Phil wants is to be left alone with his thoughts.

Phil's parents love having guests round almost as much as they love to have him home, so Phil isn't at all surprised to walk in and smell a roast cooking. He expects that treats will be made as soon as the oven is free, because that's what his mum is like.

"Hello," Phil calls into the house, kicking off his shoes. His friends follow his lead - PJ puts his boots carefully on the mat that Phil didn't bother aiming for, and Sophie struggles with a particularly stubborn knot in her laces - as he hangs up his jacket. "Mum? Dad?"

"Child," his mum greets him happily, appearing in the entry to the kitchen and making grabby hands at him until he envelops her in a hug.

"Missed you," Phil tells her, quiet enough that his friends won't hear to make fun of him.

"Oh, I missed you," she says, giving him a kiss on the side of his face. She turns her beaming smile onto his housemates, who all pause in what they're doing like a frozen tableau. It's a little funny. "More children! Hello! I'm Kathryn, it's so nice to meet you. And so nice to see you again, PJ," she adds in that somewhat pointed voice that Phil hates so very much.

"Hello, Kath," PJ says, grinning wide. He gives her a hug, too. Chris holds out his hand for her to shake when she's done squeezing the life out of PJ, but Kath will have none of it.

"Don't be silly," she says, wrapping her arms tight around Chris' waist with a laugh. "We hug in this family."

"Really?" Chris asks, and the look he gives Phil is almost more embarrassing than if he'd asked 'so why isn't your son a hugger?' out loud. "Something smells absolutely delicious, Kathryn. Is that you, or is supper cooking?"

Phil stops himself from groaning out loud, but barely. He probably shouldn't be surprised at all that Chris' cheeky, flirtatious charm extends to mothers as well. Kath laughs and smacks lightly at Chris' chest before she turns to Sophie.

Skilled at making people feel comfortable in four seconds flat, Kath chatters away about supper and how lovely Sophie's curls are and how long it's been since she's seen Phil, did they know how long it's been? She herds them all into the kitchen like they're cattle and insists that Phil take their things upstairs while she puts the kettle on.

"Er, alright," Phil says, looking at the small collection of bags that they'd brought with them. Their clothes and toiletries are all there, of course, but so is all the filming and hunting equipment. He'll have to make at least two trips.

"Your father got the guest room and Martyn's room all set up before he went out," she tells him, either not noticing or ignoring his internal struggle.

Oh, wonderful. Phil had somehow forgotten about the part where they had three beds for four of them. He's positive that his housemates won't mind sharing with each other, but now he's been tasked with the anxiety-inducing puzzle of whose bags to put where.

"Okay," Phil says again, even though they've moved on to talking about their favourite kinds of cakes so that Kath can wow them all with her skills. He tries to catch PJ's eye, but PJ is too wrapped up in a conversation about strawberries to notice.

Alright, well. Phil grabs as many bags as he can carry and brings them upstairs, feeling some tension deep inside him get a little tighter as he notices that most of their personal effects are packed away, either in storage or already on the island, and his childhood home looks more like a show home than he's comfortable with. The stairs only creak a little under his weight, nothing like the old house in Brighton, but Phil still feels unsettled.

In the end, he throws PJ and Sophie in the guest room. It's a selfish move more than anything, because he's brought PJ for enough visits to be familiar with the way his parents look at each other every time PJ teases him.

They don't ask. They're not the type of people to pry, and Phil isn't the type of people to offer information unprompted. They've all been in this limbo for years where Phil doesn't tell them that he likes boys and they don't outright question if PJ is just a friend and, frankly, Phil is tired of it. So, Chris can sleep alone.

He takes his own bags up last, because he knows that stepping into his bedroom and seeing all the personality stripped from it is going to make him feel things he isn’t prepared to feel. Phil takes a deep breath before he goes inside, and releases it shakily as he drops his things on the floor.

The beige carpet is almost mocking him, telling him that it's time to grow up, and Phil leaves the room as fast as he can.

God it is so hard to get anything done here. Sorry to complain at you randomly but like... I forgot how hard it is to work when my parents are hovering and asking a million questions lmao

Winnie still hasn't responded to Phil's early morning message, but the frustration of his parents distracting him and his friends from their work is starting to get to him. Chris has completely charmed them, somehow, and both Sophie and PJ are too polite to put headphones on and ignore them the way Phil has decided to.

