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restapesta · 3 years

Text

Fucking Milkovich

words: 5.5k

Five times Ian pulled Mickey away from starting a fight and the one time the roles were reversed.

1. THE STORE

The old lady had been side-eyeing them since they accidentally bumped into her at the wine aisle, Mickey backing into her as he and Ian led a loud, heated discussion about whether or not the Rose that was in Ian's hand was the same one from the gay party they had attended a couple of days before.

Ian was dead set on saying that it was the same bottle of pink wine and that even if it wasn't, it probably tasted the same, all the while Mickey was dead set on proving to Ian that the bottle was most certainly not the same one and that they should crack it open and try it even if they were still in the middle of the supermarket. They were bickering back and forth, not paying much attention to their surroundings, and Mick had backed away from the rack of wines, unceremoniously colliding with the gray-haired lady who was pushing a cart filled to the brim with groceries. It was a miracle the items hadn't toppled out, considering there was a mountain of them. Ian wondered how steadily the lady must've been pushing the cart, and how close his husband had come from knocking it all down.

Mickey had muttered a quick sorry and Ian had shot the lady an apologetic look when she just stared at Mickey and the tattoos that covered his hands and arm, blatantly revealed by his short-sleeved t-shirt. Ian had told him he looked hot in it that morning, so Mickey had kept the jacket off, appeasing his husband's gaze. He felt a bit cold but Ian's eyes following unapologetically as his arms flexed made it all worth it.

Ian gestured for Mickey to leave the aisle with his eyes, accompanied by a sharp tilt of his head -- and they continued their way to the other racks of food and drinks, Ian placing the bottle of wine in their own basket. They weren't there for a full-on grocery run. They were in Costco purely because their snacks and beer needed stocking up, and they needed some shit for the mac-and-cheese Mickey had been craving. Ian had lost a bet while they were at work today so he promised to make him some -- a deed Mickey was quite happy about.

They bumped into the lady once more at the cash register. There were some people six feet in front of them (considering they kept their distance), unloading their stuff, and the woman was mere inches behind them, as if she was waiting in line with the couple, not behind them, pressed close. Mickey shot her a glance and when he noticed her scowl, he gave her a slight smile that Ian knew was obviously not a smile, but rather a 'hello lady I crashed into, why are you standing so close, back away from me and my tall ginger before I tell you to back the fuck away' threat. He had a feeling the lady caught on to what Ian did, but chose not to comply, considering how her scowl deepened and how she seemed to press impossibly closer.

Mickey and Ian shared a look but kept their mouths shut, preparing to unload their shit onto the moving thingy -- but then the old bat spoke.

"Least you could do is let me cut the line." She was looking straight at Mickey, and to Ian, judging by the look on his husband's face, it seemed as if he was considering it. But when his gaze swept over the pile in her cart -- the one almost spilling over -- he simply shrugged, "No. I couldn't."

Mickey kept unloading the few items they did have, and Ian followed his lead, but the lady was persistent. "You are very unkind."

Mickey simply muttered an 'uh-uh' as he grabbed the money out of his jacket.

"You should be ashamed."

Mickey rubbed his eyebrow with his thumb and Ian knew that signaled danger, so he pushed him lightly with his shoulder, gesturing for him to pay. Mickey obliged begrudgingly, choosing to ignore the bitch. The cashier was just finishing placing their shit into the plastic bag, handing it to Ian, also handing Mickey back the change. They were going to leave the place unscathed.

Too bad the bitch couldn't keep her mouth shut.

"You should put a leash on him."

Before Mickey had a chance to jump her and gauge her eyes out, Ian wrapped his hands around his torso and pushed him towards the door of the store, whispering 'calm the fuck down' to him curtly, the grocery bag in his hand making it harder to sustain his husband. It wasn't the first time he had done this, and he doubted it would be the last. It was somewhat of a struggle but Ian managed. He also tried to ignore the look of pure horror on the grandma's face.

When he was finally able to get Mickey through the door -- while the guy spewed graphic insults at the hag -- he let go, making sure to keep him a safe distance away from the store.

"What the fuck is it with old bitches being so fucking rude?" Mickey muttered loudly, grabbing the bag out of Ian's hand and pulling out the Rose. He opened the bottle easily and took a long gulp, emptying a third of the bottle with it. His face scrunched up immediately. "I fucking told you it wasn't the same one!"

Ian just shook his head.

Fucking Milkovich.

2. THE JOB

The day had been pretty slow. They had their regular cash pick-ups and deliveries, and they had finished most of them, considering how the day was nearing its end. Both Ian and Mickey were ready to get back home and crash on the couch, maybe down a beer or two, and especially take off the uniforms that had truly made them sweat today. Spring was coming, and fuck if Ian wasn't ready for the onslaught of discomfort the camo brought on with it. Mickey didn't look like he minded it much, but Mickey was Mickey, so it wasn't a surprise. Ian, on the other hand, was already considering alternatives.

They were delivering their last bags of weed, taking a long ass drive to fucking HerbalCare, knowing it would take them a while to get back home too -- but the Northsiders that owned the place were kind of their regulars, so they were used to it.

Both Ian and Mickey expected the usual chick to show up and pick up the marijuana when they eventually got to the place -- the one with the curly red hair and a sassy attitude -- but instead, an unknown guy did with a large-ass man following shortly behind.

The first guy looked like any other -- casual clothing, friendly face, easy demeanor -- unlike -- what Ian supposed was -- his bodyguard. He looked like a capo with his broad shoulders, tight black shirt, tattoos littering his body, head cleanly shaved. Ian glanced reluctantly at his own thug, mentally praying Mickey had a bullet that could take down the motherfuckers in front of them if necessary.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" The normal-looking one spoke.

Mickey nodded, also slightly taken aback, but not letting it show. "We have a delivery for HerbalCare." He glanced at Ian. "For Dina? Wasn't it?"

Ian nodded slowly, assessing the situation.

"I'll take it from here." The guy responded, eyeing Mickey up and down. "Dina is currently busy at the moment." Mickey didn't seem too happy with the asshat's statement. Ian wasn't either, naturally. The man had an odd vibe to him -- he seemed on edge despite his cool facade, and Ian saw straight through it. He glanced at Mickey who seemed to have been noticing the same thing. They were not handing shit over to these assholes. There's a certain trust you had to earn before claiming a couple of thousand dollars worth of weed from Gallavich Security.

"How 'bout I just speak to Dina, yeah?" Mickey's voice was calm and eery -- he was in boss mode. The mode that even scared Ian, sometimes. It was dangerous territory these guys were treading on if Mickey had resorted to going into the mode only slightly less scary than Milkovich thug mode.

The dude, still nameless, smiled without humor. "Why don't you just give me the weed, huh?"

Mickey pulled out his gun swiftly, pointing it straight at the guy's head. The shock on his face only lasted for a moment before it turned into a smirk. The capo next to him pulled out his own, only slightly smaller than Mickey's, pointing it at Mickey's head.

Well, shit.

Ian pulled out the gun from his waistband, feeling slightly worried for his and his husband's safety, pointing it at the tall-ass man. It was like a scene from a movie. A poor, shitty-quality one.

"How about we all just put down our guns and we'll come back when Dina gets here?" Ian's voice was smooth and the silence hung lowly over them for a couple of moments. Ian was never a gun sort of guy, but rather a talk-it-out one.

They eventually all put down their guns, albeit reluctantly.

"Okay, then. Guess we'll be seeing you." The guy muttered as he turned his back to Ian and Mickey, capo following behind, shooting them a glare. Their movements were slow and deliberate, but eventually, when they were a safe distance away, the capo turned around and shot them the middle finger.

Ian was just barely in time to stop Mickey before he leaped out to kill the motherfucker.

He wrapped his arms around him like a boa constrictor, attempting to stop him from committing homicide. As always, it took a while.

Mickey growled after a minute or two, finally calming down, glaring at the spot the asshole thieves were a few moments before. "Oh, you fucking will be seeing me. You'll be seeing me in your nightmares, you motherfuckers."

Ian barely contained himself from rolling his eyes.

Fucking Milkovich.

3. THE ALIBI

Ian had been nursing a beer for the past hour while his worse half had already downed three. Mickey was on his fourth glass of Budweiser, slightly tipsy, but not quite drunk just yet as he and Ian enjoyed their night out, something one might even call a date (correction: something only Ian would call a date).

They had gone out for chicken wings, played some pool after dinner -- even took a fucking stroll out -- and now, they were chilling at the Alibi Room, enjoying each other's companies, talking about anything and everything, laughing at Kevin's jokes and making fun of Kermit and Tommy, the regular drunks of the Southside.

It was a slow day today, their job weighing a little extra heavy on their shoulders, but the night was swift, in contrast. In fact, they were having a really good time, letting go of all of the fucked-up things happening in their lives right now, the burden coming off of their shoulders, even for a little while. And Ian was especially looking forward to the sex that was bound to follow when they got back home. Hell, if Mickey continues drinking the beers at this pace, maybe even in the bathroom -- it truly only depended on the level of horniness the drunken state would illicit.

They were still enjoying their alcohol and horniness when Kermit had decided to remind everyone of a comment. Ian guessed it wasn't supposed to be that big of a deal. Both Ian and Mickey had dealt with far worse from people far shittier than Tommy and Kermit. But the comment -- the one about how Tommy was against their wedding, saying it was a man-woman thing -- didn't really sit well with either of them. Ian had no idea how the topic even came up, and the whole 'kind of drunk and talk-y' Mickey wasn't helping the case, but the words most certainly had an undesired effect on the couple.

Mickey had stilled immediately.

It wasn't that big of a deal. Homophobes were all around them, and they knew that Tommy was as gay and as homophobic as any of them, and Mickey would probably ignore the comment had he not been this content with the night he was having.

Here he was with Ian, having a great time, enjoying his life, his marriage, and over-all his husband, and this asshole was going to ruin it with this comment. This stupid, meaningless comment.

Neither Ian nor Mickey lived in a fantasy -- the one where everyone was supportive of the gays and where love was simply love, no matter if it was between a male and a female, or a male and a male -- but sometimes, they forgot what world they actually lived in and in those moments they were at their most vulnerable to these sort of remarks. They cut them deep, Mickey especially.

He was so happy with Ian, so happy with his marriage, the life they shared, that the outside world rarely even mattered. But when he heard someone saying how they shouldn't have gotten married -- shouldn't have been enjoying their love and relationship, shouldn't be where they are now -- Mickey got pissed.

"Oh yeah, Tommy? Man-woman thing?" Mickey's voice was unnervingly steady.

Kevin eyed Kermit, silently conveying the question, "why the fuck would you say that". Kermit shrugged but Mickey only had eyes for dear old Tom. He was watching him like prey.

Tommy gulped, not as afraid of Mickey as he used to be, but definitely not one-hundred percent safe around him either. Everybody knew Mickey protected himself and his family -- Ian and the Gallaghers -- only. Everyone else could just go fuck themselves. Tommy fell into the latter group.

"That's just the way I've been taught. Y'all are good, enjoy your marriage." He attempted to climb out of the hole he had dug for himself but it wasn't really working. The asshole had made it too deep and had fallen into it headfirst.

"Oh, I'm so fucking happy I have your approval." Mickey bit back.

"Oh, no," Ian muttered lowly. "Mick."

"You should be happy I don't have a gun on me now. Now, while I'm on a date with my husband." He annunciated the words slowly, making sure Tommy understood and heard them very well and remembered them for good. Ian's heart fluttered at the mention of the word date, but he reeled it back in for now. He could enjoy it later when Mickey wasn't on the verge of murdering someone.

"Hey man, how 'bout you just calm down?"

Tommy really wanted to die today.

Ian was pushing Mickey out of the bar before he strangled the man with his bare hands. Mickey cursed as they were leaving, resisting his husband as he attempted to drag him out. Ian barely got them through the door, and when he did, Mickey tried hard to go back in.

Ian hissed at him to stop. Eventually, Mickey did.

"I see him one more time, I'm killing him, understood?" Mickey was baring his teeth at the bar as if Tommy could see him. "Him and his counterpart."

Ian closed his eyes briefly.

Fucking Milkovich.

4. THE BLEACHERS

It had always been their spot. From the beginning, it was a place for Ian and Mickey to run away to, not just to hook up, but to escape their lives and the turmoils of their families, each fucked up in its own fucked up way. It was easy for them to just disappear for a while, fucking against the fence, shot-gunning beer with no one to reprimand them for when they left the cans on the stadium, the world completely oblivious that it was the odd duo. Not just Mickey Milkovich, the infamous Southside thug, and not just Ian Gallagher, the skinny army ginger -- but both Ian and Mickey, a pairing no one saw coming, not from a million light-years away.

It was easier back then, sure, but now, it was better. They used to just fuck underneath the bleachers, making it nothing more than a hook-up spot, barely touching after sex, drinking beer like just a couple of friends, not like they were in between rounds, Ian aching for more, Mickey denying him access to it. Ian knew Mickey wouldn't even admit they were friends back then.

But then again, it was different then than it was now.

Now the bleachers were their spot. Not just a fuck spot like it used to be. No -- it was a hangout spot. They didn't have their own place yet -- that was still a work in progress -- and when the Gallagher house became too loud and too messy for them to just enjoy their night, outside of the confines of their room, they went to the bleachers.

It wasn't a regular occurrence, more like a once-a-month sort of thing, but it still felt great and rejuvenating -- it felt like them. A space in the dark where they could just talk and drink and mess around and make out in, unapologetically relieved of the burden on their shoulders, whatever it may be.

Tonight was a night like that, a night where all they wanted and needed to do was escape -- Terry's death was still weighing heavy on Mickey's soul, for reasons Mickey and Ian both had yet to uncover, and the house was brimming with too many Gallaghers with too many opinions and observations. They needed a break.

The spot under the bleachers was supposed to be reserved for them as always, and they had brought along a six-pack of beer as well, deciding to just get drunk, even if they still had to get to work the next morning. It would be a good ending to a shitty week.

But the asshole kids sitting at their spot weren't gonna let that play out.

Ian and Mickey were aware that they were grown-ass men, but it was ten pm and these children had no right to even be near the bleachers let alone smoking and drinking underneath them. They were far from teens and they reminded Ian of himself and Lip when they were mere eleven-year-olds trying to figure the messed-up world out.

Mickey didn't really see it that way. He was clearly just annoyed.

"Beat it." He said in a curt voice, flicking his wrist to point to the imaginary exit. Ian followed suit reluctantly, only after trying to convince Mickey to just let them have at it and go to the dugouts instead.

"No Ian, we came here because this is our spot and these little fuckers need to go." Mickey had responded.

Ian was aware his husband had issues.

He was used to it.

The kids laughed, the three voices laughing merging, sounding more like a pack of hyenas. "Watcha' gonna do about it, grandpa?"

Mickey had a very shitty couple of days.

Mickey was not a well-tempered person.

Mickey was on the verge of killing something.

These kids were the catalyst.

When Mickey took a swift step towards them, Ian was once again -- how many times was it, now? -- holding him back. The kids scattered around, scared shitless of the thug. They were gone in the blink of an eye.

Ian felt sorry for them, but he was happy that, at least, Mickey didn't dump their tiny bodies in the river. Not that Mickey would've actually done that.

Ian hoped.

"I was one second from threatening to eat them for lunch," Mickey grumbled. He then pointed at the free spot. "At least they're gone. Gimme that beer, I wanna have some good drunk sex."

He made a gesture with his fingers and smiled as if nothing had happened. Wasn't Ian supposed to be the crazy one?

Fucking Milkovich.

5. THE GALLAGHER HOUSE

Debbie Gallagher was extremely annoying nine times out of ten. Ian Gallagher knew it. Mickey Milkovich knew. The entire Gallagher clan knew it. But today, she seemed especially bitchy.

It was a Friday night -- usually reserved for a good home-cooked meal, chilling on the couch, watching TV, and just having a family night altogether. Even Lip and Tami were in the house on Fridays, bringing Fred along to play with Franny and Liam (who would more-so look after them than play with them).

That's how the nights usually went.

But tonight, Debbie the Brat had every intention of fucking it up.

She sauntered into the house, bitchiness oozing from her pores, head held high even though it should have been bowed down in shame. She was drunk off her rocks, and she was dragging Franny along with her.

"Hi, assholes." She greeted the family in the kitchen, letting go of Franny's hand, pulling her sunglasses off to reveal blood-shot eyes. God knows where the hell she had been today. All Ian knew was that she left the house sober with Franny and was now completely drunk, if not high, the little girl still trailing behind.

"Wash your hands, Fran," Liam instructed, eyeing Debbie up and down. She seemed even more fucked up than usual in his eyes.

She plopped herself down on the closest free chair which happened to be across Mickey. It was quiet for a few moments, everyone waiting for something to happen. Debbie was an unpredictable drunk, something they were only lately discovering.

It seemed like Debbie had woken up today and chosen violence.

She looked straight into Mickey's eyes. "Your cousin is a cunt."

Mickey raised an eyebrow while the other Gallaghers observing the exchange. Ian was sat next to him. He put his utensils down, not sure how this exchange was going to unravel, also pulling Mickey's knife out of reach, in a way he hoped was inconspicuous.

Just in case.

"She is a self-absorbed cunt who has no business in this house anymore." Deborah continued as if someone gave a shit. Mickey especially.

He shrugged. "Last I'd seen her was the morning after you guys broke up. I couldn't give less of a shit about whether or not she's with you or not with you. For fuck's sake, the break-up happened a long-ass time ago, get over it." Mickey looked down at his plate, continuing to eat his dinner, clearly signifying the conversation was over. He glanced at Ian when he couldn't find his knife.

Instead of moving on, Debbie grabbed a loaf of bread and threw it at him.

Mickey stilled.

Carl elbowed her hard but she paid no attention to the warning. She was having a staring contest with Mickey Milkovich. One she would eventually lose.

"Back the fuck off, Debbie," Ian warned himself.

She switched her gaze from Mickey to Ian. Her gaze was murderous. "Or what, Ian? You'll try and kill me with a bat?"

Collective silence fell over the table. Noone seemed to be breathing. All eyes switched to Ian, gauging his reaction, not believing the words that had left Debbie's mouth, but even warier of the ones that were bound to leave Ian's.

Ian had other things occupying his mind, though, and one of those things was his husband who was probably a second away from killing his sister-in-law.

"You bitch." Ian held Mickey down by his shoulders as he attempted to climb over the table and tackle her to the floor. "You and your condescending cunt can fuck off."

"Mickey. Come on." Ian pushed him out of the chair and shoved him lightly, indicating for him to go upstairs.

"No, Ian. She needs to be set fucking straight, or else you'll have a new Frank on your hands. This bitch." He fought against him as Debbie just sat still.

"Mickey." Ian shoved him towards the stairs, afraid he would have to explain to the cops how his husband murdered his sister if Mickey didn't leave the room, immediately. Mickey noticed Ian's serious expression, and slowly climbed up, all the while muttering to Debbie to go fuck herself.

Ian glanced at Debbie from where he stood.

"What?" She asked, innocently.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?"

Debbie snorted. "Sorry if I hurt your feelings. Not like it wasn't true."

"I couldn't give less of a shit whether or not you think I'm crazy. You come in here and talk to Mickey like that again, I will be using a bat. Only then you'll see how crazy I can get." Ian was dead serious.

It was the first time since she came in that her eyes truly widened in fear.

He backed away upstairs slowly.

The rest of the Gallaghers were silent for a moment before they all collectively shot Debbie a dirty look, soon erupting in chatter, as if nothing had happened.

It had been merely a few seconds before Ian had entered their room, when Mickey finally started his rant, talking shit about Debbie, defending Ian being at the core of it all.

He had a lot to say, and Ian was going to listen to it all, like the supportive husband he was, always taking Mick's side.

As he listened to Mickey rant about Debbie, he thought about what he had said to her. It was true -- every single word that had left his mouth. He hoped she and the rest of them -- no matter who it was -- understood.

Mickey was more important to him than anyone else in this world, even his sister. He was Ian's family, his next of kin, the one Ian trusted and loved the most. When push comes to shove, he will chose him, no matter what. He will always choose his husband, the love of his life, his worse half.