Surprisingly, he gets a reply right away: omg how have i never considered the fact that you had to tell your parents you wanted to hunt ghosts for a living thats so fucking funny also that sucks i live in a house full of students and i always have to go to the coffee shop to work on essays and shit

There's nothing good like that where my parents live. Your coffee place is in the city, right?

“No! He didn’t!” Chris is laughing, somewhere in the living room, and Phil has to turn up the white noise on his headphones. The idea of his parents and housemates trading embarrassing stories about him while he's holed up at the table with audio files he hates makes him itch.

yeah, Winnie says. Phil is so thrown off by the short message that his fingers pause on the keyboard.

Is he annoying them? He doesn't mean to. Phil thinks over the messages they've exchanged since talking on Skype, the wheel of worst case scenarios spinning quickly.

Before Phil can apologise or even really get his anxious mind to settle down, his laptop bloops again, once, twice, three times. Relief from the worry that Winnie doesn't like talking to him curls around Phil's shoulders, relaxing them.

It's a screenshot of Google Maps with an address pulled up, a different building circled in a bright blue. yeah i hella recommend and it's really close to wilkins as well, is the message accompanying the screenshot. Then, right afterwards, 10/10 hot chocolate if i do say so myself.

Phil isn't very big on hot chocolate on its own, but he is very big on quiet coffee shops.

It takes a lot of cajoling and promises that he won't be out too late for Phil to convince his parents that they'll be fine to drive to the city by themselves. His dad gets the same look on his face that he always does when Phil talks about work, but his mum merely pats his cheek and says, "Oh, love, be careful. I'll be cross if I have to get you from the police again."

"That was one time," Phil says, feeling his face flush as Chris looks at him with glee.

"One time too many," Nigel says, a bit too sternly to be a joke. Phil wonders if his friends pick up on it or if they just think he's banting like he's been all through supper, that same dry humour that Phil can see in Martyn making him funnier than his housemates had expected.

PJ and Sophie both laugh a bit, so... probably just Phil's knowledge of his dad making it more pointed than it really needs to be.

The coffee shop is open late, so Phil and his housemates decide to do some recon at the Wilkins place. The sun hasn't quite set yet, and the street isn't completely deserted or anything, so they have to wait for a good moment to leave the car.

They're careful. They've done this before.

The Wilkins place is an older townhouse in Rusholme with windows that have been boarded up since the early noughties because they kept getting broken. Technically, someone still owns the property, but the Wilkins family either didn't care about it or had forgotten it existed, because it's been abandoned as long as Phil can remember.

It also isn't very scary in his memory. It's draughty and has rats scurrying about, but the electricity and heating still worked, somehow, and the social situations he'd gotten thrown into at Martyn's shoulder were definitely more nerve-wracking than the house itself.

All of these things are still more or less true, according to everything Phil has been told, but when Phil climbs in through the loose boards of the kitchen window, the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up. He hesitates for so long on the sill that Chris pushes a bit at him, reminding him to move before some annoyed neighbour calls the police.

It's dim inside but not so dark that Phil's eyes strain; the streetlights and setting sun filter in through the boards and showcase the dust covering every surface.

Phil helps Sophie and then Chris through the window, PJ giving them boosts from the outside. They take the various bags from PJ and Sophie immediately pulls out the camera, ignoring the thuds that PJ's feet make as he launches himself up and clambers in like a monkey.

"Sexy," Chris drawls as PJ nearly tumbles onto his face. He's grabbing out equipment of his own, and so Phil is tasked with getting PJ through the window safely.

"At least I've got a modicum of upper body strength," PJ says. Neither of them are bothering to whisper, and that's making Phil anxious.

He can't put his finger on it, but... it doesn't feel like they're alone in here. There's probably someone hiding out from the chill of late October in one of the various empty rooms, and Phil's worst case scenario wheel is spinning so fast it's making him dizzy.

"Do you hear that?" Sophie asks, hushed. That stops PJ and Chris from continuing their bickering, and all three men freeze as they strain for whatever it is that Sophie's hearing. After a moment of complete silence, Sophie shakes her head. "It stopped. Hopefully the mic caught it over you lot."

PJ looks appropriately abashed, but Chris just shrugs. He's got a flashlight and an EMF meter, and he slings one of the bags over his shoulder before disappearing.

This is technically for Phil's channel - they're checking the place out, and Sophie is filming just in case something happens - but Phil still feels weird when PJ ducks off in another direction and Sophie stays at his side instead of following one of her boys, camera steady in her hands and the tip of her nose pink from the cool air.

"What did you hear?" Phil murmurs, beckoning her further into the house. The sound of creaking wood is so loud, like it's right above their heads, and Phil can only hope that it's one of his friends going upstairs.

"It could have been the wind," Sophie says mildly. "Or rats."

"Is that what it sounded like?"

Sophie blinks up at him and her mouth twists in an emotion that Phil can't place. "No. No, it sounded like a person talking."

Yeah, that's what Phil was afraid of. "Someone might be living here," he whispers, focusing on the dark hallway and trusting that Sophie is following.

The creaking again, this time from beside them, and Phil peeks his head around the corner to confirm that the staircase is what he's hearing. Chris is halfway up it, flashlight off between his teeth as he grips the railing like he's afraid the stairs are going to give out under him.

Phil hates this part. He'd rather do this completely alone than have to herd his friends like sheep. He leaves Chris to his own devices and moves into the lounge. This is where the majority of the litter is, empty bottles and cans and crisp bags everywhere. Phil takes a couple photos of it all and sends them to Martyn.

Remember your friend who used to bring a garbage bag to every party? Looks like he was the only one lol

He pauses. All too aware of Sophie's eyes and possibly the camera lens on him, Phil sends the photo to Winnie as well with a different caption: Does it always look like this?

Neither of them respond by the time Phil has picked his way through the first floor, which is at least good for his focus, but it doesn't explain why the house feels so much different than it had seven or eight years ago. Phil feels unsettled here in a way that he doesn't usually get anymore, goosebumps down his arms that aren't from the cold and the constant, unnerving feeling that someone is looking at him from the shadows.

Phil's phone buzzes as he and Sophie debate in whispers if they should go upstairs. Phil hates leaving anything to someone else, even if it's just a few rooms that surely PJ and Chris are capable of exploring on their own. He's in the middle of trying to explain that to Sophie when his voice catches in his throat.

"Peej says we should go," Phil says, interrupting himself. "He found something weird in the attic."

"What's he doing in the attic?" Sophie hisses.

"Dunno. I didn't even know there was an attic."

"We should go, then," says Sophie, like that decides it. Although it does rankle a bit to be lower on the totem pole of his own project, Phil has to admit that Sophie is right. If PJ is saying that it's time to go, then it's time to go.

Phil climbs out of the window first, taking the equipment with him, and then helps hoist Sophie safely down. She's so small that it's not even a strain, really, even with how little exercise Phil gets. They wait, huddled together, and Phil feels some of the knot in his chest start to loosen when he hears Chris and PJ arguing in whispers before the window boards get slid out of the way again.

"What did you find?" Phil asks immediately, and PJ hushes him on his way down.

"Let's go, I'll tell you at the café," he whispers, leading the way down the pavement with strides so purposeful that Phil wonders if he's been in this area before. It's all the rest of them can do to keep up with him, and Phil spares a moment to feel sorry for Sophie and her short legs.

He hangs back with her and lets Chris keep pace with PJ. Chris is still talking at a silent PJ in a hushed, passionate tone, like he's fighting with a brick wall, and Phil doesn't need to be involved in that.

The coffee shop is only a couple of streets away, but the tension that the Wilkins place and PJ's subsequent discovery has brought to the group makes it feel much further. PJ stops in front of a purple door, and Phil has a begrudging respect for his ability to remember where something is after simply being told the address. The shop is small and a little dingy, but the lighting inside is soft through the narrow windows and there's a fireplace that Phil longs to curl up in front of like a cat.

Chris scowls at PJ and holds the door open for him in the same breath. Phil doesn't understand their relationship and at this point he's too afraid to ask, but he ducks into the inviting warmth anyway to try to get the goosebumps off his skin.

The two employees behind the counter look at the door like they've been caught with their hands in a cookie jar. A girl with brightly-coloured hair is holding a bunch of marshmallows, a hand poised mid-throw, and an unreasonably tall guy with an unreasonably large mouth is gawping as one of the marshmallows hits him in the chin.

"You missed," Phil informs them, grinning a bit as he unwinds his scarf.

"Oops," the girl laughs, setting the marshmallows down and pulling up a customer service smile. "What can I get for you guys?"

While PJ and Sophie pore over the menu and Chris starts asking if she'll throw marshmallows into his mouth if he asks very nicely, Phil's eyes drift to the other worker.