God, he was soft.

Fucking Milkovich.

+1 THE STORE, THE JOB, THE ALIBI, THE BLEACHERS, THE GALLAGHERS

"You really keep me from killing people, man. Feel like I should thank you."

Mickey had muttered that lowly in the dark, his head resting on Ian's chest, both of them naked, enjoying their post-sex bliss. It was then when they were at their most open, letting out emotions and feelings that usually didn't seep into the mundane day.

Ian ran his fingers along Mickey's bare back, enjoying how Mickey shivered against them. "You do the same thing." He answered simply.

Mickey raised his head slightly to look at his husband. "No, I don't. I've never had to physically pull you away from stabbing or strangling someone."

"You do realize I usually get as pissed off as you do at these things."

"These things?"

Ian rolled his eyes in the dark. "C'mon Mick. You really think I'm okay with an old lady calling you rude and ignorant and judging you like you're nothing but a street rat. Or some assholes flipping us off after trying to steal our weed?" He adjusted his arm so it rested over Mickey's shoulder, Mickey's cheek pressed into his peck. "You think I don't get mad when Tommy talks about how we shouldn't have gotten married because we're men? Or how Debbie had the audacity to talk to you like that, in front of me."

"You never react to it, though. That's why I don't pull you away from starting shit. You kind of just stay calm." Mickey responded to Ian's short monologue.

Ian chuckled. "Mick. If I wasn't so busy pulling you away, I'd probably be the one murdering them all."

This time Mickey raised his head to fully look at Ian. They adjusted their positions so it was easier to keep each other's gaze.

"I'm serious," Ian responded to Mickey's expression of disbelief.

Ian was completely and utterly serious. That shit happened a lot.

In fact, had Ian not been so busy pushing Mickey out of the store, the plastic bag filled with shit they needed for dinner and the expensive -- but probably not correct -- Rosè in one of his hands, making sure his husband didn't go to prison for stabbing the geriatric bitch, he would have gotten really fucking pissed and probably have gone off at the grandma himself.

If Mickey didn't attempt to go after the fucking thieves, like the sociopath he was, Ian would've probably pulled out his gun and pointed it at the men's fucking back. Maybe he would've even tried emptying the clip.

Mickey trying to strangle Tommy was good enough of a distraction for Ian not to beat the asshole up himself. How fucking dare he talk about marriage like that, the drunk bitch. Ian would've been a second away from hurling himself at Tommy and beating the shit out of him -- but fuck it if Ian was gonna let Mickey get arrested for aggravated assault and risk his parole.

The kids at the bleachers didn't bother him. He knew Mickey had a soft spot for kids himself, so it was more of a hissy fit than a homicidal fit.

Debbie was the one that truly made his blood boil.

"You know," Ian began. "I would've probably signed a death warrant on Debbie and mine's relationship that night if you weren't there."

"How so?" Mickey was caressing Ian's cheek with his thumb, giving him the biggest case of heart-eyes. Ian didn't doubt that was how he was looking at Mickey himself.

"When she was saying that shit, all I could think of was making sure you didn't kill her. I barely registered what the fuck she was saying. I was trying to keep you from flipping the table and making Franny an orphan." Mickey rolled his eyes but kept silent. He knew there was truth in Ian's words. "But, if you weren't there. If Debbie had just started talking about me and the whole bipolar thing and I didn't have you to keep me from actually letting the words sink in..." He drifted off, not knowing how he would've reacted. The words would have probably cut him deep.

Shifting closer, Mickey pressed his palm against Ian's cheek. "Do we need to talk about how you should under no circumstance listen to your bitch of a sister? What happened all those years ago happened while you were manic and off your meds. Her using that as a comeback in an argument is low and a fucking betrayal. Right now, you are the healthiest you've been since your diagnosis and you shouldn't let her get in your head. Hell, if I have to, I'll fucking try and murder anyone to stop the words from -- what did you say -- sinking in?" Ian laughed wetly, feeling himself get emotional over Mickey's little speech.

"You're amazing, Ian." He finished. "I'm proud of you."

Ian pulled Mickey's body close, making their naked bodies press flush against each other. Their noses touched as Ian took a moment to appreciate what the universe had given him. The soft lines of Mickey's face, the blemishes, and the tiny scars -- the eyebrows Ian had joked were iconic to him -- everything that made Mickey Milkovich his Mickey.

A kid forged in hate and homophobia, morphed by the Southside into a short-tempered thug, capable of murder in the blink of an eye if you so much as looked at him wrong. A Milkovich taught to care for nobody but family, to stay loyal to them and never snitch, but also taught to put a bullet in their fucking heads if betrayed. A hard-ass and a thief, ready to shamelessly steal from any store of his choosing, barely giving a shit whether it lands him in juvie or not.

A man capable of so much love. A man who took care of Ian when he was at his worst, made sure to keep him safe and protected. The man who came out for him in front of his worst nightmare, all so he could keep Ian, even if he was nothing but a mess kept together by unawareness. A man capable of murder for Ian. A man capable of running away with Ian. A man capable of going back to prison for Ian. A man who loved Ian, and would always try to keep him safe.

"You done staring?" Mickey smirked at him.

Ian smiled, shaking his head slightly. "I don't think I'll ever be." He then added, quietly, "I'm so lucky."

Mickey nodded, his lips mere inches away from Ian's. "I am too."

Soft lips moved against each other slowly, creating a rhythm Ian never wanted to lose.

He knew he never would.

His life, even after all the worst possible shit a person could imagine, was pretty fucking great. All thanks to Mickey.

His husband.

His partner.

His soulmate.

His worse half.

His Milkovich.

THE END

#gallavich #shameless #shameless us #shameless final season #fanfic #Ian Gallagher #ian and mickey #ian x mickey #ianxmickey #mickey milkovich #gallaghers #5+1 fic #5+1 things #canon compliant

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sweetchup · 3 years

Text

A Helping Hand 4: Ghosts of Past // Day 3 🌙

Type: Shalnark x reader

Au?: Savior Au

Word Count: 2,000+

Warning: Past Character death, Bribing, Drinking, Trauma

Author Note: Sorry this came out a little later in the day than expected. I hope people like it and let me know in the comments who you think the ghosts are. Sorry for making y’all cry

<—(Pt.4.3☀️) / (Pt.5)—>

A Helping Hand Masterlist

“All right.” You mutter to yourself, quickly centering the fluffy cat plush on the grave before taking a step back to take a look.

You and Shalnark had done a lot for Pakunoda’s grave, from cleaning up all the dirt and cobwebs surrounding it to getting some of her favorite things to place on her grave. You just hoped, somehow and somewhere, she would be satisfied…

As you wipe the sweat off your brow, you look out the window towards the already night sky. Time had passed by so quickly while you were working. So much so, you had nearly forgotten about Chloe. Thankfully, Shalnark had offered to go grab Chloe for you at the last minute while you finished things up.

“Hey nice job. You even lit the candles.”

Speaking of the devil, you turn around to see Shalnark entering the room, Chloe trotting close right behind him. As the cat comes running up to you, you notice Shalnark holding two bags in his hand.

“What did you get?” You questioned out loud as you lean down to pick Chloe up. Shalnark gives you a confused look before looking at his hand and realizing what you were asking.

“Oh.” Shalnark fumbles with the bag before handing you a can, “I got us a couple of beers to drink.”

“Beers? Shal I don’t think…” You watched appalled as Shalnark proceeded to chug a whole can down in front of you. “...you should be drinking…”

“Oh come on, Doc. A couple of drinks won’t hurt anybody.” Shalnark chuckles out, jumping back onto the rock behind him to sit before pulling out another can. Suddenly as he takes a sip of his next one, a mischievous look flashes on his face. “Hey (Y/n). I say we have a little drinking contest to see who has a bigger toleran—.”

“Nope” You deadpanned, not even leaving room for Shalnark to argue back. As a gust of wind passes through the old building, causing it to moan lightly under the wind’s strength, you feel a shiver run up and down your spine. Damn, even though you were wearing a ski jacket and scarf it was still cold.

Shalnark lets out a small sigh to himself before shrugging his shoulders, “Fine, Fine. Guess I’ll have to drink this all by myself then.”

“Shal no—.”

Quickly, you attempt to take the can from Shalnark’s hand but the male caught onto your intentions and was much faster than you. Holding the can far away from your reach, you glare up at him in annoyance.

Unfazed by your threats, Shalnark leans forward to you and whispers, “Then, Drink with me (y/n).”

After a couple of minutes of staring each other down, and an attempt from Shalnark to chug down another beer, you realize you have to give in. Sucking your teeth in, you, begrudgingly, open a can and take a sip. Instantly, you feel yourself cringe at the bitter taste the beer held. It definitely wasn’t your type of drink to have.

“Am I sensing a chicken?” Shalnark teases out, already in the process of crushing his second can in his fist. You send him a quick glare, already wanting to just strangle him right then and there, as you bring the can up to drink from again.

You can feel the alcohol flow through your body almost instantly as Shalnark makes you drink more. It was just like what those textbooks you were forced to read in college said. You felt it in your brain first, euphoric and relaxed as if you had no worries in the world. Like a false haze fell over your eyes, blinding you from the rough truths of the world. Then, you felt it in your muscles. Your speech was getting more and more incoherent, your hands were shaky and, eventually, it got to be such a struggle to even stand that Shalnark had to help you sit down next to him…

To him…

You let out a small giggle to yourself as you stare at Shalnark. His blonde locks shimmering under the light blue glow of the moonlight as he tipped his head back once more to take a gulp from his can. His Adam’s apple bobbing back and forth a couple of times as he swallows before he pulls the can down to rest against his thighs. You watch as his aquamarine eyes, that seem weirdly more blue now, turn to look over towards you.

“What?” He questions out, his words coming out as a whisper, “Why are you staring at me?”

Because your Handsome, obviously?

Perplexed, you watch as Shalnark suddenly throws his head back in a fit of laughs. What… What was wrong with him?

It takes a couple of minutes but eventually Shalnark calms down and looks at you; his face covered in a wide grin.

“Handsome, Huh?” He teasingly questions out, giggling slightly as you choke on your drink. As you hack your lungs out, you can hardly let out anything, only able to muster a small murmur of a word after a couple of minutes.

“W-whAt…”

Shalnark gives you a moment to compose yourself, handing you a water bottle after your coughing calms down before proceeding to explain.

“I think you might have drinked a little bit too much if you can’t distinguish between your thoughts and what you say, Sweetie.” You flash Shalnark a quick glare at his statement. He seemed to be having a playdate with the amount of teasing and reactions he has been able to wring out of you. You will admit it was funny at first but now it was just getting plain annoying.

Just give him a good smooch. It’ll shut him up real good.

You nearly choked on your water as you proceeded to quickly spin around. What in the world was that. There wasn’t anyone else around from what you could see and sense but you could have swore you heard another’s male’s voice. It couldn’t be Shalnark either. The one you heard was ruff and rumbly, nothing like Shalnark’s. So—

“You okay?” Shalnark calls out, breaking you out of your thoughts.

You feel yourself pause for a minute, your thoughts needing a minute a couple of minutes to catch up to you before answering, “Ah… Yeah. I just thought I heard something…”

Shalnark thinks for a second before letting a light hum in response.

“I don’t hear anything. Well… Unless you count Chloe rolling around in the petals—“

You cut Shalnark off with a loud gasp, “Chloe No. No. No!”

Quickly, you scamper over to Chloe, picking up the cat before she could possibly roll and knock over anything on the grave. She was usually quite the respectful cat, not much to cause trouble, so it surprised you that she was acting like this. You hoped the gods, or whatever supernatural force that existed out there, won’t strike you down for your cat rolling around on Pakunoda’s grave like that.

“What’s with you Chloe… you never roll around like this unless someone is giving you belly rubs—” You end up cutting yourself off as a loud yawn forces its way out of your mouth. Oddly, the tiredness of today’s events suddenly hit you like a truck making you feel absolutely drained.

“Eh? Tired already?” Shalnark chuckles out as you practically collapse next to him. “You do know our hotel is on the other side of the city right?”

“Please tell me you’re joking…” You pleaded out. You knew, from experience, how hard it could be to grab a cab this late at night especially if your hotel is on the other side of the city.

“Sadly not Princess.”

You let out a small whine as you defeatedly fall backwards to lay on the rocks.

“Well, didn’t you stay here with the troupe for a while? Do you possibly have a place to sleep here, just for tonight?”

“Well, we do. But, when we stayed here in York New it was during the summer, not the winter. So we don’t have anything that could possibly keep us warm except for the candl— what…” You sit up a little as you hear Shalnark pause and suddenly rummage through his plastic bag, “A Blanket…”

After hearing what he found, you fully sit up and lean over his shoulder to take a look.

“That’s actually perfect.” You murmur out, reaching down to touch the fabric, “It’s big enough for both of us and the fabric is extremely thick to keep us warm. We will be perfectly fine if we have this and our jackets on.”

“I-it’s not that. It’s just I didn’t— this wasn’t… in the bag before. I didn’t buy this.” Shalnark mumbles out confused as moves around the blanket. Testing to see if he was really seeing what was in front of you two.

“Perhaps… you accidentally grabbed it or switched up with someone else’s bag?”

“W-well no. I didn’t see the blanket when I took out the drinks earlier—“ Shalnark is cut off as you take the blanket from him. As you unfold the fabric, Shalnark sighs to himself. What was he thinking? Getting all worked up over a blanket. You were likely correct, he or the cashier likely misplaced a blanket in his bag. Shalnark huffs out a laugh as a sudden thought comes across his mind. Uvogin would surely beat his ass if he saw Shalnark suspicious of a mere blanket.

A frown slowly makes its way on Shalnark’s face as his thoughts escalate. What was he doing? Sitting here like a school boy with a crush, falling hopelessly in love with you. He wasn’t dead, he still had his nen, the rest of the troupe is very much still alive… and Hisoka was still on the loose. Plus, if…

“What's important is the survival of the whole, not the individual."

"The worst case is all of us dying. The end of the Spiders."

… Hisoka actually succeeds in killing the other spiders then he would have to rebuild the spider… Right? And, you… you couldn’t come along with him if that's the case. You live in a different world than him. You were a caring doctor and he a cold blooded kill—

Shalnark winces as a firm smack hits the back of his head, nearly sending him flying forward.

“Ow. (Y/n)... what in the world was that for?” Shalnark grumbles out annoyed as he massages the back of his head. He’s not sure why you’re mad but you didn’t have to hit him that hard.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” You questioned out. As Shalnark spins around to give you a piece of his mind, he pauses. You… you were on the total opposite side of the giant flat rock in the process of setting up the sleeping area. “Ah. Do you mean these pillows? I found them in the corner. It’s so weird, they are practically brand new.”

“Oh yeah… that's it…”

If you were over there, then who smacked him. Was it…

… A Ghost?...

… No, no. That’s totally absurd. That’s the type of stories the boss would believe in, not him. He just… drank too much. Yeah, That’s it.

As Shalnark finally calms himself down, he decides to make his way over to you. Slowly, as you two settle down to sleep onto the cold surface, Shalnark can already feel you begin to drift to sleep off in his arms. He, very carefully, pulls you closer to him.

As he does so, he can hear the faintest whisper off in the distance. He almost mistakens it as the wind if it weren’t for the distinct familiarity in the voice.

Be selfish, Kid…

…

“Uvo…?”

Shalnark decided that night…. that you two were going to leave York New the very next morning.

Taglist: @meromelodi, @quartetstarheaven , @yumezai , @lvndrhwis, @writtenappreciation , @jojo-sinner, @pastelbear12 , @aly-kurta , @bbunnycore , @feifood , @akobere7u7 , @aleksa784

#hxh #hunter x hunter #phantom troupe #shalnark #shalnark x reader #shalnark ryuseih #a helping hand

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charlieisacastle · 3 years

Text

Edge of Sleep Plot Holes

please do not read this post if you don't want spoilers or noticing plot holes ruins your experience of the story!

its not my intention to shit on teos. i just thought some ppl might find this interesting like i do!

okaaaaay fellow peeps that pay too much attention to story plots!

lets start with the tame ones shall we,

1. name confusion:

this one is most definitely fixed in the show but in ep2 they call the 16 year old John. but in ep3 when linda is doing the autopsy she calls the 16 year old Dewain. i think they accidentally mixed up his name with the old patient with heartburn.

2. papua new guinea:

linda just k n o w s where the island dave is referring to is and how long its gonna take to get there with a plane???? how???? we dont get ANY description where linda does a quick google search or idk any other clue as to how she'd know that. i hope they give her a phone in that scene in the show so she can do a quick search cuz that was just weird to me tbh.

now on to actual plot holes...mostly about linda...they definitely could've worked on her section more tbh!

3. internet:

in ep2 linda asks dave to give her a ride bc her phone isnt working. since they can still call each other and even linda herself calls the hospital later in the story, im assuming she means her internet isnt working so she cant get an uber.

but that raises the question of how linda managed to google those victims' names in ep5 if they didnt hv any internet before. now i dont know how things work in US so maybe there is a very simple explanation but where i live if your cell data isnt working then the wifi isnt working either.

4. linda and dave finding out that sleeping kills people:

when linda calls the hospital to confirm her hypothesis that sleeping is whats killing people and she finds out that her co worker is dead, why doesnt she call the hospital again to let them know?

they had already set up tension between her and the doctor/other nurses so itd still make sense for the stroy if they dont believe her and leave. but it doesnt make sense for linda's character who is written as the "voice of reason" and the "calm and collected one" to not share her findings with the people in the hospital.

in my humble opinion, the scene where dave calls matteo by the hospital hoping he is still awake, shouldve also happened when they find out that sleep is the answer...or rather the anti-answer lol.

if linda and dave called the hospital and matteo by the car it wouldve made much more sense and also shown us a more compassionate side of them both. now being in shock and confused by all of this is absolutely an option for dave but linda was calculating from the start so its very out of character for her to not warn others.

6. night owls:

a lot of people are awake at 4 am. some ppl work night jobs just like dave and matteo and some hv insomnia or woke up for an early jog. it absolutely makes sense for most of those ppl to be back to their houses and asleep by 10 am but linda and matteo driving around the city and not seeing A Single Person or Any Shops open at 7 am is impossible. some drug stores are opened 24/7 and even if the cashier is asleep/dead, the doors are still open. not to mention that some ppl r driving back from their night shift around that time.

if the time when they drive into the city was around 11 am most of these problems wouldve been solved bc by then most ppl would be asleep.

5. the timezones:

if the...lets call it 'the attack' was at 4 am in california then its 7 am in the east coast and the day has already started in the other side of the country like nyc and dc. not to mention the rest of the world. in the first day at least half of the world is still alive and alerted about the fact that the other half is dead.

and even in the west coast some ppl r still gonna be awake and scared. yes most of those ppl wont survive by the third day but there would definitely be survivors in the first day or so.

other people can and probably will figure out that sleep is whats killing everyone just like linda and dave did and even tho most of them wont hv the supplies our protags hv (like the modafinil or a private airplane with a trained pilot...or a whale telling them where to go...) some could actually hv even more physical resources than dave and the group.

there r 7+ BILLION ppl in the world to assume that these four r the only ppl (other than the tribe of course) that r still alive especially in the first few days is ridiculous.

now why does that matter? bc dave is presented as the middle man. the one who is both empathetic but also mostly logical. he isnt too positive neither too negative, but realistic. so for him to constantly say and genuinely believe that they r the only ppl alive breaks the immersion and makes the story feel artificial. for someone like dave not to wonder what happened to other ppl who r out there struggling and instead believe everyone is already dead by the second day is unrealistic and too apathetic for his character.

not to mention that it makes the world way too centred around our protags. that usually happens when most of the story is from the first person perspective and i KNOW that its supposed to make us feel as isolated as they r feeling but again, its a bit too much and makes the story unbelievable and artificial. instead of living on earth they r living in a snow globe if that makes sense.