His mouth is still open, a bit, and his face flushes when their eyes meet. "Er," he says, glancing behind him as if Phil is looking at someone else, and that's so endearing that Phil is sufficiently distracted from the mystery down the street.

Phil isn't extremely self-conscious or anything, but he also knows he's not going to be the hottest guy in a room, so he's a bit flattered and a lot confused about this guy's reaction to him.

The thing is, the guy is very attractive. A couple of perfect curls poke out from under his cap, and there's some type of shimmer on his face that Phil could not put a name to if you paid him. He knows literally nothing about makeup, but he knows that it makes this giant of a man look softer and his blush even more obvious when it deepens.

"Hi," Phil says, giving him a little wave. He can still hear Chris chattering on and Sophie debating the merits of a hot chocolate versus a cappuccino, so he's pretty sure nobody is paying them any attention. The guy twitches like he wants to look over his shoulder again, but he stops himself.

"Uh, hi? Sorry to be, like, weird, I just - I didn't expect -"

The voice is familiar, the rambling is familiar, and then it clicks. "Oh, hi," Phil says again, warmer this time. He steps closer to the counter and grins up at them - an unusual thing in itself, since Phil doesn't meet many people taller than him. "You didn't mention that you work here."

Winnie's shoulders slump forward in a kind of relief, and they scratch the back of their neck, looking awkward and out of place even in an outfit that coordinates with the colour scheme of the whole shop. Phil looks the uniform over and immediately regrets it, because he didn't mean to see Winnie's name tag and now he feels weird about knowing something he wasn't actually told. He doesn't feel too weird about being here, though, because - well. Winnie had technically invited him.

"Honestly, I didn't know you'd be 'investigating' so soon," says Winnie. They're still blushing and the finger quotes are somehow cute, even though they're being used to poke at Phil's career. Their nails are dark and sparkly, and Phil desperately needs to stop noticing things about their hands. "I would have told you, probably, or I'd just - I dunno, try to make a better first impression."

"You're making a fine first impression," Phil assures them.

Winnie snorts. "Oh, bullshit."

"Phil," PJ says, nudging him. Phil suddenly remembers that there are, in fact, other people around him, and he can't just keep looking at Winnie's long, dark eyelashes. "What are you having?"

Honestly, Phil hasn't even looked at the menu. He's so easily distracted by pretty boys with big hands and - oh, right, he's got to be careful about that, even in his own head. Especially in his own head. Winnie isn't a pretty boy, he really shouldn't be thinking about them like that at all.

"Uh," Phil says eloquently. He's very particular with his hot drinks, usually, but he's got a lot going on in his mind right now and it's easier just to shrug at Winnie than to look away and think. "Dunno, actually. Surprise me?"

Winnie smiles, and Phil's stomach twists. "I can do that."

#quiet on widow's peak #phanfic #phanfiction #dnp fic #words words words

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itsgonnabe-brian-may · 5 years

Text

when water pipes burst

// Requested: No

warnings: fluff, swear words

Gwilym Lee x Reader

4k words - whoops my hand slipped

AN: Okay okay I literally haven’t written in sooo long and I randomly started writing this and I actually really like it. It’s not the best but I think the idea is cute lol. Please tell me what you think!! I’d also like to thank @isitstraightvodka for choosing between gwil and joe for me! Gwil I think is the perfect fit for this!

Anyways, enjoy!

A deep happy sigh slipped past your lips as you stared at the empty skeleton of your apartment. All your cheap furniture was packed up and in the process of being shipped across the world, or to the dumpster in all honesty. The pictures and decor hanging on your wall were neatly packed into boxes. The more precious ones were filed away in your suitcases along with articles of clothing that you were determined not to ruin or lose.

As cliche as last looks are you swore you saw your life in the cramped and overpriced apartment flash before your eyes.

The champagne bottle cap hitting and knocking out a ceiling lighting fixture during your christening party. Which was just an excuse to get shit-faced with your friends. It took you a year to get it fixed.

Your first long term relationship starting in passion on the couch... and ending in the same spot.

Movie marathons with your friends that ended in throwing popcorn and falling asleep halfway through the third movie.

The coffee table that earned its name due to the ridiculous amount of coffee spilled on it.

Sitting on the floor cross-legged in front of it as you studied for your final exams before graduation.

Having sloppy and hilarious sex on it. Whoops.

The doormat that was barely used with the words "Welcome" written in a neat script was still crisp.