6. parasomnia + REM sleep behavioural disorder:

this one is less of a plot hole and more of a "plz explain this in season 2" thing.

there r other ppl with dave's disorder. so does that mean the old man also contacted them? did any of them join the trible in the island?

or is dave special like they foreshadowed by the fact that the tribal people had dreamt of him?

(also i know we hv spirit monsters in this story so not everything is "logical" but does the fact that there r sleep walkers mean that the ppl that r dead can be revived? bc they were walking and talking and u usually cant do that if ur brain is burnt...)

I NEED ANSWERS

k.bye.

#lets talk about teos and feel free to add any plotholes i missed #ive listened to this story more than 200 times #no im not exaggerating #i was VERY hyperfocused on it for awhile and also i just love fantasies and world building #so yeah i LOVE this story #i wouldn't care this much about the details if i didnt #markiplier #unus annus #the edge of sleep #edge of sleep #teos #mark fischbach #dave torres #mark edward fischbach #charlie.txt

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samingtonwilson · 4 years

Text

Mac and Cheese

Summary: Bucky takes the last box of frozen mac and cheese, takes your phone, and makes you fall in love with him. The audacity of that man.

Prompt: “This has been a very bad week and you just grabbed the last box of my favorite comfort food at the supermarket”

Pairing: bucky x reader

a/n: i wrote this and was fully done formatting it and everything, like, 6 months ago. i didn’t post it because it’s approx. 82% nonsense but i figured why not post it now when it’s still 82% nonsense but im struggling to finish everything else. so taal, long time vegan, writes a story about mac and cheese and, listen, idk what this fic is either. can i write a fic without adding sam to it? no.

Mac and cheese. That’s all you want. Disgusting, frozen, usually-quite-mushy-if-not-microwaved-correctly mac and fucking cheese.

The kind with the layer of cheese on top. The kind with that real elbow pasta, not rotini or penne or seashell pasta— real macaroni. The kind you try to only eat one serving size of before you eat everything in the package. The kind you always gravitate to when your eyes are stained red, swollen, and too proud to be anything other than dry.

You take the subway. You switch lines. You endure the smell of the F train during rush hour when you aren’t sure where your thigh ends and the thigh of the woman sitting beside you begins. All for that one Trader Joe’s, out of many, in Brooklyn the hipsters abandon before six because the coffee shop next door closes at five.

Your feet ache in your boots and you’re pretty sure a rock has somehow lodged itself between your toes, it’s starting to rain and you have no umbrella, you don’t think your throat has ever felt so parched.

But you tuck your phone into your back pocket and march into that store with the hideous overhead lighting that makes your skin look like it hasn’t seen a bottle of toner in days like you’re Hades, the box of mac and cheese is Persephone, and Trader Joe’s is Mount Olympus.

You aren’t planning on smiling at anyone in greeting. You aren’t planning on making eye contact with anyone. You aren’t even planning on waiting politely behind whoever is inevitably idly standing in front of the pasta section of the frozen aisle— you’re going to say, “Excuse me.” Like the badass, New Yorker, on-the-verge-of-tears bitch you are and you’re going to toss that mac and cheese into your basket like you’re Steph Curry at the NBA Finals.

Lines are long when you walk in, cashiers bored-looking and tired. The produce section is a jungle of stay at home fathers and people who make their own pressed juice, the salad display a mess of college students trying to eat healthy.

Your eyes accidentally meet those of a toddler who is slyly plucking a grape from a bag he had no intention of spending his allowance on and you smile.

You hold your basket like a designer handbag and dilly-dally only for a moment to pick up some yogurt for breakfast tomorrow.

And some inauthentic babka because there’s no way in hell you’re going to endure Zabar’s after this.

And a package of olive oil popcorn, a bottle of three dollar chardonnay, and string cheese.

But that’s it. Self-control.

You feel the chill of the frozen aisle before you step into it. You feel the magnetic pull of that box with only one step in its direction. You stop for just a second to grab the mini mango and cream pops.

You almost roll your eyes to yourself when you see that someone is indeed standing right in front of the frozen selection of pasta. He’s staring at two boxes— a red one in his gloved left hand and the one in his right hand green.

As you grow closer you notice behind his curtain of dark hair that his eyebrows are knit together and he’s frowning at a decision he must be forcing himself to make.

Sophie’s Choice, but involving mediocre excuses for Italian food and no Nazis— hopefully. Because who really knows these days?

He wears a forest green hoodie under a black leather jacket, black jeans tight around thick thighs. Boots, too. You think you might swoon.

And you wait behind him. You tap your foot, shift your weight, and chew on your bottom lip. You don’t say anything.

He looks over his shoulder when you curse under your breath and set the heavy basket at your feet. He’s apologetic— and handsome— by the looks of it, blue eyes slightly widened and lips downturned. “Shit,” he says as he takes a few steps to the right. “I’m sorry.”

You shrug. You kick your basket with the toe of your boot until it lightly smacks against the bottom of the freezer. “No problem. It’s a big decision.”

His eyes lift from the boxes and he smiles. “Biggest one I’ve gotten to make in a while.”

Setting your hands atop the cold metal railing, you stare down into the freezer. You see farfalle with roasted tomatoes, rigatoni with pesto, ricotta and spinach ravioli, roasted vegetable lasagna, cauliflower gnocchi, chicken parm, and… an empty space.

You tilt your head.

You lean away and crouch to read the description cards, looking for the bubble letters to tell you where on Earth your saving grace is. When you spot the card, you stand again. The indicated space is empty, your heart is empty, your will to live is—

A box of organic pesto tortellini is tossed back into the freezer and you look up. Your eyes might lose their prideful dryness at any moment, even in public next to that handsome stranger with the nice jacket and,

the box of mac and cheese.

You gasp audibly and leap backwards. You point at the box in his left hand.

With an expression of panic, he holds his hands— and the box— up in innocence. “It’s okay. I’m not—”

“What the fuck is that?” you shout to gain the attention of customers you don’t even perceive, waggling your finger at the box. Your wide-eyed stare, and bared teeth, and messy hair must be terrifying. You hope they are.

He looks down at his hand. An eyebrow lifts. And, confusedly, he asks, “The box?”

“Yes, the fucking box!”

“It’s mac and—” he meets your gaze again. You’re wearing your anger like armor. But you aren’t scared. Bucky thinks he might never have felt such relief at a woman’s anger. “It’s mac and cheese.”

You shake your head. Wildly. Your neck hurts. “It’s the last box of mac and cheese!”

He glances at the box, then back at you. He jabs his thumb over his shoulder. “They might have some in the back—”

You shake your head again. A hint of devastation cracks your voice as you say, “It’s Monday night. Trader Joe’s restocks Tuesday night. This is usually all they have left.”

“I—” He pauses. “Is this shit really that good—”

“No, it’s not but that’s not the point!” you’re shouting again. And crying. Oh, God, you’re crying. In public. “The point is my building is going co-op!”

He tilts his head. “Your building is—”

“And I have to buy my apartment if I want to keep it! And they don’t give raises at my job to women unless they’re willing to suck something I won’t say in front of that kid right there,” you nod toward a little girl in a pink raincoat with her pin straight black hair in pigtails who stares at you in bewilderment. You sniffle. “So I quit. And I’m proud of myself for it. Because I have integrity, and I have self-respect, and I have no gag reflex, so the rejection should kill my boss dead.”

He cracks a small smile when you let out a short, watery, pathetic laugh. Easily, he holds the box out to you. “I hope your boss is dead, too.”

You laugh again and don’t hesitate before taking the box. You wipe your cheeks with your sleeve. “Thank you. You’re nice.”

“Not a popular opinion, but one I’ll certainly take.” He’s smiling and it’s warm. “Sorry— about all that.”

“You’re apologizing to me? I just screamed at you in the Trader Joe’s freezer aisle over mac and cheese.”

He shakes his head and picks up his own basket when you grab yours. “Your building’s going co-op and your boss deserves to burn in hell. You should get all the mac and cheese you want.”

You reach into the freezer for that green box of tortellini he’d thrown in, tossing it into his basket with a smile. Steph Curry at the NBA Finals. “Still. I’m sorry for yelling and I hope the tortellini doesn’t suck too bad.”

“It’s frozen pasta. My expectations are low.”

You hum a laugh and walk past him to the crowded lines at the registers. “As they should be.”

It’s when you’re lost in the sea of customers and Bucky is deciding between frozen palak paneer and frozen lamb vindaloo with basmati rice that he feels a tug at the hem of his jacket.

He looks away from the green and orange boxes, lowering his gaze to meet curious almond-shaped eyes beneath blunt black bangs. He smiles and she returns it. “Yes?”

She reveals her right hand, which she had hidden behind her pink raincoat, and holds a phone up to Bucky as far as her arm will let her.

“Is that your phone?”

She shakes her head and giggles. Loud, happy, and squeaky. “Yelling lady dropped her phone.”

Bucky’s eyebrows knit together until a woman, much closer to his height, steps behind the little girl. She takes the phone the girl holds out and offers it to Bucky when he straightens his posture. Her smile looks like the little girl’s. “We figured you would have a good chance at getting it back to her.”

He takes the phone and nods his thanks. Pressing the power button reveals a picture of you and a dog, a large, fluffy dog with its pink tongue hanging low. You’re smiling brightly and, oddly, it seems like the dog is, too.

—

“So you just took her phone? Didn’t even ask an employee to keep it there in case she came back for it?”

Bucky, watching the tray of pasta rotate in the microwave, scowls. “I would’ve if I’d known that was an option. And stop eating my fuckin’ chips.”

Sam tosses back another handful of kettle-cooked barbecue potato chips in defiance so the obnoxious crunching echoes through the kitchen. He smiles sarcastically when Bucky snatches the bag and rolls it up. Half is already gone. “You come up with how you’re gonna get it back to her?”

“Thinkin’ about asking Pepper to post a picture of it like it’s a missing child to that ‘Tweeter’ nonsense,” Bucky replies dryly. He’s glaring at Sam as he leans his hip against the counter. “You and I both know I haven’t come up with shit.”

Sam snorts and is smiling in amusement, deep brown eyes alight. Bucky hates the sight. “Tweeter. You’re so fuckin’ old.”

It’s been hours since Bucky took the phone from who he learned is little Vivienne and her mother, and he is no closer to getting it back to you.

He’d tried looking for you at the store but there were too many people for a Trader Joe’s that Yelp claimed was the least busy in New York for that to yield results. So he returned to the Tower. He thought about asking Tony to look into the doohickey but figured an invasion of privacy should be the last resort.

He pulls the tray from the microwave with nimble vibranium fingers and sniffs the pasta before setting it down on the counter. He removes a bowl from one of the cabinets and dumps the steaming pasta in it, a sprinkle of freshly grated parmesan from a tub he’d bought— also at Trader Joe’s— a finishing touch.

“She’s cute,” Sam says when the screen lights up with an incoming text notification.

Bucky spins his fork between his fingers as he walks around the counter to sit on the barstool beside Sam’s. He glances at the phone as well. “Very cute,” he agrees. “She had a shitty day. Something about her apartment goin’ co-op. Whatever the hell that means.”

Sam frowns. “Means she’s gotta buy the place. And with New York real estate prices right now,” he shakes his head with a sigh. “She better have a well-paying job.”

“Quit that today, too.” Bucky takes a bite of the pasta and hisses as it burns his tongue. “Boss is a creep that asked for some action in exchange for a raise.”

“Jesus. Poor girl.”

The tortellini isn’t great. It’s a little bland, a bit too dry, and there isn’t enough filling— but it’s better than Bucky had expected. He takes another bite. “Yeah. And I took the last box of mac and cheese. Which is what she went to the store for.”

“I’m surprised your head wasn’t chopped off.”

Bucky smiles. “She yelled— a lot. Was crying, too, ‘til she said something and made herself laugh.”

Sam then begins teasing Bucky juvenilely for having a crush until both men are laughing and shoving one another to see who falls off their stool first, Sam only relenting when Bucky hands the potato chips to him again as a peace offering.

The bowl is in the sink and the chips are down to just crumbs when a loud ringtone— an instrumental version of an R&B song Bucky recognizes from Sam’s many plays of the original— shocks the two of them.

It’s from an unknown number and Bucky is unsure if he should pick up until Sam swipes answer and puts the call on speakerphone. “Hello?”

A sigh. Bucky doesn’t know if it’s one of relief or frustration. “I’m hoping whoever this is found my phone and didn’t steal it.”

Sam shoves Bucky’s shoulder with a toothy grin and Bucky rolls his eyes. “The little girl you almost traumatized in the freezer aisle found it and gave it to me.”

Another sigh— the relief in this one is obvious— and you’re laughing. “It’s you— tortellini dude. Must’ve fallen when I crouched down.”

“Seems like it, yeah.”

“So are you gonna ask for my address or do I have to schlep over to Avengers Tower?”

Bucky and Sam exchange a look. “Avengers Tower?”

“You weren’t exactly in disguise— I realized who you are the minute I left the store. Would’ve recognized you right away but I was in my own head and you aren’t my favorite Avenger.”

Bucky smiles. “Yeah? And who is?”

“Falcon.”

Immediately, the phone is taken from Bucky’s hand. “Hi, baby, you’ve got Falcon.”

A gasp, a pause, then you laugh. Audibly stunned laughter. “You guys actually hang out with each other? That’s cute.”

Before Sam can reply, Bucky flicks his forehead— in reply to which Sam elbows Bucky’s ribs— and takes the phone back. “I can bring your phone to you whenever you’re free.”

“Awesome. I’m unemployed now so any time tomorrow is fine.”

You tell him your address before hanging up and he wishes you a good night. Your laughter is the last thing he hears before three beeps signify the end of the call.

—

Bucky takes the subway. He switches lines to the F train. He tries not to mind the overpowering smell of stale B.O. and deli meat leftover from rush hour, the skittering steps of a rat across the floor in the adjacent empty car. He ignores those who stare at him intensely enough to burn the fabric right off his skin. All for that one apartment in SoHo.

He thinks the gash below his ribs might still be leaking as the warm, moist subway station air blows past him. He can feel that cluster of bruises above his knee— the one from the pipe the hostile operative had ripped off the rickety walls of a nearly destroyed Hydra base— every time he takes a step, more so as he climbs the stairs.

He knows he must be quite a sight with combat boots and tac pants worn and dusty, a simple bomber jacket thrown over a ripped, sliced, stained compression tank. His mind is blank, his eyes shadowy, the ghost of something terrible lurking behind blue and grey.

Posture stiff and muscles cold, steps crisp despite the ache, he follows the familiar path and manages to form the thought of turning around. Not bringing this all to a threshold— or, more accurately, a windowsill— he’s only crossed three or four times. He’s too weak, though.

It takes one rap of his knuckles against the third-story window for a lamp to flicker on, gauzy drapes pushed aside. You smile as he lifts the window open, stepping aside as he enters the apartment with careful grace. He feels less guilty when he sees that your bed is still made and your hair isn’t the tangled mess it usually is when he bursts in at a late hour.

“I have a door.”

“Okay, show-off.”

It’s when he steps into the light of the standing lamp in the room’s corner that your quiet laughter gives way to a soft gasp.

He doesn’t like the widening of your eyes or the way you gently lift the right side of his jacket, fingers light against the torn fabric. But you laugh again, and it shakes in nervousness. “You know I’m not a doctor, right? Or a nurse? Or even a pharmacist with high self-efficacy?”

He nods and, despite himself, there’s a smile pulling at a corner of his lips. His eyes brighten a little. “It’ll heal itself.”

“Confidence. I like that in a burglar.”

Before he can take a step further into your bedroom, you click your tongue against the roof of your mouth and point at his feet. “Boots.”

He kicks them off with a sigh and a groan when the shifting of his knee sends a tremor up his leg. His jacket is tossed aside as well, and he catches the black t-shirt you throw to him. You’d washed it, folded it, and put it in your closet.

Just a little more brightness. “You owe me mac and cheese.”

“Oh, I owe you mac and cheese? We’re really holding onto shit from four months ago?”

He nods again and pulls his tank off, withholding a wince.

Eyebrow raised, you cross your arms over your chest. You’re giving him a narrow look but, because you’re clearly struggling against a smile, it’s one of his favorites of the expressions you’ve ever offered him.

You give him a towel next— pastel blue. “Shower and then we’ll see about me owing you something.”

He wants to say thank you, do more than smile.

But he knows if he so much as opens his mouth while you’re looking at him the way you are, he’ll tell you he’s fallen in love with you over the last four months, that maybe he’s been in love since you screamed at him in the freezer section of Trade Joe’s.

He’ll go to say thank you, but the words of a Byron poem he’d learned to impress a girl in his English class more than eighty years ago will come pouring out or he’ll simply kiss you like he wishes he could on the nights he can’t sleep or during the missions he can just barely endure.

He’ll go to say thank you, and then tell you with no clarity whatsoever that you’re what he finds comfort in when he’s had a hard day. That the disgusting, mushy, nothing-compared-to-fresh mac and cheese is just an excuse.

But he just smiles. And nods. And takes a shower.

His hair is still wet as he stands across from you at the kitchen counter. There’s a bowl of steaming pasta between you, a spoon in his hand and a fork in yours. “You’re dripping onto the counter.”

With a cocking of his eyebrow, he shakes his head and you sputter a laugh, shoving his shoulder. “Bucky!”

He laughs then, fully and happily, as he reaches over to wipe the drops from your cheeks and forehead. You only smile back, the gleaming of your eyes making him feel warm all over.

“This shit’s terrible, by the way,” he says after a minute of staring.

You shrug a shoulder. “Told you.”

“And you fought me for it. Publicly.”

You shrug again and laugh. You lean your elbows atop the counter to match his relaxed posture, dragging a noodle through a particularly large puddle of melted cheese.

Looking up, your nose nearly bumps Bucky’s and you hope he doesn’t hear your breath stall. You try to smile. “Makes me feel better when I need to fill that hole in my heart.”

“With cholesterol?” he jokes.

“Yes. It’s excellent. It’s like spackle.” As he laughs and you roll your eyes, you push off the counter to stand straight. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Yeah?”

You hum. “I’m seeing an apartment I want tomorrow and need the rent lowered. And you’re the Winter Soldier.”

He considers that for a moment and you burst into laughter just as his eyes narrow into a fond glare. “You want me to scare them into lowering the rent?”

“Don’t think of it as you scaring them,” you begin, rounding the counter to stand next to him, hip leant against the marble, “think of it as you being an amazing friend and helping me.” A moment later you add, “By scaring them.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. He glances at the bowl to avoid the risk of staring at you for too long. “Fine.”

You grin. “You really take no convincing.”

A snort and he meets your gaze. “Only when it comes to you. I’m afraid you’ll start crying again.”

“So I could ask you for anything and you’d probably say yes?”

He shrugs a bit, then nods. Who is he kidding? You could ask for his right arm and he’d give it to you.

“Okay. Go on a date with me then.”

There’s a pause— in the conversation, in his chest. “A what?”

“A date. It’s like dinner, or coffee, or a movie, or something.” You grin when he takes half a step in your direction and his hands grip onto the counter at either side of you. “It’s this thing people do when they like each other.”

Something much more than like is in the sparkling of your eyes and the tilt of your head. Something that might match exactly what’s in his eyes whenever he’s around you. His insides burn at the thought.

“I know what a date is.”

“They had those back in your day?”

He nods and leans forward. “Not from the Stone Ages.”

Your lips brush lightly against his, hand set on his chest to feel the rapid beating beneath. You smile and he thinks he might melt. “Could’ve fooled me with that hair.”

Laughing, he presses his lips to yours a little harder.

—

Apartment littered with unpacked boxes, misplaced books, and askew furniture, you sit on top of the counter where Bucky works. He’s twirling a knife through his metal fingers, arranging sprigs of chives on the cutting board with the flesh ones.

He smiles when he catches you staring at the pan cooling on the stove. “S’not done yet.”

You sigh. Loudly, heavily. “You took it out of the oven. That means it’s done.”

“It needs to cool for a few minutes or you’ll burn off your taste buds. You want to burn off your taste buds?”

“You want to burn off your taste buds?” you repeat in a high-pitched, taunting voice. You’re scowling and, somehow, look to be on the verge of snatching the knife from him to stab it through his chest. “Maybe I do.”

Less than a minute later, you groan and add, “I don’t care how good you are in bed. I’m about ten seconds from dumping you.”

Swiftly, he chops the chives and turns around to sprinkle a bit into the baking dish. “You know, most people would say thank you.”

“Most people don’t have to wait an hour while their boyfriend attempts to make mac and cheese when there’s a perfectly good box in the freezer that would take four minutes.”

“It’s worth it.”

In all honesty, he doesn’t know if it’s worth it.

He’d asked Sam for a recipe and did his best to follow it despite the autocorrect which had changed “gruyere” to “grape year.” But he trusts it since Sam generally knows what he’s doing in the kitchen. Unlike Steve who had continuously attempted to chime in with useless suggestions such as, “Maybe don’t add the paprika.”

“Just trust me,” he urges as if replying to the growling of your stomach which has interrupted his search for the plates he could’ve sworn he’d unpacked. He’s crouched and searching the lower cabinets as he adds, “You’ll fall in love with me after you try it.”

“Who says I haven’t already?”

He stops searching.

He peeks his head above the edge of the counter and, his eyes wide, he sees you pulling two plates from a box placed on the small nook table. Your smile is small and a bit sheepish— the latter something he’d never seen from you.

“You never took them out,” you tell him, the clatter of ceramic on the wooden surface loud when you set the plates down. As you approach and he stands to his full height, you sigh and roll your eyes at the look he gives you. “Yes, I love you. It can’t be that shocking.”

“It isn’t.”

“Someone should tell your face that.”

Chuckling over the heavy thumps in his chest, he leans forward to kiss you but pauses just to say, “I love you, too, by the way.”

When an empty dish sits between the two of you, Bucky’s stomach warm and full of over three-quarters of it, you stand from the table and walk to the freezer.

Shooting a smile over your shoulder, you grab the familiar red box and toss it into the stainless steel trash can. Steph Curry at the NBA Finals. “I’m never eating that shit again.”

#this reader is a human disaster #dkjfgdkjgj #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff

5K notes · View notes

artaefact · 4 years

Text

bakery 1995.

—wordcount: 14.7k+

—genre: angst, fluff, romance, baker!jimin, bakery cafe au, childhood friends-to-lovers au

—pairing: park jimin x f reader ft. bestfriend!jungkook

—rating: pg-15

—warnings: age gap (jimin is 4-5 years older), brief mention of physical assault, memory loss, overprotective parents, some intended grammatical mistakes, swearings, y/n is dragged into jungkook’s shenanigans

—summary: After returning from college for summer break, you got yourself a part time job to keep yourself busy. However, things go way too unexpectedly and you find yourself unraveling your forgotten past.

author’s note: this is for @btswritingcafe promptly yours event !! i tweaked the prompt a bit, so hopefully no one would get confused! happy reading ♡

Prompt: “Person A once had a major childhood crush on Person B. Fast forward to college where Person A is convinced it was nothing but temporary, that is until they return home for summer break to find Person B back after being gone for several years. Turns out, they weren’t such temporary feelings.”

It’s nice to know that no matter how judgemental the world can be, pigeons would never judge you. Despite the clear contrast between yourself and the asphalt pathway, they would not hesitate to excrete waste on either of them and can’t even be bothered by the possible consequences.

Staring at the dropping on your jacket sleeve, you exhale loudly while rummaging your pocket for a kleenex.

‘Out of all the places where their shit could have landed on, it had to be MY jacket,’ you grumble to yourself.

Reaching towards the bakery in the area, you hope they still have some cinnamon rolls you have been craving for. You can already imagine yourself humming in delight as the sweetness spreads across your taste buds and—

“You have got to be kidding me.”

The cashier attendee bows apologetically at you. “We’re so sorry, all the cinnamon rolls are sold out for today.”

Today must be the worst day to date in your entire years of existence. How on earth can a bakery run out of cinnamon rolls?

Groaning internally, you trudge out of the, now, third bakery that has sold out their cinnamon rolls.

Bad luck seems to follow you throughout the day. Is it because you went out of the house while your parents were in the middle of nagging you? For the last few days after you came back home for summer break, they have been constantly nagging you and you would kill to have an hour of peace and quiet.

Mindlessly, you whip up your phone and search up on Google while you walk to the nearby bus station, typing in the search bar — is it bad luck if a bird pooped on you?

Biting your lower lip, you press on the first link that appears on the screen.

Bird poop may be a sign of hope in disguise, you read. Snorting in incredulity, you scroll through the webpage.

It can’t be good luck.

You are not the type to believe in superstitions, however, besides getting pooped on, you dropped your phone on the pavement of the sidewalk just before you reached the first bakery, an hour ago. This resulted in the annoying crack of the screen right in the middle of it. Not only that, the sole of your right tennis shoes came off halfway which hindered you from walking properly and made you look like someone who hurt their leg.

Having had enough for today, you decide to go back home. Until a pastel pink store, right across the street, catches your attention with its aesthetic-looking door.

What’s this? A new—

A dramatic gasp escapes your lips after reading the name of the store, earning confused stares from nearby people. But you couldn’t care less.

Maybe Lady Luck does still care about you.

As soon as the pedestrian light turns green, you excitedly run, no, shuffle through the zebra-cross, reaching the newly-opened bakery.

My last hope is here. Please, let there be—

The interior of the bakery exudes a welcoming vibe, with the color of pale pink being the dominant over the whole place. Basically, it's a place where those Instagram models would kill to take their pictures at. However, it’s not the interior itself that your focus locks on. When the smell of freshly baked goods wafts into your nose, your eyes zero themselves on the various types of pastries that line the display counter, covered in glass domes. And there it is.

“Yes!” You squeal, grabbing the bakery tray to fill it as much as you’d like.

When you place the filled tray in the cash register counter, the cashier comments, “Woah, that’s a lot.”

If it is a normal day, you would have waved it off. However, unfortunately for the guy, it isn’t a normal day for you, after the constant annoying incidents that happened to you earlier. The comment snaps the last thread of patience you have for the day and sadly, targets the person in front of you. “I think you should mind your own—”

You take your thoughts back. Lady Luck is not on your side nor is the universe. They must be having fun, playing pranks on you so much today.

Your words cease immediately at his sheepish yet attractive smile.

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer. “Just having a really bad day and I—”

“No! That’s okay.” The guy grins at you, eyes turning into crescent moons. “I’m the one who should be sorry, I just said the first thing that came up in my mind.”

“Ah...”

“I suck at starting conversations,” he says, sheepishly. “It’s a skill I’m planning to improve.”

Blinking twice, you manage to smile back at him, most probably just a cringed expression. “Well, um, good luck with that.”

As soon as he hands you the paper bag, you dash out of the bakery, not once looking back.

Your cheeks feel hot during the whole trip back home, every time you remember what happened, you would mentally kick yourself.

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

Eating the warm cinnamon rolls is a blessing and a curse.

You have never tasted such heavenly flavour before, all your worries and exhaustion seem to fade away. This brings you to freeze in the realisation that you’ll want, no, need to go back to that bakery to buy those delicious rolls again. Meaning, you’ll see that cute guy whom you snapped at earlier, again.

His friendly eye-smile burns deep in your mind. But you can’t shrug off the sense of familiarity of his face and his voice…

Have I met him before?

Once you reach home, body aching and tired, you take a quick shower before digging into the rolls. Clicking your tongue, you continue to munch on the rolls in your room while your thoughts pull you in deep.

The sudden knock on your door, however, brings you back to the present. Groaning loudly, you stand up from your padded window seat.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Jungkook.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Your mouth agape at the sudden visit from your best friend. “Didn’t you say you won’t see me at all until break is over?”

“I might have changed my mind. I was very bored at home.” He enters your room, plopping on your beanbag. “So, now I am bored as hell and— Did you buy food without telling me?”

You met him during freshman year and you both hit it off quite quickly, you might add. After constantly pairing up together in projects, college project meetups gradually turned into hangouts.

“Says the one who claims to see my face every day makes him sick.” You roll your eyes at his dramatic ass, you go back to the window seat, crossing your legs. “It wasn’t planned, okay? I just got back home like thirty minutes ago.”

“But still you nearly finished everything without leaving me much!” He bit your last half-finished roll, letting out a noise of approval. “Which bakery did you buy it from?”

“It’s a new one. I never saw it before we went to college.”

“You should bring me there soon.”

“Nu-uh,” you refuse. “You can go yourself. I am not stepping a foot inside that place any longer.”

“What? Why not?”

“I may have embarrassed myself in front of the worker there.” Then you tell him what happened earlier.

Jungkook shakes his head in pity. “My poor Y/N, how do you always embarrass yourself when I’m not around? How would you survive in this world without me?”

Snorting at his words, you lean against the pillows on your back. “You’re the lucky one to have someone like me as his best friend. Anyways, how about that job I’m looking for?”

“Oh!” Jungkook’s eyes lit up. “Right, I was about to tell you! My friend is looking for a part-timer for his cafe.”

“Hmm, that sounds…”

Jungkook answers, “Boring? I know you’re looking for something much more exciting and—”

Narrowing your stare at Jungkook’s obvious judgmental face, you cut him off. “It sounds perfect, actually.”

Sighing, Jungkook whips up his phone. “You better bring me leftovers every time you get off work. I’ll bring you to his cafe tomorrow.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“What? Why?”

“You little shit—” You smack his arm.

“Ow! Stop that, woman! I thought you said—”

“This is a fucking bakery, dumbass!” You hiss at him.

Jungkook gapes at you. “It’s a bakery cafe, what’s the difference?”

“It’s different! I can’t go back in there!” You whine in embarrassment.

“Wait— So this is the bakery where you embarrassed yourself?”

Nodding wordlessly, you exhale before catching Jungkook failing to stifle his laughter. “Shouldn’t be too big of a problem. He’s nice, Y/N.”

“But—”

“And I told him you were coming…” Jungkook scratches the back of his head.

After contemplating for a while, you decided to gather your courage and enter the sweet-smelling bakery with Jungkook.

Too late to go back now. It was either this or staying bored at home for the rest of the summer break, facing your parents’ look of disapproval at your lack of daily activities, or to be more exact productivity.

The cute guy just finished placing cakes inside the glass displays on the counter, then his gaze shifts to where you and Jungkook are standing.

“Jungkook!” The cute guy’s brown hair is slicked back as he takes off his baker’s hat, approaching your best friend.

“It’s been so long, Hyung!” Jungkook greets back with a hug, smiling from ear to ear. “And wow—” His eyes skim through the pastel-themed cafe. “You finally opened your own cafe.”

Watching them interacting is a foreign sight to you. It’s a rare right to see Jungkook, the usually shy one, so friendly and comfortable around the cute guy.

If you’re lucky enough, maybe the cute guy won’t remember you and—

“Ah! Miss Cinnamon Rolls!”

Scratch that. Of course, he still remembers you.

“I didn’t know you were looking for a job.” His eye smile lands on you finally and your throat dries up.

Jungkook fails to hold back his laughter. “Miss Cinnamon Rolls? Just how much did you buy last time?”

After sending a brief glare at your best friend, you introduce yourself to the cute guy, “Y/N.”

As soon as your name slips past your lips, the cute guy freezes momentarily, eyes widening a fraction. “Y/N?”

You nod slowly.

“Uh,” He fumbles. “Jimin. Park Jimin.”

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

“So, this is the kitchen area. We need to get the place ready by 8:30. Can you come by at 6 the latest?”

You nod at his question.

“We have a different menu each day. It will take some time for you to learn everything. But don’t worry I’ll teach everything you need to know.” He shoots you a smile, sending your heart to slightly flutter as you fiddle with your fingers.

Thank goodness Jungkook has left. Or else you’d never hear the end of his teasing or knowing smirk.

“I’m starting with bread and cakes these past few days before I open up the cafe section.”

For the rest of the day, Jimin spends his time letting you know everything about how the bakery runs whenever there are no customers. Even gracing you with two pieces of freshly-baked cinnamon rolls which made your cheeks burn in embarrassment at the memory of your first encounter.

“Go ahead, enjoy it,” Jimin shoots you a knowing grin.

Muttering a quiet ‘okay’, you take the first bite — holding a delighted groan at the sweetness that bursts through your tastebuds.

Propping his chin on his hand, he stares at you in amusement. “You must really like cinnamon rolls, huh?”

“They’re my comfort food,” you admit after swallowing down a piece. “My late grandmother used to make a lot of rolls at home.”

“I see… Well, have you ever baked before, Y/N?”

“The basic stuff like chocolate chip cookies…”

“Oh, that’s great—”

You added quickly, “But I nearly burned down Jungkook’s kitchen, though. He banned me from the kitchen ever since.”

A surprised laugh escapes the man’s lips which you don’t mind hearing more often, especially if you are the one behind it.

“At least the cookies still turned out great. It was a bit on the burnt side but still good… Crispy and crunchy.” You nervously chuckle. “But I swear, I’m not that bad if you provide a clear recipe!”

Still giggling, Jimin leans forward on his seat. “I can teach you everything you need to know. The basic stuff on baking and then there would be clear recipes I can provide you.”

Your eyes lighten up at that. “Yes! I’ll try my best.”

Arriving at the bakery at 6 am sharp, the next day — your official first day at work — Jimin can be seen moving back and forth from the small window opening connecting the kitchen and the bakery itself, already busy in the kitchen.

The smell of his work wafts through the entire bakery, indicating that he has been there for quite some time. Once you enter the kitchen, your mouth waters instinctively at the smell and sight of freshly-baked breads on the counter.

“How can I help?” From observing the finished baked goods, your eyes shift curiously at some ingredients — eggs, chocolate chips, sugar, flour — on the kitchen counter while you tighten the knot of your apron.

“You’re going to bake some chocolate chip cookies.” Jimin places a tray full of another different set of bread near the first one through the window. “So, go ahead, preheat the oven first.”

Following his instruction, you move towards one of the ovens. “Um…”

The corner of his lips quirks up at your obvious confusion before he chimes on how hot the oven should be set on.

With a brief nod, you turn on the oven. “Is this a test to see how far my baking skills go?” When you take a glimpse of the honey-haired man, he returns it with an amused grin of his own.

“Bingo.” Jimin’s smile is boyish and carefree and his eyes become crescent moons.

In other words, it made your heart race. However, you dismiss such unprofessional thoughts quickly before blood rises to your cheeks.

Clearing your throat, you move to the counter and start mixing the necessary ingredients altogether and set the dough on the baking tray. When the oven is preheated, you bring the tray towards it only to realise your mistake too late: not opening the oven first.

“Let me help,” Jimin says softly, opening the oven deftly.

“T-Thanks...” you mumble, concentrating on the task at hand.

Time passes quickly, before you know it, the oven makes a soft ‘ting’ sound. Opening it, the sweet smell wafts through the kitchen.

“I did it!” you say, excitedly placing the hot tray on the marble counter.

“But the final test is how the cookies taste.”

You watch in nervous anticipation as Jimin pops one of the cookies into his mouth. Not a moment later, he lets out a surprised sound.

“This is really good, Y/N. You do have the talent to bake.”

You beam at his words.

“Since that’s all set, I believe we still have other kinds of pastries to prepare for the day. I have all the recipes prepared for you here.” He motions to the notebook on the counter — you flip through it, astonished at all the recipes.

“Are these your own personalised recipes?”

Nodding, Jimin shoots you a grin. “I’ve always loved baking and there are some ways to make things with their own unique taste.”

The rest of the upcoming hour, you and Jimin were busy baking with Jimin instructing and giving you pointers. At some point, you even talked about anything and everything, as if you both have known each other all your life while you both work.

You have to admit, you find it really enjoyable. When the bakery closes, you sit quietly on one of the empty tables near the cashier after Jimin tells you to wait.

Mindlessly flipping through his recipe notebook, your attention soon shifts to Jimin himself with a steaming cup in his hold.

“Here.” He sets the cup in front of you.

You look at him quizzically before he motions for you to try.

“I’m opening the cafe part next week,” Jimin says. “Thought you can be the first to judge my caramel macchiato.”

“That’s a lot of caramel in one drink…” For a few moments, you observe the steaming coffee, froth decorates the top of it with drizzles of caramel in patterns of criss-cross nearly covering most of the foam itself. “Why caramel macchiato, though?”

“I thought you’d—” He clears his throat. “So many people really love caramel macchiato. So, I thought I’d go with this one for you to try first.”

Bringing the cup carefully to your lips, you take a sip of the beverage. The texture of the coffee is so smooth and the slight bitterness spreads through your taste buds and down your throat. Then you taste the caramel, letting out a delighted surprise when you find caramel bits inside the beverage.

Jimin keeps his stare on you, one hand supporting his chin and his eyes unreadable.

“What is it?” You ask, after downing the drink.

He blinks as if he was lost in his own thoughts. “Uh, how is it?”

“It’s very good.”

“Do you like coffee?” He asks.

Nodding, you tell him you loved to steal your mom’s coffee when you were younger. “There used to be a cafe near my place. I used to go there frequently during my high school years.”

Jimin briefly stills at yours words. “Do you... Still go there?”

You shake your head. “It was closed two years ago unfortunately.”

“Hmm, that’s a shame. I would’ve wanted to try the coffee there.”

Chuckling at his words, your mind takes you back to your high school days. “It was really good.”

Humming to yourself, you continue to flip through the pages of Jimin’s recipe notebook. “What’s this?” You stop at one page, pointing at a child’s drawing on his recipe notebook. “Did you draw it when you were younger?”

“It’s a shooting star.” Jimin answers. “And, no. I didn’t.”

“Oh? Sister? Brother?”

“I don’t have a sister and my brother just does not have the artistic skill to draw that,” he laughs. “It was someone from my past. Someone who is precious to me.”

“Oh…” Noticing his faraway gaze on the notebook, you sense it is a sensitive topic. “Why a shooting star though?”

“It represents hopes and wishes, according to her.” His smile turns nostalgic. “I was having a hard time back then. But this girl,” he chuckles as if in disbelief. “— just straight up grabbed my notebook and drew a shooting star on it, saying I should wish on this star since seeing a shooting star is not that common here.”

There’s something sad but warm in Jimin’s tone as he talks about this girl. You can only assume that this girl is not in his life anymore. Or even in this world.

“I see…”

“As ridiculous as it sounds, I actually did it. Very frequently in all honesty. Whenever I’m having a hard time, I’d wish upon that star.”

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

A week passes quickly and just like a normal day, you arrive back home just a quarter past eight. Tugging off your shoes near the doorway, you hear your dad calling from the living room.

“Yes?” Mindlessly, you step into the living room only to meet the stern glare from him.

“Where were you?” Your dad asks. “Do you have any idea what time it is now?”

“It’s around eight...”

“And your curfew?”

Furrowing your brows, you gape, “I thought that was back in high school.”

“That still applies until now. I expect you to come back before seven.” Then he repeats his question, “Where were you?”

“From my new part-time place.” You answer. “I thought I told you about it.”

“If you want a job, you can intern in the company for the summer,” your dad sighs. “There’s no need for part-time jobs.”

You should have known it would last just three days before you are missing your university life, or to be more specific living alone. With the constant nagging from your parents, you crave for silence for a period of time. One thing you have been missing quite badly you have to admit, which is why you took the job in the bakery. Away from the scrutinising stares of your parents.

Here it goes again.

“I don’t think I’m ready to start there, Dad,” you exhale. “I want to do other things while I can.”

The same topic, the same debate you’d try to avoid as much as possible ever since you arrived back home for the summer. That was why you’d try to find something else to do. You always wanted to try a new hobby over the holidays. Now, with the excess amount of time in your hands, you are able to try.

That is why you opt for the part time job Jungkook found — working in the bakery.

“This isn’t going to work if you get home after your curfew, Y/N. You know how dangerous it is if you come home late.”

“I’m an adult now,” you reply, exasperatedly. “I can take care—”

“Things can get unpredictable, Y/N. It’s better that you’re safe than sorry.”

“Dad, when will you stop reminding me of that?” You groan in annoyance. “I don’t even remember how the accident happened.”

“The more reason for you to be cautious!”