Getting a roommate when your ass of a landlord raised the rent by $300. She turned out pretty cool. Even though she refused to touch the dishes. Her decorating and wing-woman skills made up for it.

Though eventually, your lease ran out, you graduated from school, she got a ring for her left hand and you got a new job.

A new job in England. England. That's where your belongings were being shipped off to.

"Shit! I have to get to the airport" you thought as the memories in your mind dissolved.

One final final look around the place you closed the door and locked it. Taking the key off the key ring was painstaking but eventually, you got it off and placed it on the counter in the landlord's office.

Walking down the stairs, lugging your suitcase behind you. You heaved it into the trunk of your Uber and sat in the front seat.

The drive to the airport was somber, at least at first. The downtown traffic caused conversation to blossom between you and the driver. It was a welcome distraction.

The distraction lasted as you sat next to a lovely older woman who was returning home from visiting her children.

9 hours later you stood at the front door of your new home for the next 2 years, at least on paper.

You fought the urge to knock.

"This is actually my home" you laughed out loud and turned the key.

This apartment, or rather "flat" now that you were in the UK, was nothing like your previous one.

The walls were white and filled with windows that looked out onto a scenic view of the town's skyline of tree's and other complexes. You had a balcony that shared a wall with your neighbors to the left.

The interior was a unique architecture, the kitchen was tiny but the living room was big and open with enough space for entertaining.

Abandoning your suitcase at the entrance you went to explore. Sure you'd seen this apartment already online. But not everything is exactly what it seems on the internet.

The master, and only, bedroom was gorgeous. The bathroom attached was small but it was only you, so you didn't mind. A spare room was a spare room and there was plenty of storage which was unusual for a single person apartment.

That night you ordered take out and created shopping lists and plans to execute before you had to start work in a week or so. You blew up an air mattress and tried to sleep in your new room. Unsurprisingly, you tossed and turned until you ended up staring at the ceiling. The small crack made you laugh. The crack seemed to be the only flaw that the apartment had.

Sleep overtook you, the silence of your neighbors surely helped.

If only you knew the storm that was your neighbor. Gwilym Lee.

The tall and deadly handsome man was gentlemanly and sophisticated. His flat was farm from the usual bachelor pad of his friends. The man had linen curtains for Christ sake. Yet, he was a ball of uncontrollable energy when he hosted people at his house, which was as often and led late into the night.

This time the lack of noise was mostly due to the fact that he was currently not home. He was currently off in Brighton shooting for Midsomer Murders. Though he was due to return within the next couple of days.

His days coincidentally mirrored yours.

Waking up at around seven in the morning, going for a cup of tea, or coffee in your case. Then showering and headed out to run errands, or in his case shoot a scene. Returning home, cleaning up, ordering or going out for food and laying in bed planning tomorrow.

After a few days, his current shoot ended and he was headed home. First stopping at the grocer to pick up food for a dinner party. You were at the same grocer and gave the tall man a polite smile as you passed each other in the aisle.

His gaze lingered on you. For multiple reasons. One reason being he had never seen you before, and it was a small town with only one market, which mostly the people in his apartment complex shopped at. The other being you were quite attractive, even in your "I'm just going to the grocery store outfit".

Your gaze lingered too. Again for multiple reasons. He was attractive, put together and it looked like he was going to throw one hell of a party. In a weird way, it made you hopeful for your future in England.

A party would have to wait, your apartment was still in shambles.

All of your furniture arrived in mostly one piece. The boxes full of pictures and kitchen utensils lay stacked and partially open. That was your date tonight. Decorating.

Grabbing a bottle of rosé on the way to the register was a spur of the moment decision, but a good one.

Once you made your short journey home you put away the groceries and opened the bottle. Taking a small sip from the bottle before pulling out a glass and pouring yourself a generous portion. Finally, you pulled out your phone and connected it to your speaker. Putting your music on shuffle you began filing through all of the boxes.

Gwil arrived home and heard muffled music through his walls.

'Sounds like someone finally moved in,' He thought to himself.

Instead of rifling through boxes he looked through recipes and began cooking. With music of course.

When you heard the same artist but a different song come from the other side of the wall you laughed. Your new neighbor had good taste in music, you'd have to tell them sometime.

The sun slowly dipped under the horizon and moonlight drifted into your home. The hum of music was at a lower volume creating a peaceful atmosphere. Talking and laughing came from the other side of the wall. It didn't bother you. In turn, it made you feel more at home. Lulls in conversation created an ambiance that you couldn't explain. Your music filled those quiet moments. Even Gwil noticed it.

He had been too preoccupied with his friends to notice that the music had continued into the night. Lucy was actually the one to notice first. The last time her, Rami, Joe and Ben had been over there was no music, no sound from the apartment on the right. Of course, her keen ear was always open to hear a song she loved. She had asked Gwil what song was playing.

"Um, I'm not playing any music. It must be the neighbor," He laughed his face contorting with slight confusion.

"Oh, haha, well they've got great taste," Lucy laughed before refilling her own glass of rosé and joining the others on the sofa.

At around 11 Gwil hugged and thanked his guests goodbye. Sighing happily he began cleaning up. However, it didn't last long when a startled scream replaced the quiet.

You had finally finished the living room when you went into your room and flopped onto your bed, exhausted.

To your surprise your duvet was wet. You stood back up and looked up at the crack in your ceiling. With your luck the second you looked up the water pipe burst, spraying cold water all over you. You couldn't stop the scream that came from your now wet lips.

"Holy fuck!" You yelped.

A loud banging came from your front door. It was Gwil, who had rushed over as soon as he heard your scream.

You swung the door open and looked at the man from the grocery store. He was dressed to the nines in a light blue polo shirt tucked into a pair of brown slacks. Of course, you looked a mess. You were soaking, your hair clung to your face, your mascara had definitely smeared under your eyes.

"Oh my, are you alright?" He asked, not able to suppress the shock on his face. It certainly wasn't what he was expecting.

"Um, yea, just a bit wet," you laughed, trying to move the hair from your face.

"Well, I'm glad you're alright, but what happened?" He asked stepping past your door frame after you.

"I guess a water pipe broke, I'm not entirely sure,"

What you didn't expect was for him to get under the stream of water himself and try and sort out the problem. With no avail, but it was a kind gesture. You quickly scrambled and found a plastic moving bin and put it under the stream to attempt to collect some of the water.

"Let me call the landlord to shut off the water," Gwil spoke up, brushing his own wet hair back.

"Oh god, I'm sorry I dragged you into this," You apologized profusely.

"Hush, it's no big deal," He chuckled placing his phone to his ear.

During the brief phone call, you grabbed your own phone, a bag and threw some dry clothes into it. You started looking for a hotel to stay at until the problem was fixed.

"What are you doing, love?" Gwil asked leaning over your shoulder. Your heart soared at the nickname, god he was cute.

"Looking for a hotel, because I don't think I want to sleep in my flooded apartment," You laughed not looking up.

"Nonsense, stay with me while it gets fixed," He responded with sincerity.

"I can't intrude like that, It's alright, It'll only be a few days," You smiled up at him.

"I insist, at least for tonight, It's nearly midnight," He challenged raising an eyebrow.

"Fine, only for tonight," You said matching his gaze.

"And because you're cute," You mumbled under your breath afterward following him out. You didn't think he heard you but he did and smiled opening his door to his flat.

"This is awkward but I seem to have rudely never asked you for your name... I'm Gwilym, but call me Gwil."

"Oh! It's nice to meet you formally Gwil, I'm Y/N".

"Well, Y/N, I'm sorry it's such a mess...".

"You've seen my apartment right?" You laughed.

"I guess your right," He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the edges.

"If you want to hop in the shower or change, the bathroom is down the hall on the right. Just shout if you need anything,"

"Thanks," You smiled and retreated to the bathroom. You couldn't help but laugh when you were greeted by your mess of a reflection. Pulling off your wet clothes you wrung them out in the sink and hung them on the shower rod to dry. Grabbing a towel you dried yourself off and dried your hair to the point that it was a bit frizzy but it wasn't sticking to you anymore. You were slightly upset that you didn't bring anything cuter to wear. After putting on a pair of legging and a tank top you walked out. Gwil had also changed. He was currently wearing dark grey joggers and a long sleeve. You shivered slightly, not thinking to bring a sweater, even though you normally would've worn one at home.

"Here," Gwil smiled handing you a hoodie.

"That obvious huh?" You laughed pulling the warm fabric over your head, slowing down slightly to enjoy the faint smell of his cologne.

His breath hitched slightly when your smile popped out from the hoodie. It had been a while since he'd seen a girl in his clothes, and he couldn't imagine anyone it would look better on.

"Thanks, Gwil," You smiled.

"It's nothing, love," He smiled back walking over to the couch with a pillow and blankets.