Exasperated, you storm up to your room and carelessly throw your bag on the side of your bed. Laying on your back, you stare at the ceiling as your thoughts muddle when you try to think of what happened.

All you remember back then is that you woke up in the hospital, met with the worried gaze of your parents as soon as you got your consciousness back. However, they never tell or fill you in on what happened.

Gradually, your eyelids grow heavier — exhausted from the day and the burst of negative emotions over the argument you had earlier. Thus, you succumb to sleep. However, your mind takes you elsewhere.

Everything is dark.

With your own ragged breathing, you struggle to keep yourself as quiet as possible, biting down a hiss from the sting of your scraped knees. Tears pool in your eyes as you wait, hidden behind one of the playground’s slides and out of sight of any possible passerby.

There are no memories of what happened beforehand. All you know is to stay there and wait.

“Y/N?”

Peeking out of your hiding place, the figure draws closer calling your name in another hushed whisper.

But you knew this voice. So, you whispered back, “Here...” As soon as you get out of your hiding place, a warm embrace envelops your small frame.

“We’re okay, everything’s okay. I’ve lost them. We’re safe now,” he whispers, stroking your head softly while your fists clench on his shirt.

Not a moment later, your tears start to fall and you sob into his shirt. He tightens his hold on you, one hand on the back of your head as he repeatedly whispers, “It’s okay, I’m here.”

“I’m here...” His voice then seems to echo and your surrounding becomes a blur.

When you open your eyes, you realise you’re back in your room yet there are stray tears in your eyes. Sitting up on your bed, you take a few deep breaths to calm yourself.

Was that a memory…?

“Have a good day.” You bid the last customer of the day farewell and once they leave, your cheeks droop into a frown. With a sigh, you walk out of the cashier register place towards the front door, turning the ‘Open’ plate to ‘Close’.

The dream you had last night still felt so vivid that you considered it was a flashback of your memory loss. You wanted to ask your parents about it. However, yesterday’s conflict was still fresh. You were sure they would dismiss it.

After cleaning up the counters of the bakery café and mopping the floors, you trudge into the break room, sitting down on one of its chairs as you wait for Jimin’s return from his “errand”.

Your mind takes you back to the dream where someone was hugging you tight.

Who was it? you wonder. In the back of your mind, somehow you never felt his warmth among your high school friends. The guy who was holding you is just different.

You are so deep in your thoughts that you didn’t realise Jimin entering until he brings something right in front of your face. “What—”

“Hot chocolate,” he answers, softly. “You seem distracted today, I thought this might cheer you up.”

Taking the steaming cup from him, you mutter your thanks before breathing in the sweet smell, blowing softly on the beverage. “That was fast.”

“Hmm?”

“Wait, did you go out to buy this?” You lift the warm cup of hot chocolate.

Jimin lets out an embarrassed chuckle. “I wanted to make you one. Until I realised that the ingredients are finished. So, I had to run out.”

“You didn’t have to, you know…”

“I know. But I wanted to anyway.”

Your eyes look down, can’t help feeling touched by his sweet gesture as you fight back to keep yourself from blushing.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He must have noticed the change of your expression before he says quickly, “Only if you’re comfortable, of course! I just thought talking about what’s on your mind can ease you. At least a bit.”

Blinking your eyes twice, a chuckle escapes your lips. “I guess so.”

“That’s your first smile today.”

You raise a brow at him.

“Your first real smile, I mean. Your cheekbones do not have much tension if you’re genuinely happy whereas if you fake a smile, it seems more like you’re cringing. Like our first encounter.” He chuckles, meaningfully.

“I’m sorry...” you mumble, eyes glancing down at the steaming hot chocolate on your lap.

“That’s fine,” he says easily. “Everyone has their bad days.”

You smile slightly at his words. “Had a fight with my parents last night.”

Jimin stays quiet, still listening to you.

“They are always so protective when it comes to me. Maybe a bit too much at times. I’m a grown adult for fuck’s sake.” Another sigh escapes your lips before taking a sip of the hot chocolate. “My dad especially. He made it sound like a big deal when I came home around eight. I’m just frustrated at this.”

“Have you talked to him about it?”

You nod in response.

“Was there something that made your dad feel that way?”

“I...” You blink. “I guess it’s because that one time I ended up in the hospital?”

“You did?”

You nod. “A few years ago, I had an accident.”

Jimin stiffens at your words. “Oh?”

“But it was nothing. I didn’t even remember what happened in all honesty.”

He stutters, “W-What?”

“I lost my memories. I had no recall of the accident at all.” Eyes training blankly on your front, focusing on nothing as you dive back into your memories. “My parents told me there is nothing to worry about and my memories would come back gradually. They never filled me in on what happened too.”

The corner of his lips soon quirks up slightly, his expression wistful. “Maybe they wouldn’t want you to be traumatised by what happened. It’s already fortunate enough for you to be able to recover from your head injury.”

“Yeah... I guess so,” you mumble.

However, since that incident you can’t deny the feeling of something missing since a chunk of your life has been cut off. No memories of the accident have returned even after years. Recovering from the head injury—

“Wait—” Head snapping to face Jimin. “How did you know I had a head injury?”

Jimin blinks repeatedly, as if your words just sink in. “Ah! I mean isn’t it a head injury? You lost your memories after all.” An awkward laugh escapes his lips. “Usually, people who lost their memories have head injuries, right?”

“Well, yeah...”

“Anyways, finish the hot chocolate and you should head home before your parents—”

Suddenly, a wave of deja vu washes over you. Snapping your gaze from the hot chocolate in your hands, you look at Jimin as your brain starts to grow fuzzy at the familiarity of Jimin’s words.

“Jimin...” you begin.

“Huh?”

“Have we ever met before I started working here?”

“You mean the first time you came into this bakery?”

You shake your head. “No, even before that. Did we know each other?”

A surprised glint appears in his eyes before it dissipates as quick as it appears. “I don’t think so…?”

Oh.

“Maybe we’ve just ran into each other at some point in town. But I don’t think we ever knew each other.”

“I see...” Disappointment floods through you at his words.

Right, you thought to yourself. If he was a close friend he would have recognised you instantly when you came to his bakery.

“Oh, look at the time.” Jimin stands up. “You need to be home before dark, right?”

“It’s not a big deal—”

He shakes his head. “It’s alright. You’ve finished cleaning today. I just need to close up and check the supplies.”

“But—” Your words die in your throat when Jimin pats your head.

“You’ve worked hard today,” he grins at you.

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

“I’m home,” you call out to no one in particular before you hear your mother from the kitchen.

Once you reach the kitchen, your mother turns her head to see you. “Help me set the table, dinner’s almost ready.”

Nodding, you follow suit. “Where’s Dad?”

“Your father is still caught in a meeting. He’ll be home late.”

“I see,” you mutter, placing the silverwares on the table.

“How’s work?” your mother asks. “You’re home earlier than usual.”

“It’s great,” you answer. “The boss lets me off early.”

And you continue to talk about your day. From helping Jimin bake cakes and bread early in the morning, serving customers coffee and desserts, cleaning up the whole place, and enjoying the hot chocolate Jimin bought you earlier.

“He sounds like a nice guy,” your mom muses when you both sit at the dinner table.

“He is.” A smile appears on your face, remembering his sweet gesture and warm presence. Then your mind shifts to the conversation you had earlier, and what has been bothering you lately. “Mom?”

“Hmm…?”

“Five years ago, how did I end up in the hospital?”

Your mother noticeably stiffens at your question, ceases digging through her plate of food.

“You and Dad never filled me in. You both kept on saying that my memories will return eventually… Until now actually.” You let out a breath. “I think I’m old enough to know what really happened.”

Letting out a deep breath herself, your mother puts down her fork. “What do you remember?”

“I was at a playground and hiding… Then there’s someone who came to find me.” Met with silence from your mother, you continue, “Was it one of my friends?”

Shaking her head, your mother answers, “It wasn’t any of your high school friends.”

“Then who…?”

“You never mentioned his name. But you’d always talk about him back then.” Your mother sighs. “Go through the attic when you’re having a day off. You’ll find some of your old stuff I hid there. Make sure your father is not home.”

Standing up, you want to go there at once. However, your mother stops you. “Y/N, listen to me. Whatever you find there, if you… If anything hurts or feels just too much, I want you to stop, alright? You’re a grown adult and I trust you’ll prioritise your own health.”

Nodding wordlessly, you finish the remaining food on your plate.

[ when you were fifteen years old: after the incident ]

When the dismissal bell rings, some students instantly scramble from their desks, some stretch lazily on their seats and have conversations with others.

“Hey, Y/N.” One of your classmates calls you, a smile etched on her face. “So glad to have you back.”

“Yeah! This sem has been a pain in the ass. You’ll get through it in a breeze!” Another classmate adds.

You respond with a grateful smile of your own before packing up your things.

It hasn’t been that long since you were released from the hospital. You have persistently insisted your parents to let you go back to school and they finally relented after you promised them that you’ll go straight back home and to not strain yourself after dismissing your parents’ idea of hiring a driver.

Today is your first day back. Your friends greeted you excitedly when you stepped into the classroom. Even those who you recall never talked much with you greeted you with a ‘Hi’.

Walking mindlessly through the streets of your neighbourhood, your legs take you to a cafe as you recognise the familiar scent of coffee.

Tilting your head in confusion, you stare at the cafe building in shades of black and brown.

What exactly are you doing here?

There were no planned meetups with your friends, yet, your body seems to find its way here. Fishing out your phone, you scan through the past messages to double check any planned hangouts.

It’s a Wednesday.

But…

With the curiosity nagging inside you, you search for Beomgyu’s contact.

[ 4:05 PM ] You: beomie, do you know the cafe near my place?

[ 4:05 PM ] Beomgyu: i guess?? Every wednesday you'd always go there for no apparent reason at all. When i wanted to tag along you’d always give me the devil eye :(

[ 4:05 PM ] You: oh… that’s… well, sorry lol. Do u wanna come here?

[ 4:06 PM ] Beomgyu: wait, r u srs ???

[ 4:06 PM ] You: i mean if u’re not busy and i think getting coffee and hanging in the cafe would be good.

[ 4:07 PM ] Beomgyu: i'd never thought this day would come :’) i’ll be there in 10.

Chuckling at your friend’s response, you place your phone back into your pocket. Exhaling, you enter the cafe and make your way towards the cashier register.

“Welcome, what would you like for today?” The person smiles at you.

“Caramel macchiato, please.”

She nods, typing in your order. “That will be four dollars.”

After exchanging your payment with a receipt, you wait at an empty table for two near the window. Something about this familiar place, however, feels off. Like there is something missing that you can’t seem to put your finger on.

Your thoughts are cut off when someone takes the seat across from you. “Why are you so deep in thought?”

Beomgyu stares at you quizzically as you blink in realisation. “Uh…”

He narrows his stare at you suspiciously before shifting his gaze around the cafe. “So, what is it that kept you going here?”

You shake your head in response. “I have no idea either. Honestly, I have this gut feeling to come here when I passed by earlier.”

“Hmm, maybe the coffee?” Beomgyu watches one of the waitresses bringing your orders, placing it on your table.

Sighing, you stare at the steaming cup with caramel drizzles on the foam for a few moments. Then you bring the cup to your lips to take a sip.

“Argh, why is this bitter?” Scrunching your nose, you motion towards the waitress for extra caramel.

“Did… Your taste buds change too? You said the caramel macchiato here is perfect.”

A snort escapes you as you drizzle more caramel into the coffee. “I got hit in the damn head, Beomie. It doesn’t change my taste buds.”

He shrugs. “Well, who knows. I never knew you like caramel that much.”

You freeze momentarily.

“Y/N? You okay?” Beomgyu waves a hand in front of your face.

“Y-yeah, I just…”

“You just…?”

Shaking your head once more, you whisper, “It’s nothing…” But your eyes scan through the busy workers in the cafe.

Deep inside, you had an inkling that the coffee here isn’t your sole reason for coming here.

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

Turns out you were right.

Once when you came into the cafe on another Wednesday, you sat at your usual place after ordering your usual drink.

“Oh, my dear, you’re finally back,” someone says.

Blinking, your gaze snaps to the elder woman — maybe around her mid fifties — and you give her a small smile before asking, “Do I know you...?”

It was her turn to look confused at your words.

“I’m really sorry for not recognising!” You grow flustered at your words. “I lost my memory in an accident a few months ago...”

“Oh, that’s awful!” The lady — a regular customer, you assume — gasps. “So that’s why you don’t frequent this cafe anymore. The young man looked so heartbroken before he quit his job—”

“Young man?”

“The barista, dear,” the lady replies. “You used to come here and meet him. I had to shush the both of you every time to not disturb the other customers.”

“I... Was he from my school?”

The lady shakes her head. “I don’t think so. He never wore a uniform like yours.”

“Do you know his name?”

The lady shakes her head once more. “His name was Park. Probably that’s his last name. At least that’s what is written on his name tag.”

And you internally groan. There are thousands of people with that last name.

“Do you know where he’s gone?”

“I’m afraid no, my dear. I heard he quit the job suddenly.”

Sighing, you thanked the lady before heading out of the cafe with your shoulders dropping in defeat.

The trapdoor makes a loud creaking sound when you lift it up, indicating that it hasn’t been used for a very long time. Slipping the key back to your back pocket, you step up further on the ladder with the trap door laying on another side as you go through it while the floorboards creak underneath your weight.

It didn’t take you long to locate your old things. Scanning through the boxes, you find one doodled in various flowers and rainbows with your name written on it as well.

With a grunt, you lift up the dusty box, bringing it down to the floor with a thud which causes you to cough at the flying dust. In an attempt to swat the dust away, you wave your hand in front of you. Still coughing uncontrollably with your eyes watering. After your cough ceases, you crouch and open the box. A few notebooks can be found inside along with some old dolls from your childhood.

You vaguely remember the locked diary you liked to write in about your day and its pale pink cover which was covered in sparkling stickers you used to be obsessed with.

Digging further through the books, you finally found it — the possible answer to your lost memories — with a small key dangling on the lock.

Climbing down from the attic, you made your way to your room while fumbling with the lock and key of your old diary. After successfully unlocking it, you take a seat on your padded window sill, flipping through the yellowing pages.

The first page was clearly written by you. Your old handwriting and your name. The first entry you wrote dates back to a decade ago.

Your fingers twitch at how cringe-y most of the entries are. Yet, at the same time you find it endearing how you used to write about your day. The good, the bad, and the normal things — appreciating just to be able to experience and get through them.

The last of your entries date back to months before the incident when you were fifteen. Probably because you decided that you were too old to write diaries any longer.

Recalling how you’d always visit the cafe every Wednesday, you skim through Wednesday entries. However one particular name seems to stand out in those entries.

“Mochi?” You flip from one entry to another. Who the hell is that?

Deciding to get to the bottom of this, you search for the earliest entry that you can find — nine years ago.

I met the hot choco guy again, today. I’m feeling so happy!!! He is so nice. why can’t any of the boys in my school be like him????

Hot... Choco? Furrowing your brows, you skip to the next Wednesday entry.

i am feeling so happy that mama brought me to the cafe last last week!!! she do not let me drink the coffee drink, so Mochi give me hot choco! i think it’s the best BEST drink EVER!!!

“How the hell did hot choco guy turn into Mochi?” you mumble to yourself, flipping through your diary to the next Wednesday entry.

Mochi teached me how to do math!!! It was so fun! But when Teacher Lee teaches me, it’s always boring. How did Mochi make math fun??? I wish he go to my school instead and teach me math :(

You internally cringe at your younger self. Exhaling, you press your temple in disbelief.

This whole diary of your younger self is basically gushing over this hot-choco-turned-Mochi guy as you flip through other pages. However, you stop at a certain entry.

Today… Is a very bad day. But Mochi suddenly makes it better.

Glancing at the date — it was the day your grandmother passed away.

He promises to make me cinnamon rolls whenever i tell him to! Just like Grannie… I’m sorry, Diary. I don’t think i can write more today. I just hope tomorrow will be a better day.

“Mochi…” you mumble repeatedly with furrowing brows and the name seems to trigger your brain to relive some memories.

“I’m calling you Mochi!” You hear your own twelve-year old voice. Yelping, your diary lands on the floor with a small thud.

“No!” Another voice rings in your head — familiar and warm. “That’s a really uncool nickname.”

“But you look like a mochi! And it’s not uncool! I think it’s really cute!”

Blinking, your mind brings you back to reality. Reaching down for your diary, you freeze momentarily before clutching your head. For a moment, your heart stops when your gaze lands on your diary’s open page — a drawing of a familiar shooting star.

Mochi is… Jimin?

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

[ when you were twelve ]

When another sigh escaped his lips, you glanced up from your math workbook — his face can only be described as perturbed. With no hesitance, you quietly pushed the last cookie on your plate to him, earning his glassy stare as it shifted from his notebook that’s lying open on the table.

He blinked a few times before clearing his throat. “Why didn’t you finish that? Do you want to bring it home?”

You shook your head, heat tinging your cheeks. “It’s for you. You look like you need it.”

“It’s caramel cookies.”

Nodding, you mumbled, “You said eating it can comfort people.”

The boy stared at you for a moment longer — recalling the time when you had a bad day and he gave you that, then he chuckled. “I guess I did.”

Pursing your lips, you nodded again. “I can order hot chocolate for you too.”

He reached for the last cookie, finally a small smile you have awaited appearing on his face. “This is enough, Y/N. I really appreciate it. Thanks.”

You beamed at his words, then you extended one hand to take his notebook and draw a shooting star on the page it was opened on.

“We can’t really see shooting stars in here,” you explain, pushing his notebook back to him. “So, whenever you’re having a hard time, wish on this shooting star! It represents hopes and wishes!”

“What that’s—” He stopped himself. Letting out a sigh, he found himself nodding despite how ridiculously endearing the idea was. “Alright. I will.”

The blare of your alarm jolts you awake. Groaning, you grab your phone, turning off the alarm when you realise you have to go to work. You can’t find it in yourself to see Jimin today. Not after finding out that he was, is, part of your missing childhood memories.

Your gaze lands on the diary, laying open on your window sill. As you read more and more of your diary entries, Mochi being Jimin just makes sense. You remember how he went out of his way just to buy you hot chocolate when you were having a bad day — just like in the past.

After all this time, Jimin is actually part of, no, in most of your childhood life.

And he denied it.

Why?

You continuously drift back to that one question. Why did he deny it when you asked him? Don’t people usually love to get reacquainted with their childhood friends?

Sighing, you message Jimin listlessly, telling him you aren’t feeling well before you turn off your phone completely. You don’t think you can handle interacting more with him.

Hours passed, when someone barges in your room. “Y/N!”

Peeking out from your blanket, you glare at your best friend. “What the fuck, Kook?”

“Jimin told me you aren’t feeling well. So, I came to check up on you.”

“Okay, you did. Now, go back home.”

Without responding, he opens the curtain in your room, letting in the piercing sunlight and you let out an annoyed ‘tsk’.

Should have known your best friend isn’t going to let this go easily.

“What’s wrong with you? You’ve been off the whole weekend. You may be able to trick Jimin but you can’t trick me.”

Still burying yourself under your blanket, the bed dips on your friend’s weight as he waits for your response. But you keep your silence, trying your best to even your breathing. You’ve cried enough after all.

“Hmm?” Jungkook stands up. “What’s this? Your diary?”

Abruptly, you fling yourself off the bed and grab your diary from his clutches.

“Go home, Jungkook. I’m not in the mood to deal with this.”

“You know I won’t until you tell me what’s going on.”

“I’m just...” Your shoulders droop in defeat. “Why?”

“Why what?”

You hate crying in front of anyone. But it’s as if a dam broke, your tears do not stop falling while you babble, “Why did he pretend to not know me? Why did he deny? Why—”

Jungkook blinks repeatedly at your sudden change. “W-wait! Why are you crying? I don’t under—”

“Park Jimin!” Your sudden outburst flusters him further. “The guy who you’re friends with and who you recommended for me to work with! That’s who!”

“But—”

“He‘s Mochi.”