You could tell that he was going to try and sleep on the couch, that was arguably too small for him to sleep on so you took the chance and sat down before he could.

"Y/N, what are you doing?"

"Taking the couch," You smiled innocently.

"Take the bed, I insist," He challenged.

"Nope, If you're so adamant about sleeping on the couch your going to have to share it with me," You shot back, blushing slightly at the unintended implications.

"Oh, I see," Gwil laughed amused.

"Thanks again," You yawned looking briefly at your phone which read 12:06.

"It's no problem, love, goodnight," He smiled and turned to go to his room.

"Goodnight Gwil," You smiled and leaned back until you were laying down.

You stared up at the ceiling, there was no crack. It made you laugh before shifting and falling into a peaceful sleep.

Of course moving meant a new time zone which you weren't totally used to so you woke up quite late. As soon as you woke up you sat up rubbing your eyes and checked the time. Your eyes widened and looked outside, it was raining. Great. What really was great was the fact that Gwil hadn't woken up yet. He was exhausted from filming all week and last nights wild activities.

Gently you padded out of his complex into yours. You changed, brushed your teeth, and flicked on some mascara. Before leaving you made a cup of coffee and grabbed some newly bought ingredients to make a simple breakfast as a thank you.

When you returned you could hear the water running. Smiling you began cooking. You had no idea what Gwil liked, whether he drank coffee or tea, liked blueberries or how he liked his eggs cooked. So you created an assortment of foods. Cut up fruit and toast with options of butter, cheese, avocado or eggs. All while humming quietly to yourself.

Gwil stepped out of the shower and noticed two things. The humming and the smell of whole grain toast, which always smells better when your not the one cooking. Intrigued, he pulled on a pair of dark grey joggers and a maroon Tshirt and walked into the kitchen. It took everything in him to not wrap his arms around your waist from behind.

"What's all this?" He asked, his voice still laced with sleep.

"Just a thank you gesture," You smiled turning around to face him.

"I already told you it wasn't a big deal," He sighed but couldn't get mad at you, especially since he was hungry.

"Tea?" He asked walking around you to a cupboard.

"No thanks, I've already got some coffee."

His nose scrunched up, "Ugh, I don't know how you drink that stuff."

"Well, I don't know how you can drink tea, its basically slightly flavored hot water," You laughed raising an eyebrow.

He playfully scoffed. "You'll learn."

"I'm not too sure about that," You challenged back before falling into a casual conversation.

The next couple of mornings were spent the same way. Waking up on the couch with stiff shoulders, making breakfast, trying to get the other to drink your preferred caffeinated drink and falling into a conversation that sometimes led to sitting on the couch all day. You talked about your previous life and your new job. He talked about his acting and friends. Sometimes you would turn on the radio or a playlist and work side by side in comfortable silence. Most days ended with a glass of wine on the couch watching a classic British TV series or a movie. Though Gwil would not show you Midsomer Murders despite your begging.

Each night you drifted closer and closer. Your knees touching, Gwil's arm around the back of the couch. Hands grazing when doing dishes or lingering touches when moving past one another. Both of you wished for more contact but didn't want to impose or assume the other felt the same thing. However, both of you agreed that you felt like you had known each other for ages and enjoyed spending time together.

You got the call from your landlord that the pipe would be finally done tomorrow morning at 10. Meaning one more night with Gwil. In the beginning, you were anticipating and ready to get your flat back, but now you just wanted to stay. It was nice with a roommate. Especially with Gwil as your roommate. On the other hand, you definitely were ready to sleep in a bed again. The plan had been to alternate and every night Gwil tried to get you to sleep in his bed. Of course, you were stubborn and didn't. Sure his couch was nice but you awoke with stiff shoulders. You could handle one more day on the couch.

However, after your first day at your new job left you exhausted. Letting yourself into the apartment with Gwil's spare key you sighed. Happy to be home.

As you kicked off your shoes and put your bag down you noticed that it smelled good. Really good.

"Gwil, honey, are you cooking?" You asked with a wide smile, your question answered once you walked into the kitchen where Gwil was wearing an apron and mixing something on the stove. Two glasses of wine set out on the island where it had been set nicely with placemats and fancy napkin foldings.

"Maybe," He said drawing the word out with a toothy grin.

"God, you're the best."

"Does that mean you'll try some tea?" "NO" You laughed.

You couldn't wipe the grin off of your face as you went and changed.

Dinner was amazing and you found yourself thanking him and staring at him blissfully. Gwil noticed but didn't notice his own staring.

After doing the dishes you ended up going to the usual movie on the couch. Halfway through the movie you still couldn't get comfortable. You were stiff and trying not to disturb the movie but Gwil, being the observant man he could tell something was off.

"Are you alright?" He asked shifting his gaze, not having to do too much to look at you as you were already closed.

"Yea, I'm just a little stiff and tired," You said with a reassuring smile. The last thing you wanted to do was make it a big deal out of it.

"Anything I can do?" He asked.

"No, but do you mind if we finish the movie another time?"

"Not at all, love, to bed you go," He said smiling, not moving.

"Well, you kind of in my bed..." You laughed looking at him.

"Oh no! I guess you'll just have to use mine," He teased back, not wanting you to sleep on the couch again.

"Gwil, come on," You said raising your eyebrows and tilting your head.

"Nope, I'll carry you if I have to," "Yeah right," You laughed.

You were proved wrong because the next second a strong pair of arms picked you up.

"Gwil!!" You squealed as you carried you to his bedroom. You protested as much as you could through laughter. As soon as you were put down you jumped up and tried to run away. His lean arms caught you around your waist and pulled your laughing self back to the bed. Gwil was laughing too, as he picked you up by your waist and plopped you down on the bed.

"Stay." He laughed down at you.

"Am I your dog now or what?" You teased propping yourself up onto your elbows.

At the movement, Gwil put his hands on your shoulders.

"If you don't I'm going to pin you down until you fall asleep," He said, trying to be serious but failing to keep laughter contained.

"Oh really?"

"Don't believe me?"

"Okay fine I do," You yawned

Reluctantly he removed his hands and stood back up. However, it was your turn to stop him. You shot your hand out and grabbed his wrist gently.

"Stay?" You blurted out.

"I mean, I can't make you sleep on the couch, you can barely sit on it. This bed is big enough for the two if us.." You rambled trying to hide heat on your cheeks.

"Alright," He yawned with a smile. His heart was beating out of his chest as he clambered into his bed after you.

"Goodnight Gwil," You smiled turning your back to him, offering some space.

"Goodnight Caridad," He mumbled coping your positioning.

The new nickname made you fall into slumber with a smile on your face. The smile stayed as you shifted into Gwil's arms during your sleep. Your heads stayed on separate pillows but his arms snaked their way around your waist while your hand rested on his chest.

When you woke, your first thought was 'This is nice, this is the best I've slept in a long time'. However, your thought was replaced by panic. 'Shit, this is definitely stepping over some boundary'. Instead of untangling yourself without waking up Gwil, you decided to drift back into a blissful sleep. Later, Gwil woke up just as surprised and happy. Though he had plans to make you breakfast this time, so he carefully and reluctantly unraveled himself from your limbs.

Not much longer than 15 minutes after Gwil left you woke back up. You decided to not say anything as you walked into the kitchen seeing Gwil donning an apron again.

"What's all this?" You asked, your voice still laced with sleep.

"Just a 'you're welcome' gesture," He smiled turning around to face you, much like your first morning at his apartment.

"Seriously, you're too good to me," You smiled happily up at him.

"Does this mean you'll try some tea this morning?"

You laughed and looked like you were considering his offer. "Not in a million years,"

"Whatever," He laughed and gave you a plate with pancakes.

Breakfast went by too quickly, of course, the intriguing conversation didn't help it go by any slower. Unfortunately, you had a meeting with the landlord soon and wanted to shower and change. Gwil shot down your offer to do the dishes and told you that'd he do them later. He picked up your bag and you both slowly made your down the hall to your room. Stopping in front of it.

"Thank you for everything," You smiled up at him, gently taking you bag and placing it inside.

"Anytime, It's not a big deal," He smiled leaning against your door frame.

Something came over him at the prospect of you going back to your lives before meeting each other. He didn't want to lose what you had. In his mind, the only way to make sure was to kiss you. So he did.

At first, you were shocked. Gwil was kissing you. Fortunately, your hands worked their way up to cup his chin as you reciprocated the kiss. Pulling away he was smiling like an idiot. So were you.

"See you around?" He grinned and turned to make the 4-meter journey back to his own flat.

"See you around, neighbor," You laughed happily.

You shut the door to your flat and leaned against it, smiling like a damn fool. You were glad you had moved into your apartment. Burst water pipes and all.

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