Jungkook looks dumbfounded for a moment before your words register inside his head. “M-Mochi?”

Like a petulant child, you climb on your bed once more and hide your diary beneath your pillow. “Leave me alone, Kook.”

With a defeated sigh, Jungkook trudges out of your room, leaving you once again drowning in your thoughts.

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

Jimin has always loved mornings, especially when he is able to quietly bake on what most people would call ungodly hours. There is something enjoyable about being fully awake during this time when no sounds of passing vehicles can distract him, making him feel at ease.

He had started appreciating the little things in life when you — who once stared up at him with curious eyes, expression lightening up when he made a cup of hot chocolate for you — taught him to.

Chuckling to himself, his mind drifts back to the time you first entered his bakery. Gods, he should have known it was you. But you were so different, he could hardly comprehend how much you had grown.

Gone was your happy-go-lucky self. He was stunned when you suddenly snapped at him. Your younger self would probably respond with a smile and drone on about how much you love cinnamon rolls. For a second, his heart had hoped. Maybe you remembered him after all these years?

Yet that hope dissipated in an instant when you merely apologised and ran out. Moreover, you didn’t return to his bakery after buying the cinnamon rolls, he thought he had screwed things up by attempting to start a conversation with you. Or maybe that person wasn’t really you. Just someone who looks a lot like you. He still had his suspicions after all.

However, his suspicions were gone the moment you introduced yourself, leaving him speechless. Jimin would be lying if he said he didn’t hope — at least for a bit — that you would remember him when he mentioned his name.

That was why the moment you appeared once more to work as a part-timer, he was ecstatic. No words can explain it.

He started to look forward to work every day — coming to his own bakery to see you even when you didn’t remember him, but he would still gladly take whatever he can to be around you.

Once he sets the tray of unbaked cinnamon rolls into the oven, his phone buzzes. As soon as he reads the text, his heart drops a little.

[ 7:08 AM ] You: Sorry, I cant come to work today. Not feeling well.

He types, ‘That’s okay. get well soon, y/n :)’

But it left undelivered. Did your phone die? He wonders.

Jimin can’t help shake the weird feeling bubbling inside. So, he messages Jungkook.

[ 7:15 AM ] Jimin: y/n isn’t feeling well today. do u mind checking up on her ???

But of course, Jungkook didn’t read the message until a few hours later. That boy enjoys gaming all night.

[ 12:03 PM ] Jungkook: what?

[ 12:03 PM ] Jungkook: for real ?? since when does she get sick? that girl has a fucking high immunity. she never even once got a cold during the semester

Jimin furrowed his brows at that.

[ 12:04 PM ] Jimin: still, go check up on her pls. she’s ur friend too

[ 12:04 PM ] Jungkook: yeah, omw

It hasn’t even been an hour later when Jungkook rushes into the bakery — earning surprised and curious glances from the customers who were chattering among themselves. “Hyung—“ he catches his breath as he stands in front of the counter. “I think you need to fix—“ Huff. “—I mean go to Y/N’s house yourself.

Jimin blinks in confusion.

“You... You’re Mochi, aren’t you?”

At the mention of that name, blood drains from Jimin’s face instantly.

She remembers...?

“How did you—”

“What matters is, you need to fix it, hyung. You’re the only one who can. She’s not herself, right now. I've known her for a few years and it takes a lot for her to react like this. So, please, you should talk about it.”

“Okay,” Jimin breathes out. “Do you mind closing the cafe once the customers are all done?”

Jungkook nods. “Yeah, just go to her, hyung. I’ll handle everything here.”

[ when you were fifteen: before the accident ]

“I wish you can teach me math all the time, Mochi,” you giggle, leaning back on the cafe chair. “Everything is easier when you explain it.”

Jimin chuckles at that. “I’m pretty sure you’re the one not paying attention in class.”

Shaking your head rapidly, you deny, “Of course I paid attention! It’s just... I don’t know… It was really boring when my teacher was teaching. He just drones on and on without stopping.”

With an amused hum, Jimin stands up. “I’ll get ready to leave. I’ll walk you home.”

After a few minutes, you head out of the cafe with Jimin behind you. Shivering against the cool night air, you draw closer to the boy. Instinctively, Jimin offers you his open hand which you accepted with no hesitance.

Little did he know, every time he does this, it makes your heart beat a little faster at the way your hand fits well in his. And you savour it.

The build up of feelings has been going on for a while now. Maybe a few months. You’ve developed a crush on him. Like, how can you not? Jimin possesses charming qualities that no one else has. Not to mention how kind and warm of a person he is.

Meetings in the cafe had you wishing they were dates instead. And you had to let him know.

And tell him you did.

He blinks at first, words sinking into him. Mochi, I think I like you. Like, really, really like you.

His cheeks are pink, you weren’t sure if it's from the cold or his embarrassment.

“I’m sorry.”

Of course. What were you expecting? He only sees you as a little sister.

“No, that’s okay,” you reply quickly, but your heart drops. “It’s just… You know, I wanted to tell you know because you’re really cool, Mochi.”

“Y/N… Listen, this is not a good time—” Abruptly, he stops, catching your wrist on his. “I want you to hide in the playground.”

“What?”

“Hide, please. I will explain everything later.”

You want to run away from him. But the pleading look on his face makes you listen.

“There he is!” You hear an unfamiliar shout.

Cursing under his breath, Jimin quickly pushes you under the slide. “Wait here.”

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

[ Present time ]

Jimin reaches your house, his heart beating fast against his chest with a box of cinnamon rolls in hand.

You are home alone and Jungkook has left the door unlocked.

Letting himself in, Jimin glances around. Everything still looks the same as back then. He went to your house once to tutor you. And he still can remember that day clearly.

Climbing up the stairs, he reaches your room. With shaking hands, he knocks on the door.

Silence.

A moment or two passes then your door opens. Jimin braces for the anger you’d throw at him.

But nothing comes.

You merely stand there, eyes glassy as they lock on his.

“Y/N...” He mutters, torn between to reach out or not. But you leave the door open as you sit on your bed. Jimin enters your familiar room, still surprised at how it still looks the same. And his eyes fall on a notebook — the notebook you never let him read — on the table.

“Why are you here?” you ask, voice trembling.

“I wanted to check up on you—”

“Why?”

Jimin knows at once what you are asking.

He approaches you sitting on the edge of the bed. He kneels down, peering up with those chocolate eyes of his to meet your downcast stare — like those times when he wants to talk to you and you refuse to look at him.

“Do… Do you still remember me?” Your voice barely comes out as a whisper.

“Y/N…” The lack of surprise in his voice answers it. He still remembers you as you recall the once shocked expression on his face when you first introduce yourself. Now, it all made sense.

“W-Why didn’t you tell me?” A sob escapes your lips. “Do you not want me to remember—”

He shakes his head, denying it quickly. “No! Of course not. I just… I was ecstatic actually when it was you who came to work for me.”

“But why didn’t you tell me?” Voice cracking. “You knew me—”

Clearly in conflict, he sighs, “I don’t want you to remember your traumatic memories… Remembering me might cause you more pain.”

“But it didn’t. Those memories, from what I can remember there’s nothing—”

“That’s what your parents told me, Y/N.”

Eyes widening, you gape at him as tears cascade down your face.

“You were seriously injured back then. The doctor said it will be best for you to let your own memories come to you in their own time. And I had to leave this place... I came by after your operation and... I wanted to say goodbye but I was told it was best to not see you any longer to prevent anymore distress—”

“But you are important to me!” You cut him off. Then turning quieter, “You are important to me…” You say between sobs.

Covering your eyes with your hand, you whimper when Jimin engulfs you in a hug. “I’m sorry…” He murmurs, caressing your head. “I’m so sorry…”

His heart breaks at your current state, tightening his hold on you, who’s crying into his chest. Years of buried regret and longing resurface. He had envisioned many times on how you would remember him. But he fails to realise how much it can hurt you when your memories return. If only he can turn back time, he will take that chance to save you from the misery of your memory loss.

Yet, all he can do now is to hold you close, begging you for forgiveness and hope that you’d let him stay by your side.

“So, let me get this straight, you—” Jungkook points his straw at you. “—and Jimin hyung were childhood friends—” He pierces the plastic cover of his milk tea. “—and he used to tutor you in a cafe.”

Nodding, you purse your lips and enjoy your own drink.

You had taken a few days off after the reconciliation to collect your thoughts and confront your parents about what had happened. They have come into terms with their protectiveness of you staying out very late. And you have managed to convince them to let you stay out late as long as you let them know.

You were planning to stay in bed all day if it wasn’t for Jungkook who barged into your room like he owns the place, after he claimed that Jimin lets him off from work early — which you doubt honestly, it’s more of Jungkook escaping from work — and decided to drag you to the nearest milk tea shop.

“Is something weird?” you blurt out.

“Did you by any chance, I don’t know...” Jungkook mutters. “Have feelings for each other?”

You nearly choke on your tapioca pearl and rapidly you shake your head. “No! That’s—”

Jungkook narrows his stare at you, sipping his drink as you continue to blabber, “I mean, I knew him since I was like, what? Twelve? He never sees me that way.”

“Maybe he didn’t back then.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean both of you are adults now. Aren’t things different?”

You snort at his words. “He always sees the little girl in me, Jungkook. So, please, don’t make things weird, alright? I can literally see your head gearing.”

Jungkook lets out a sigh. “Alright, if you say so. But how about you?”

Sipping your drink, you lift a brow at him.

“Do you like him?”

“Of course, I do.”

“I meant like, like him.”

“Kookie, what are you? Five?”

He snorts at your response. “Five heads taller than you—” Your glare shuts him up. “Okay, but do you see him as someone special?”

An exasperated sigh escapes your lips. “Why are we discussing this? We’re just friends. Who coincidentally are childhood friends as well.”

“You sure?”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sigh once more. “What are you expecting me to say?”

“What do you think of him?”

Almost at once, the words flow easily out of your mouth. “He’s a caring person and he knows how to comfort someone when they’re having a bad day.”

“You mean, he knows how to comfort you when you’re having a bad day yourself,” Jungkook chuckles.

You blink at that.

“Look, I’m not implying anything but he was worried as hell when I told him about you the other day. Even nearly left his bakery without supervision. That’s when yours truly—” He points at himself. “—came in.”

And the question that swims in the back of your mind disappears. “So, it is you, you overgrown rabbit. You told him about me—”

“Well, you can’t blame me. You should be thanking me instead. It’s because of me you both finally reconciled. Admit it, you’re happy — happier, in fact.”

And you can’t deny it. Jungkook has been one of those people who’d look out for you. Yes, even when he can be a pain in the ass sometimes, or just loves to hear the “piping hot” tea of what’s happening in your life.

Sighing in defeat, you murmur, “Even if I do like him...” You shake your head. “No, it shouldn’t even matter in the first place.”

Noticing your shuttering expression, Jungkook thankfully does not press the subject further. Nor does he question why. And you are grateful for him.

“Interesting. So, you do like him.”

Scratch that, your best friend is still a pain in the ass.

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

Standing in front of the bakery cafe, you released a deep breath.

Through the glass door, Jungkook is helping out at the cashier counter, serving beverages and desserts to dine-in customers. However, Jimin is nowhere in sight.

Releasing a deep breath, the bell of the door rings which signals your entrance. Jungkook notices you at once before he points to the kitchen.

You rush inside — stopping abruptly a few steps away from him — now, regarding the man differently. He was the boy who has been your comfort for so many occasions after all.

Jimin is icing cupcakes, his eyes focusing on his task and you can’t help but smile at the sight.

With your memories — of kindness, warmth, and friendship — now fully returned, you remember how you were always enamoured watching Jimin work. You’d watch him make drinks in the cafe when you had no homework to do. You’d sit at the bar, munching on cookies-of-the-day as your eyes followed Jimin’s movements.

A few moments pass, Jimin’s gaze shifts to you briefly and double-takes. He curses under his breath, cupcake slipping from his grip — icing spilling on the marble counter. “Hey, you’re back—” He quickly grabs a cloth and wipes off the cream before he turns to face you properly, grinning from ear-to-ear. “—you didn’t tell me you’re coming in today.”

He opens his arms and your legs move of its own accord, following your instinct as you close the distance between you and him — wrapping your arms around his waist.

You weren’t surprised at how your younger self used to have a big fat crush on him. He was and always will still be your Mochi. The guy who treated you to your favourite sweets, who knows how you like your caramel macchiato the best, and who never fails to put butterflies in your stomach.

Breathing his sweet scent, you remember the time you’d ask him for hugs whenever you were down and your younger self had even claimed once that his hugs were magical as it was written in your diary. To quote it, “Mochi gives the BEST BEST hugs in the WHOLE WIDE WORLD”.

“Your hugs…” you mumble, eyes closed. “They’re still the best…”

Jimin merely tightens his hold on you. That is until a force — appearing in the form of Jeon Jungkook — shatters the serene atmosphere, bringing you back to reality. “Hyung! Oh—”

Abruptly, you both pull away from each other. Jungkook stands awkwardly, shifting his weight from one leg to another.

“What is it?” Jimin breaks the silence, composed as ever.

“Uh, need more cupcakes. The ones on the display are finished…”

“Right,” Jimin turns to you. “Y/N, can you help me ice the rest of the cupcakes?”

Nodding, you turn to the employee’s room, putting your things in the locker and grabbing an apron.

Hugging Jimin seems so natural that you fail to consider how weird it looks to the people around you. Jungkook’s awkward silence proves that.

Your thoughts are swimming in confusion. And once again those butterflies appear in your stomach. Fanning your heated cheeks with your hands, you take a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm your racing heart.

Your childhood crush is gone. You’re just happy to have Mochi back in your life. That’s all. That should be all.

One afternoon, you mindlessly clean up the kitchen. Due to the public holiday, the bakery is closing earlier, and your thoughts have drifted back to the past.

You remember the night of the incident when Jimin walked you home after he had lost those men who chased after him. He stopped you for a moment, breaking the silence. “You okay?” Warm concern lacing his tone.

Jaw clenching, you mumbled. “Just a scratch.” Reluctant to give him any longer response.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn't have shoved you harshly before.” He crouched, inspecting your knees before he peered up to meet your stare.

“It’s fine.”

When you were just a few blocks away from home, Jimin broke the silence. “Listen Y/N—” His footsteps faltered as he reached to touch your shoulder. “—about earlier, I think you shouldn’t have feelings for me, I—”

Abruptly, you pulled your hand away from his, hurt consuming you. “I shouldn’t have feelings for you?”

You wished Jimin had forgotten your spontaneous confession as he nodded, hesitantly.

“Well, I can’t control my feelings. So, just let it be. It’ll be fine.” You glanced at him before walking faster.

The rest of the trip home was tense, full of unanswered questions. Who were those men? Why did they chase after Jimin? Is it really that bad to have feelings for him? Who gave him the right to dictate your feelings?

You felt so childish back then. Recalling the memories makes you cringe at your younger self for overreacting. But you suppose it’s normal for a fifteen year-old girl. And you were able to sense that Jimin wanted to ease the tense atmosphere. But you were too hurt to even give him a chance. You needed time to process what happened that day.

However, one minute Jimin had stopped you again, desperate to appease you. And the next minute, someone ran towards him with a bat in hand. It’s as if time slowed down, you moved before a harsh impact landed on you.

Your mind brings you back to reality, and instinctively you touch the part where your head was struck with your free hand.

“Y/N? Are you done cleaning up?”

Jimin’s voice startles you and you nearly drop the mop’s handle from your grasp.

“Yes,” you manage to say. And somehow you can’t look at him in the eye.

“What’s wrong?” Out of instinct, he cups your face to look at you in the eye. And hell, your heartbeat gradually increases as you can smell the sweet scent of bread from him along with a tinge of his cinnamon scent.

Mind blanking out at the close proximity, the only intelligible response you can say is, uhhh. Your grip on the mop handle tightens as your palm grows clammy.

He’s gorgeous. That’s one thing for sure.

“Hey, why are you blushing?”

Blinking rapidly, you watch his eyes turn into those crescent moons and a giggle escapes his lips as he pulls away, grabbing the mop from your hold.

“I’ll put this back. You nearly snapped it in half, you know.”

“Yeah,” you nod, mind whirling and you blabber the first thing in your mind. “I have a pet fish.”

“Huh?”

Realising how random you sounded, you clear your throat. “I just remember I had to come home early today, since Mr. Goldy is waiting for me.”

“Ooh, that’s—”

But you’ve run for the lockers, quickly changing out of your work attire.

“Thanks for today, Mochi. See you tomorrow!” You say and run out of the bakery without sparing him another glance.

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

“What are you exactly doing here?”

Unflinching, you answer your best friend monotonously, “Buying a fish.”

“You don’t have a tank at home.”

“Exactly, that’s why I’m looking for one now.”

“But why?”

“Why not?”

Jungkook lets out a sigh. “You’ve been acting weird all week, Y/N.”

You ignore his words, eyes scanning through the fishes of different colours and kinds.

“Oh! These ones are pretty.” Jungkook comments, earning your attention.

“Excuse me?” You call one of the workers there. “I was wondering if this fish is suitable for beginners.”

The worker nods, smiling. “Yes, these are what we call the Betta fish. Their scales are beautiful and they are also easy to take care of. Would you like to purchase them?”

You respond with a brief ‘yes’.

“Now, all you need is a tank,” Jungkook says.

“We provide delivery services for the tank. I’d recommend buying this one.” The worker points at one of the tanks. “In the meantime, you can purchase the fishbowl for now.”

And with that you have a new pet fish and a brand new fish bowl in hand — specifically Jungkook’s, because you gotta put those muscles into good use — and you head back home. On the way back, Jungkook suddenly clears his throat. “So… What’s up with you?”

“What?”

“Let me summarise what just happened,” he says. “I had the day off today, and suddenly you called me to meet you in a fish store, and you have been acting all weird and somehow out of all the nice shades of blue fishes in the tank, you chose the ugly yellow—”

You kick his shin in retaliation. “It’s not yellow, it’s gold, dumbass. How dare you say that in front of Lady Goldilocks.”

“Oh, wow, now it even has a name.” Jungkook rolls his eyes. “I seriously can’t believe you chose this one out of all the other colours. It reminds me of Jimin hyung—” And he gapes at you. “No way. Is it because he likes this colour?”

You blink in realisation. Jimin does like this colour.

“Okay, ‘fess up. What’s up with you?”

You let out a defeated sigh. “I like him.”

Jungkook looks unamused.

“I mean like, like him. And I need to get over him.”

Jungkook furrows his brows. “Why would Hyung want that?””

“I shouldn’t like him, Kook. He told me once and, I don’t know, I just can’t control my feelings. I don’t want to lose him again and I’m scared that he’ll be gone if he knows—”

“Wait, wait, wait—” Jungkook grasps your shoulder with his free hand. “—I can understand what you’re feeling, Y/N. How about let me prove to you that Jimin won’t be gone even when you have feelings for him?”

“I swear, Jeon Jungkook, if you utter a single word about this conversation—”

“No!” He denies repeatedly. “I won’t. Promise. I can prove it to you another way. Don’t worry.”

“Okay, then. How?”

“I have a plan. To take the title as your number one best friend once and for all—”

“Who says you are even at the top?”

“Aren’t I? You told me once.” Jungkook fishes his phone out of his jacket, taps a few times on his screen before he shows you a video of your drunk self a few months ago after exam week.

“Kookieee, I think you’re my number one best friend! So proud to have someone like you in my life—”

You try to reach for his phone, cheeks burning in embarrassment, as you shoot him the nastiest glare you can muster. However, Jungkook being Jungkook merely cackles at that. Your voice from the video still continues, “—you’re like Mochi—” Your present self tenses at that.

“Who’s Mochi?” Jungkook asked curiously in the video.

“Shhhhh… We don’t speak of that name here, m’kay? Mochi is gone. So you are best friend number one!”

Jungkook stops the video, tucking his phone back to his pocket. “I asked you once who Mochi was when you were sober. But you didn’t remember back then. So I never asked again until you mentioned the name ‘Mochi’ once more a few days ago.”

Gaping, you stop walking as the stunned silence falls over you.

“I think your subconscious had always known about him. And it shows how special he is to you.” When you’re about to deny that, Jungkook shushes you. “Don’t try to deny, Y/N. Even before you knew he was Mochi you already liked him.”

“I hate that you’re starting to look like a rooster. Were you always this cocky?”

Your best friend merely shrugs. “So, here’s the plan. As I was saying, with my ‘number one best friend’ title under threat, we’re going to demote Jimin as your boyfriend! It’s a win-win situation!”

“What? I never even asked for him to be my boyfriend but wait— Don’t you mean promote?”

“Y/N, as much as I love your dumb ass, you tend to be quite demanding with people. Hopefully, he knows how to handle your present self.”

“Jeon Jungkook, please don’t make me regret this.”

A few days after the conversation with Jungkook, the boy gets to work as fast as possible, and by work, it means work to get on Jimin’s nerves instead of actually being helpful in the cafe.

Jungkook has become noticeably clingy, or overall, just more touchy with you. It’s not like it’s anything new in all honesty. Throughout college, the relationship between the both of you is purely platonic. Your other college friends knew this and seeing the both of you cuddle wouldn’t be a strange sight. Jimin, however, isn’t one of your college friends and Jungkook seems to have taken advantage of this. Thus, he begins to work in the bakery almost every day, claiming just to see you.

At first Jimin showed no reaction since Jungkook is a good friend of his. But he has grown visibly irritated lately while Jungkook revels in pressing the older one’s buttons further.

“Jungkook…”

“Hmm?”

“Can you please stop invading my personal space?”

“But it’s not going to work if I don’t— Oof!” You shove him away before going back to your task — placing the cupcakes on the display tray — annoyance building up at Jungkook’s disruptions.

“I’m going to file a restraining order on you at this rate.”

He huffs, moving towards you once more. “Don’t you want to prove that Jimin is going to be pissed if he sees me being affectionate to you?”

You shake your head. “I just want to work in peace.”

“Hmph. You’re no fun.”

“Cuz you’re the one not working.”

“Hey, I’m helping here voluntarily.”

You ignore his words, focusing on your task while Jungkook starts whining for you to give him attention. “Kook, I fucking swear if you don’t get your hands off—”

Jimin’s voice rings “Y/N, are the cupcakes...” He trails as soon as he enters the kitchen, freezing at the sight of Jungkook wrapping his arms around your waist, snuggling his dumb head on the crook of your neck.

“He’s going to rage,” Jungkook whispers, laughing softly.

“Uh, Jungkook can I talk to you?” Jimin asks, eyes noticeably narrowing as his tone tenses.

“Finally,” Jungkook mutters under his breath, before he lets go of you and faces Jimin. “Sure, Hyung.”

You take that cue to leave, bringing the freshly iced cupcakes to the display counter, leaving Jungkook and Jimin alone in the kitchen.

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

“What’s been going on with you lately? You come here to work everyday but all I can see is you busy flirting with Y/N.” Jimin throws the younger one an unamused glare.

Jungkook answers easily, “I do my job, Hyung. And so what if I do flirt with Y/N?”

“You can’t,” Jimin blurts out, earning a questioning look from Jungkook. “You just can’t.”

“Why can’t I?”

“Do you like Y/N?”

“Of course, she’s my best friend.”

Jimin shoots Jungkook another unamused look at his answer.

“I’m going to tell her how I feel in three days,” Jungkook continues.

Jimin’s stomach drops at that statement. However, at the same time the urge to let you know how he truly feels increases. But the thought of the impending rejection after hurting you and causing your memory loss makes him think twice.

Maybe Jungkook deserves you more than him — he can protect and support you while Jimin has failed.

With a shaky breath, Jimin mutters, “Take care of her, alright?”

Obviously, his response catches Jungkook off guard. “What?”

“Take good care of Y/N, JK. I’m seriously counting on you.”

“Wait—“ Jungkook looks downright flustered at the unexpected response. “Hyung, wait.”

“What?” Now it’s Jimin’s turn to be confused.

Jungkook clears his throat. “Just give me an honest answer, hyung. No lies.”

A pause.

“Do you like Y/N? As in more than friends?”

Jimin nods without hesitance.

Jungkook mumbles something under his breath that Jimin is sure it sounds like, freaking idiots.

“Go tell her how you feel, Hyung. And tell her as soon as possible.”

“But you—”

“It’s to push you to confess to her. I don’t see Y/N that way.” Jungkook sighs. “Honestly, what would the both of you be without me?”

Jimin stands in the kitchen, speechless, as Jungkook continues to ramble how significant his role is in between your relationship and how you and Jimin owe him so much.

“So, yes, go tell her how you feel, hyung. She’ll listen to whatever you’ll say.”

With a newfound resolve, hope sparks in Jimin’s heart. “I will.”

To say that Jimin is nervous would be an understatement. He had barely slept a wink last night, thinking of all the words and how he would explain why he had left so suddenly and confess his feelings to you. Jungkook has been a supportive friend, even if he does push Jimin’s buttons along the way. However, Jimin knows that it was his own way of showing encouragement.

You are cleaning the rest of the tables of the cafe and Jimin can’t take his eyes off you, staring at you through the small window opening between the kitchen and the counter area.

“Are we done for today, Mochi?” Your voice snaps him out of his daydream.

“Yeah!” Jimin continues to wipe the kitchen counter quickly, replying almost too enthusiastically before he clears his throat. “Do you have plans tonight, Y/N?”

You enter the kitchen and once again Jimin’s heartbeat rises. “Nope. I’m going straight back home after this. Lady Goldilocks is waiting for me.”

Lady Goldilocks. Jimin chuckles at the mention of your fish’s name. He wonders if one day he’s able to see the pet fish for himself. He had asked what happened to Mr Goldy and you had become flustered at that since you didn’t know the fish was female. So, now, you have changed the fish’s name. Yet, somehow Jimin got an inkling that there is more to the story. He had asked Jungkook — to which the boy had valiantly refused to utter a word about it and had babbled, “Huh? Fish? What fish? Is that for dinner?”

Once the both of you finished closing up the bakery cafe, Jimin taps on your shoulder before you had the chance to go back home.

“May I walk you home?”

You blink, processing his words then nodding rapidly. “S-Sure.”

Jimin smiles warmly at you. It’s easy in fact. Just being in your presence always brings happiness into his heart. You had grown into an amazing person and even more attractive.

Something about you had always captivated Jimin since the first time you met him in the cafe where he used to do his part time work. Your curious eyes were always following him as he took the customers’ orders and honestly, it was very endearing.

Comfortable silence falls upon you both, walking through the asphalt pathway and naturally, Jimin opens his palms, extending it towards you.

You stare at that for a moment and clasp his hand with yours. Jimin weaves your fingers together, bringing you closer to him as you continue to walk back home.

“Do you mind if we take a little detour?”

You nod at his words.

Once Jimin reaches the destination, he can sense your eyes glance curiously at the empty hill. He pulls you up onto the top of the hill, sitting down on the grass while he pats the space next to him and you follow suit.

“Look up,” Jimin whispers, and you did.

A quiet gasp escapes your lips at the sight of twinkling stars that scatters across the dark sky.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Jimin voices out. “Someone made me realise how beautiful the stars are…” He falters. “A-And she had never left my mind all those years. One of my deepest regrets is that I wasn’t able to say goodbye when I had to leave.”

You hear his words, yet you stay silent — an encouragement for him to continue to speak what’s on his mind.

“My family was in a difficult financial position back then and my dad had done things I wasn’t proud of…” Jimin’s eyes turn glassy and faraway, even when he sets his gaze up. “And one of them is that he had made a deal with loan sharks without the guarantee of paying them back… And of course, they were angry.”

He pauses, taking a deep breath.

“I once thought that probably I could still stay here back then. Even more so when I met you. But I was wrong. Those men started to chase after me and because of that, you—” He shudders. “—got injured. And that night my parents had made plans to leave without me and my brother knowing.”

He turns to look at you. “I never got to apologise to you for causing that. I should be the one to protect you but… I failed. For that, I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“Jimin…” You say softly. “It’s not your fault. I was the one who jumped in front of you when the man came after you. It’s my own choice because you are special to me.”

“But I could have—”

You shush him with a pointer finger in front of his lips for a few moments. “You don’t have to be sorry anymore, Mochi. It’s not your fault. And what matters now is to focus on the present and look to the future, right?”

He nods, emotions swimming inside his chocolate eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“I thought—”

“For telling you that you shouldn’t have feelings for me.”

And you lapse into silence. He remembers…?

“I hate that that has hurt you. I shouldn’t have said that. But I was happy but desperate too since my family—”

“Jimin.”

“Y-Yeah?”

“What do you see me as, now?”

He blinks. All the practiced words on how he would tell you his feelings dissipate from his mind as he blankly stares at you. “I… I like you.” His voice grows quieter. “More than friends…”

“And if I said you shouldn’t have feelings for me?”

A flash of hurt crosses his eyes briefly. But he answers, nonetheless, “I would do what you want.”

“So, you reciprocate my feelings now?”

“H-huh?”

“I like you too. More than friends. In fact, I think my feelings have grown for you ever since I found out you’re Mochi.”

It takes a few moments for Jimin to process your words. He gapes, mouth opening and closing.

“You are resembling Lady Goldilocks right now.”

“What?”

Your cheeks flush. “Lady Goldilocks is a Betta fish. She was the golden one in a tank full of her blue siblings. Jungkook tried persuading me to choose the blue ones since they were more attractive to look at. But all I could see is the gold one since it reminded me of you.”

“I like golden colours…” Jimin mumbles in realisation.

“Exactly,” you let out a sheepish laugh, eyes turning to look back up into the sky. Before Jimin can respond, your eyes brighten up. “Look! A shooting star!”

Jimin snaps his gaze up as well.

“Hurry, make a wish!” You then close your eyes, smiling from ear-to-ear. Jimin follows suit, making his own wish.

As soon as you both finish making your wishes, you turn to face him once more.

“Are you still sorry for saying that to me?”

Jimin nods, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment. Hell, he thinks he would always regret hurting you that time.

“I know how you can make it up to me then.”

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

“W-What?” He splutters.

“Unless you don’t want—“ Yet, your words die on your throat as Jimin moves closer to you, eliminating the distance between you both as he cups your face just like that time in the bakery.

Without another word, he leans down, pressing his lips on yours softly while you place your hands on top of his before he presses further, brows furrowing as he kisses you fervently. For the time being, all that matters is just you and him. He caresses your cheeks and you run your hands down to wrap around his waist until you can feel his heart beating against his chest.

After pulling away — both of you catching your breaths — Jimin presses his forehead against yours, running his thumb over your lips while you were unable to open your eyes for a few moments at the burst of emotions that is coursing through you.

“I’ve imagined this moment so many times,” he admits. “My wish finally came true.” And you smile at that.

“My wish also came true because of you, Mochi...”

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

Sitting on one of the tables, your eyes can’t take themselves off Jimin as he serves customers. Today is your day off and you decided to pay him a visit in the bakery.

“You’re drooling.”

Your gaze snaps up to your best friend who sits across you after placing a cinnamon roll on the table for you. Jungkook continues, “I swear I’m going to vomit one of these days if I see you or Jimin hyung throwing each other— what was that called? It’s an old term— Oh! Goo-goo eyes one more time.”

“Shut up, Jeon. I’m not.” You reach for the roll, taking a bite.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah right, you basically either stare at him like he placed stars in the sky or like you want to tear off his clothes—”

You choke on the roll, quickly reaching for your glass of water before you throw your napkin at his face. Jungkook cackles at that before he resumes his act, sighing. “This is a mistake. I shouldn’t have intervened. I didn’t know you’d be like this. My best friend is so uncool now.”

“Y/N is what?” You perk up at Jimin’s voice.

“Whipped,” Jungkook mutters before he takes his cue to leave. He stands up, passing by Jimin after shooting the older one a teasing glance.

Jimin sits across from you, and he instinctively reaches for your hand on the table. “How was your day?” And you swear you can hear Jungkook making a gagging sound amidst the chatter of the customers.

“Good. I finished my chores at home earlier today. So, I thought I would come visit.”

Minutes pass by quickly as you chatter with Jimin. He had almost forgotten to go back to work until Jungkook reminded him. When it is time to close up the bakery, you watch him wash the remaining mixing bowls while perching on one of the cleaned counters of the kitchen.

“You know, I could use some help,” Jimin teases, drying his hands on his apron.

A smile curls up on the corner of your lips, eyes following his movements — drawing closer to where you are. “Well, I think you got it all handled, Mochi.”

Once he reaches you, he pulls you to wrap your legs around his waist while your arms rest on his shoulders — encircling around his neck. You both stare at each other and he pushes a strand of stray hair away from your face, tucking it behind an ear while his other hand settles on your waist.

“Sometimes, I still can’t believe that you’re really here with me,” You admit. “Just like a sweet dream.”

Jimin shakes his head. “It’s not, Y/N...” He leans to give you a chaste kiss. “... we’ll make up for the lost time we didn’t spend together.”

“Promise?”

He softly smiles at you. “Promise.”

author’s note: this was originally intended to be posted on jimin’s birthday but well i decided to add more stuff in it. thus, i am late alskflsdda so yes, i hope you guys enjoy this fic and feedbacks are always appreciated !! thank you for reading ♡

#btswritingcafe #bangtanarmynet #magicshopnet #bangtanidx #bangtanuniversity #btsghostie #jimin fanfic #jimin fluff #jimin angst #jimin x reader #jimin x you #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts x reader #jimin scenarios #park jimin #bangtan scenarios #promptlyyourscafe #amourville series

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adhdeancas · 3 years

Text

Dean Winchester (and the script leaks last night) possessed me to write this.

Dean happens upon Chuck's latest book: Carry On. Except it ends differently than it really went, and the ending? It's really fucking bad.

tw: suicide mention, transphobia (quickly shut the fuck down)

Dean doesn’t make a habit of going to bookstores. Not because he hates books, contrary to what Sam might think; he just prefers to buy used books. There’s something comforting about a book that has already been worn and read over and over, that already shows how much the previous owner loved it. Plus, y’know, big corporations are evil and all that. And Dean only allows himself to overlook that when his stomach or his wallet wins over his hatred of the shitty mass-produced products.

This time it was Jack who won; he’s obsessed with this new fantasy series and the new book just came out, so there’s no way he can hunt it down on Ebay. He makes his way to the fantasy and sci-fi section, eyes roaming over the displays of new releases, and his eye catches on something that turns his blood cold.

“Supernatural: Carry On, The Final Book of the Winchesters’ Epic Journey” takes up a whole table, the generic and overly serious cover jeering out at him.

He storms over to the display, anger covering up for the way his body feels light as a feather and like lead all at once, and picks up a book. “Why is Sam always fucking shirtless?” he mutters, the only thought that allows itself from the mess inside his head to his mouth.

“Book sales.” A voice behind him says. He turns to see a teenager with their arms crossed over their work polo, pierced lip fixed into a customer-unfriendly frown.

“People want to see that?”

They snort, a small grin turning up the corner of their lips. It reminds Dean of Cas. “No. But that’s what advertisers think all ‘women’ want,” They use air quotes.

He raises an eyebrow and asks. “Women?”

They shrug and uncross their arms, leaning back against the display table behind them. Their nametag says Jadyn. “Supernatural’s biggest block of readers is queer. I’d go out on a limb and say a lot of those the marketers think of as ‘women’ aren’t, or if they are, they aren’t itching to see Sam’s six pack.” Jadyn smirks.

Dean takes a second to digest that, then grins down at the book, thinking past Sam’s apparently badly-received nudity now. “So how’d they like it?” he asks, waving the book a bit and looking up at Jadyn. Apparently they know a lot about the fans of the books, and for once, he’s proud of the way the story ended.

Jadyn’s face sets into all hard lines. “Most people fucking hated it.” they say bluntly, then, probably remembering that he’s a customer, correct. “Sorry. I mean, it got some good reviews, mostly from people who like Wincest, but beyond that, it had some problematic plot points.”

Dean winces at the reminder of the ship between him and his brother, then scrunches his whole face together in confusion. “Wait, what? Why?” Why would Wincest fans like it? What was problematic about their end?

Jadyn shifts from foot to foot. “I don’t wanna spoil anything for you-”

“I don’t care about spoilers, just give me the short version.” Dean says quickly. A quiet panic is rising in him, and suddenly he has a horrible feeling that he’s not holding the truth in his hands anymore.

“Uh, okay… Well, the most obvious thing is the bury-your-gays thing, then there’s the fact that it completely contradicted the rest of the lore. And it was ableist, misogynistic, and messed up, like, every character’s arc.” they take a breath, clearly worked up by it. “Even if they changed any of the details too, it was all built on Dean’s death, and that’s just bullshit. Sorry.” they apologize again, apparently mistaking Dean’s stricken expression to be in reaction to their rant and swearing.

“No, nah, you’re… you’re okay. Uh, thanks.” he waves a hand and wanders away from them, only remembering Jack’s book when he’s almost to the register. He manages to make his way back and find the damn thing, but he’s still in a fog when he gets to the register.

“Did anyone help you in the store today?”

“Huh?” he looks up and meets the middle-aged cashier’s gaze for the first time. Brent, from the nametag, looks at him impatiently. “Oh, yeah, uh… Jadyn. Jadyn helped me.” Brent scoffs and starts typing with a shake of the head. “Uh, is there a problem?” Dean asks, a little annoyed at this cashier’s unnecessary attitude. He usually doesn’t care if an employee’s rude, because they have to deal with assholes all the time and honestly Dean isn’t much better, but this one gives him a bad feeling.

“No, no, sorry. It’s just - “Jadyn’s” got this idea that he’s a girl. Makes everybody call him that name now too. Just-” Brent shakes his head. “I mean, you get it. Their generation, everybody wants to be special.”

Dean glares. “No, I don’t get it, Brent.” He says through gritted teeth. “Seems to me like Jadyn probably deals with enough assholes like you that her asking for a little basic decency is the exact opposite of special. Sounds pretty normal, actually.” He can see the fear creep into Brent’s eyes, and he knows the cashier is reacting to the murderous look in his eyes more than his actual words.

Brent hands Dean his bag of books with a quiet, “Here you go.”

Dean snatches it away. “Oh, Brent?” he checks over his shoulder to make sure they’re alone and then leans across the counter into Brent’s space. “You should find a new job, one where you don’t have to interact with other people. At least until you learn how to stop being a piece of shit.” He starts to ease away but thinks better about it. “And if you think that’s a suggestion, it’s not. My husband likes this book coming out next month that I’ll need to buy, and if I see you here when I come, well… it would be really embarrassing for you to tell all your little friends that you got your ass beat by a ‘special’ guy, huh?” He pats Brent on the cheek condescendingly and leaves with a huff.

Damn transphobes.

He only remembers the book once he’s back in Baby, and he takes the time to drive out of town before he pulls over to read it. It’s an old abandoned church, the cross long since fallen from the roof and the doors hanging off their hinges. He sits on the steps just because being in Baby seems claustrophobic for once in his life, and going back to the bunker to look at this is just… not happening.

Dean only skims the beginning to see that it starts the same. The ground erupting with bodies, hell spitting out its most-conveniently placed nasties, Rowena sacrificing herself, Cas leaving. His throat closes up at that, at Chuck’s description of Cas’s heartbroken expression as he climbs the stairs of the bunker. He clears his throat and skips to the end, right past Cas’s death that he doesn’t have the time to think about right now, past them defeating Chuck and then stops. He goes back a few pages, trying to find the disconnect.

The story’s different.

After Jack takes on God’s power, in the book, he’s totally fine. Not almost vibrating out of his skin or anything, not crying like the three year old he is because he’s scared. Not like it really happened. He just smiles and leaves him and Sam, and they let him go.

Dean scoffs, skimming over the story as it just gets more ridiculous.

In the book, he doesn’t even try to save Cas. They barely even mention him. And they never mention Eileen, either. In fact, Dean notes disbelievingly, practically the only characters in the last few chapters are him and Sam. They’re hunting again.

“What, is Chuck trying to keep the series going?” he whispers to himself, anger flaring through him. They let Chuck live, and he decided to write obnoxious fanfiction about them? He’s gonna kill that shameless little fucker. For real, this time. He deserves it.

In the book, Sam and Dean torture some vampire mime, and they enjoy it. Dean cringes; this is really what Chuck thinks of them. Then they tussle with more vamps in a barn and-

Dean’s brain stops working. He rereads the scene again and again.

“There’s something in my… something in my back. It feels like it’s right through me.”

Dean Winchester dies in a dirty barn, on a piece of freaking rebar.

More than that, Dean realizes on his fourth read-through. This Dean? He tried to drag out his speech, Dean can tell by the way he pauses for fucking drama. He would never do that. He would never talk to Sam for fifteen hellish minutes when he could be trying. Trying to live, so he can actually get his life back on track, get his family back. No, he made that speech stalling. He made that speech so Sam wouldn’t try to save him.

“You gotta admit, I had one helluva ride.” He was strangely calm.

Chuck made him kill himself.

Dean reads the rest of the book through blurry eyes, reading an ambiguous and nothing-ending, one where he’s somehow happy to be dead and driving around in heaven alone while Sam raises a kid into hunting and cries about Dean decades after he’s died. Eileen isn’t mentioned. Cas is mentioned once, and Bizzarro-Dean doesn’t even think about seeing him, apparently. The whole book ends with a hug between him and Sam, both dead. Both alone.

Dean rips the ending up. He tears through the stupid paper covering and keeps ripping the pages up until they’re the size of confetti. His lower lip wobbles. He throws the whole thing against the side of the building, and it tumbles through the broken doorway and drops into a pile of dust and dirt. “That isn’t the fucking ending.” he grounds out, knocking his hand against the flimsy handrail. It gives a little under his fist and he kicks at it. “That isn’t the fucking ending!”

He’s having a panic attack. Again. He tries to take deep breaths, but they’re gulping, too big, they’re making him panic more. He scrambles back to Baby and grabs his phone, presses the first number on his favorites list and waits for him to answer on speaker phone.

“Hey Dean, what’s up?” Sam sounds like he’s been laughing. There are voices in the background, and Dean tries to convince himself one of them is Eileen.

“Hey Sammy.” he chokes out, trying to sound normal. “You busy?”

There’s a pause, and then the sounds in the background. “Nah, Rowena’s just over.” he says casually.

“So those voices in the background were-”

“Rowena and Eileen, yeah. They’re trying to convince me we need to go to Mexico. For the beaches.” A smile in his voice. Dean lets out a sigh of relief. What’s up, Dean? You need something?” The smile drops, and Sam’s worried.

Sam’s okay. Sam’s okay. “No, nah. Hey, you heard from Donna lately?” Dean just needs to triple-check.

“Uh, no, not since Sunday dinner… Dean, you okay?”

“Yeah, she just- she hasn’t been answering my texts. Just wanted to make sure.” Dean lies quickly. His breathing is still uneven, but his body is settling into uneven shakes.

Sam sounds skeptical. “Yeah, well, she did tell us it’s been pretty busy at work lately. Y’know, everybody going out for the first time with COVID, getting stupid. Plus, y’know, nowhere’s drowning in EMTs right now.”

“Right. Yeah.” Dean takes a deep breath, a distant memory of Donna talking about that coming back to him.

“Pretty sure you were setting up a D&D session with Charlie while she was talking about that,” Sam laughs. Dean knows he means it as a subtle jab, but there’s too much relief flooding through him to care. Still, a string is pulled taut in him, and Sam can’t fix that completely.

“Gotta go, Sam,” Dean hangs up before Sam can say anything else, and goes to his next contact. It rings for far too long, and Dean’s heartbeat picks back up to thundering.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Cas,” Dean breathes out. “Cas, you know I love you, right?” He needs to test all the bounds of this, to make sure, just to make sure. Make sure Chuck isn’t still fucking with him. Because apparently, Chuck won’t let him be queer. Not in his story. Not out loud.

He can hear Cas’s eyebrow raise through the phone, and his chest is overcome with stupid fondness. “I would be a little worried if you didn’t.”

Dean grins widely. “Like, romantically. I’m in love with you. Because you’re the love of my life and I’m bisexual.” He says it all like it’s a checklist, like he expects some cosmic being to slap a hand over his mouth before he gets each next phrase out.

“Yes, Dean. We’ve been married almost two months.” Cas is smiling. It happens everytime he talks about their wedding. Dean adores it. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, now it is.” His whole body relaxes, still vibrating with leftover panic, but satisfied. “I got Jack’s book.”

“Oh, good. He’ll be so pleased.” Cas pauses. “Dean, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Dean eases off the ground and sends a last look at the dilapidated church before climbing into Baby. “Just- read a bad book. I’ll tell you about it later. When I get home.”

#i fixed it #god fucking damn it #dean winchester #destiel #saileen #saileena #sam winchester #castiel #eileen leahy #castiel winchester #jack kline #roweena #my writing #ficlet #deancas #trans dean #trans woman OC #tw: transphobia #tw: suicide mention

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kasha-formerlydrabbletastic · 3 years

Text

Ranking

Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 1,967

Warnings: Food mention. Possible secondhand embarrassment trigger.

Author’s Note: Fluffy stuff.

You had never been one for rag mags - celebrity gossip is simply uninteresting at best and horribly cruel at worst - but the bold headline this week on People Magazine catches your eye as you absentmindedly place your groceries on the belt at the supermarket.

“Seriously?” you mutter incredulously, your fingers wrapped around a bottle of orange juice.

Is it worthy of a chuckle? Should you keep moving, pretend you didn’t see it? Or... and you can’t believe this thought has even occurred to you... would it be worth the six bucks to bring it back to the compound and share with the rest of the team? The options occupy too much of your brain space as the cashier tells your total, distracting you from the inane tug-of-war in your head.

“How much?” you say, shaking away the silly predicament for a moment.

The cashier, hardly older than 16 it seems, points at the screen instead of answering. Before you pay, however, you glance back at the magazine, finally coming to a decision.

The magazine slaps the counter top, its glossy front page gleaming as you unload the rest of the groceries; it gets lost in the vegetables and fruits, the cereals, the junk food... and for a while you forget it.

"Back with the grub, eh, Y/N?" Tony says, swiping up a bag of Doritos and popping it open. "I gotta say, you've done shopping trips quicker than that."

You laugh, gathering all the reusable bags into one and putting them away and say, "Maybe you should don your supersuit and fly over all the New York City traffic if you want it quicker.”

"I believe that would be an unnecessary trip," Bruce mentions from the kitchen table, sipping his tea.

“Hey, I offered to send someone out to do it,” he replies. “You insisted on doing it yourself, remember? If I recall correctly,” he continues, feigning concentration as he puts on a teasing mocking tone, “you said that you didn’t want to let the fact that you’re an Avenger now make you too... what was the word.... bougie.”

“At least one of us needs to be grounded, Tony.”

Your gaze shifts to Steve as he passes, a subtle smile on his face when he meets your eye; your tummy flutters, having nothing to do with the hunger pang you’re feeling and everything to do with the way Steve’s eyes sparkle in the soothing lighting of the kitchen. You smile back, hoping the burn in your cheeks is obvious to no one but yourself.

One by one, the team trickles into the kitchen, looking for a lazy Sunday lunch or ingredients for a post-workout smoothie. Your voices mingle together, a pleasant hum in the early afternoon of a rare mission-free, drama-free weekend.

Or so you thought.

"I'm not number one?!"

The incredulous shout draws every eye in the room; Tony sits on the counter, eyes wide as he stares into the open magazine in his hand. You giggle, turning back to your lunch, relieved to know you don't have to live with his over-inflated ego for the next century.

"What are you on about?” Thor says, looking up almost mid-bite.

“This,” Tony replies, shaking the magazine; he flips through the pages, apparently intent on finding his ranking. “It’s the Top 10 Sexiest Male Superheroes, and I’m... not even second... I’m... how am I fifth?”

At this point, you bite your knuckle to keep from bursting aloud with laughter. You lock eyes with Steve, who mirrors your amusement.

“Lang is ahead of me? Are you serious? He’s a goddamn ant! An actual bug!”

“Who’s number one?” Natasha inquires after swallowing a bite of her sandwich.

Tony looks up, annoyed or crestfallen, you can’t tell.

“Thor, of course,” he answers with a shrug. “Can’t beat a demigod, I guess.”

Thor jumps up from his chair, his arms raised in victory, Clint giving him a congratulatory high five. The kitchen descends into loud chatter, and after many demands to know the full list, Tony gives the magazine up to Natasha, who reads off the ranking.

“Cap,” she says with a nod to him. “Good job, you’re second.”

“What?” he laughs; if you didn’t know any better, you’d swear it was humility that makes him say it. There’s no chance that his ranking would go to his head.

“It’s gotta be the beard,” Clint laughs. “Otherwise you would’ve been eighth or worse.”

“It’s definitely more than the beard,” you answer.

Biting your tongue might have been the better option, as now you find yourself the center of some very intrigued attention. Perhaps your tone was a little too defensive, or the blush that certainly feels infinitely hotter now has finally caught flame on your cheeks. Whatever it was that garnered such smirks from around the table, whatever your intentions, your immediate wish is for the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

“Care to elaborate on that, Y/N?” Tony asks, seeming to forget his fifth place ranking for a moment in favor of someone else’s total humiliation.

You clear your throat, glancing down at your food, bereft of your hunger.

“Well,” you begin. “Maybe it has a lot to do with the way he carries himself, you know? There’s a lot of dignity there, a lot of virtue. He’s respectful and honest, stands up for what he believes in. He’s definitely not hideous, either. You know... he’s a - ”

“Y/N,” Steve says, leaning forward in his chair. “You don’t have to explain yourself. It’s really sweet of you, of course, and I do appreciate it, but - “

“No, Cap,” Tony interrupts. “I think we should let Y/N keep going.”

Your throat closes in panic and you clear it again, getting to your feet as you say, “I’m actually just gonna go.... uh... make a phone call. I’ll catch you guys later.”

Steve chastises Tony as the rest of the team breaks into discussion, but you don’t hear any of it. Soon, you’re in the elevator, bumping your head against the wall over and over, wondering if it’s too soon to pack your bags and leave the team with no notice as to where you’ve gone. You barely register your surroundings until you enter your room, locking the door behind you and requesting that FRIDAY ensures that you remain undisturbed until further notice.

---

Each time your knuckles meet the leather of the punching bag, your mind gets a little clearer. It’s almost as if all the big and little things plaguing your thoughts settle on the surface of your fists, only to be smashed to pieces when you punch. The nervous energy that settled in you at lunch drives your fists forward, burning off into nothing with every movement you make.

Midnight was the perfect time to sneak into the gym, to get a workout in without anyone bothering you; everyone usually slinks off to do their own things a little earlier in the evening. Perhaps some have fallen asleep by this time. It didn’t matter where they were or what they were doing as long as they weren’t around to say anything to you about Steve.

“Y/N?”

Then again... sometimes you’re wrong.

You halt in your activity, breathing heavily and dreading turning to look at Steve. Your hands drop to your sides as you pluck up your courage, facing the man with a deep breath.

“Hey,” you reply as nonchalant as possible.

“Hi,” he says softly, his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants; his eyes fix on yours, drawing you into their depths as usual as he slowly approaches you. “Can we talk?”

The pit in your stomach grows exponentially, making you regret ever leaving your room in the first place.

“We don’t have to,” you answer quietly. “It’s just a silly magazine. It’s not like it’s about anything important, right?”

Facing the bag once more, you resume your activity, hoping against hope that Steve just leaves it there, that he doesn’t press the matter. The very last thing you want to do is spill your guts about what you thought was just a casual crush to the very man you’re crushing on. You hadn’t expected to become so flustered in such a situation, but with the spotlight on you at lunch, it had really sunk in just how much you feel for him.

“Y/N,” he continues, but you evade him.

“It’s not a big deal,” you say, deciding to give up your workout for the night and hit the showers; he’d never follow you there.

Before you can get too far, though, he says, “That’s why you’re running away from me, right?”

The anger is a surprise, bubbling up as you turn on your heel; perhaps it’s your shield in this moment, a veil to wear to save face.

“Don’t push it, Cap,” you insist, making one more attempt at escape. Again, however, you’re stayed by his response.

“You’re definitely not hideous, either,’ he says, and you turn to face him once more; he stands there, wringing his hands, an earnest expression on his face. “You’re funny, and whip smart, and you don’t take anyone’s shit. There’s compassion and a goodness that I haven’t seen in anyone in a long time.”

Perhaps you’ve hit your head and you’re dreaming this. Maybe there’s a chance you inadvertently ingested some kind of hallucinogen at an enemy’s lair. Whatever it is, there is no way that Steve Rogers is standing in front of you, singing your praises like this. Not in the real world. Never once had you imagined the feelings reciprocated, so this must be a figment of your deepest desires.

“What?” is all you manage to say.

Steve’s brows knit over the bridge of his nose, desperation threading through every feature on his face.

“You can’t possibly think I wouldn’t fall for you, can you?” he asks gently. “That I haven’t noticed you? Y/N, you’re almost the only thing I notice anymore.”

"Well, that's a good way to get yourself killed during a mission."

You didn't mean to say it, and the moment solidifies around you, even the molecules in the air coming to a stand still. Steve’s eyes sparkle, blinking in slow motion as he moves forward. The corner of his mouth twitches upward in a sweet smirk.

“What a way to go, then,” he says, within reaching distance of your hand.

“So much for our selfless leader,” you giggle.

He hesitates for a moment, but when you move to offer your hand, he reaches out with his, his fingers curling around yours. The blue in his eyes glints in the low light of the gym, hinting not a single bit of insincerity.

“There is something wrong with your ranking, though,” you say after a moment, amused at the almost-surprise in his expression as he straightens his posture.

“What do you mean?”

You grin before replying, “You should definitely have taken the number one spot.”

Steve relaxes, chuckling as he glances away. His free hand combs through his hair.

“Over Thor?” he says. “No way that’s happening.”

“Please,” you answer, finding your gumption and pulling him closer; the two of you are close enough to feel each other’s breaths on your faces, “There’s no contest.”

One more tug on his hand and his lips meet yours, hesitant at first, but with a sigh, the pair of you relax into each other. Lips parting, you taste his breath, minty and clean, as his hands find your waist, pulling you flush against his front.

“If you say so,” he says as he pulls away, gazing into your eyes as he smiles, his expression a little dazed, a little satisfied.

“Oh, Cap,” you reply, your hand above his wildly beating heart. “I do say so.”

#steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america #captain america fanfiction #avengers #avengers fanfiction #reader insert #fluff #steve rogers fluff #avengers fluff #captain america fluff

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thought-bubble-doodly-doo · 2 years

Text

Vent Post

I don’t know why I’m alive.

I keep thinking about the future, and I don’t even know if I want to live it. I graduated school early, but I couldn’t find a job. I worked in food service for 5 years.

Any skill or knowledge or experience I gained having to do with my degree feels like its statute of limitations has run out. Who’s gonna hire someone with 3 weeks internship experience?

I don’t even know if I want to work in the industry I studied for anymore. The days are so long and there’s no guarantee of upward mobility. You might just be a Production Assistant for 40 years without insurance. There’s so much corruption and sexual assault and it’s scary.

The only thing I’m good at is customer service, and I hate it. It’s the only experience I have, and I don’t wanna go back to work in food service. It’s soul crushing and no one respects you. I can’t stop crying. I hate myself. I hate my life. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.

I’m so stupid. I thought I was smart and good at things. But the only thing I knew how to do was follow orders. As soon as I entered the real world and no adult was telling me exactly what to do and how to do it, I can’t make any decisions. What if the wrong one? I’ve made so many wrong ones already.

My friends majored in better things like Meterology and Law and Graphic Design, and I took fucking film studies because I wanted to make tv shows to make people happy. I was so stupid. I was so fucking stupid.

And the first time I tried to show my work, I got a critique so bad I didn’t work on things for 4 years. They didn’t anything nice to say about my project, so I didn’t try to make anything that wasn’t for an assignment until my senior year. I didn’t try to improve on my own, because I felt like if all these seniors and juniors and people above me thought my work was shit I couldn’t make good art. I shouldn’t try anything. I should just study. And I studied while people were getting internships and making short films, because they weren’t afraid of failure like I was.

All my friends are gonna become better than. They already are. No lawyer is gonna be friends with a cashier. They’re beneath them. I’m worthless.

All my family is full of disabled people and criminals. So it’s not like any of them can help me get a career.

I quit my job and moved back in with my dad because I couldn’t take it anymore, but now I’m having trouble finding work again and my savings are running out. I don’t wanna live like this. But I don’t wanna die.

I’m not good enough for a real career. And my art isn’t good enough to make a small business. I’m not pretty enough to be a trophy wife to some rich guy. Why am I alive? Is this it?

Is my whole just gonna misery? I should’ve killed myself in middle school like I wanted to, but I was afraid of going to hell.

Why am I alive? What can I do to be better? Help me. Someone help me please. GOd, please, why?

#prayer request #help

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hjh-ceilo-monster · 3 years

Text

Who live next door? : Dragon next door (KSJ)

Author note : Finally, I’m back you guys. My uni decide to move my final exams schedule for the third time. Anyway, hope you enjoy my first os after break.

Shout out : The plot belongs to Hybrid Prompts @Ungnyeo in wattpad. (I think you also have your blog here, but I forgot. Sorry.)

Summary : Your ancestor was a well known dragon hunter. However, now is 21st century and you decided not to continue training. You moved out from your hometown and started a new life in a city. What you didn’t expect was your handsome neighbor/love at first sight will turn out to be a dragon. Not to mention that he is a sassy one.

Author pov.

“Be safe, dear.”

“Don’t forget to visit us, y/n.” Those were the last sentence from your parents before you left the house. Inhaling the fresh air for the last time and mumbling a goodbye for the last time, you jumped onto the bus.

You tried to calm your nervous self down by plugin the earphone into your ear and listen to music. Gazing out the window, you sighed. Many thoughts ran in your head.

Is your decision correct?

Will you have friends there?

Will your neighbor like you?

Train of thought lost you from reality. You didn’t realize yourself until a voice calling you.

“Miss, can I sit here?” You just nodded and moved a little for that someone to take a seat.

“You seem nervous. Perhaps, are you from out of the city?” Now you looked up and find a guy sat beside you. The beauty of his face made you quickly looked down and flushed. What a handsome guy.

“Did I startle you? I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s..I...nervous.” Your stutter made him chuckle.

He seemed to use lots of effort to strike a conversation with you. However, thanks to your stutter, it made things awkward. Still, he continued talking to you and ensured that you were doing great.

“And here we are, our stop.”

“Our?”

“Oh, I forgot to mention it. Your address is next to mine.” He scratched his nape and glanced at your house. He then jogged toward his house and turned around.

“Welcome, new neighbor.” Giving you the last wave, he entered his house.

There my heart, shaking as if it wanted to come out. You think you have a crush on him.

A week later everything seemed to be good. You found a job at a local bookstore. The owner was so kind and gave you the job without any interview. Saying that it isn’t common for someone in the town to want a job here.

“Namjoon-ah where should I put this box?” You stood still at your spot. Waiting for the boy to give you an order.

“Oh over here.” He ran toward you and picked the box out of your grip.

This boy was the grandchild of the owner. He was as sweet as his grandpa. Having you as the employee, he didn’t let you work much. All you need to do was the cashier work. He became your friend here in no time besides.

Your neighbor, Seokjin, which you got to know his name three days after your first encounter, was great. He was really helpful and always walked with you downtown.

Despite his warmhearted persona and stunning face, you noticed some odd things about him. First, he always wore a beanie or a hat when he hanged out with you. Secondly, no matter how hot the weather was, he would always wear a jacket or some days layer it all.

Finally, his body temperature seemed to be warmer than usual. You once joked around with him and clung around his arm. However, you felt hot so you suddenly ask whether he has a cold or not. He said that it was normal.

Another week later you guys plan to have a movie marathon and sleepover. Honestly, you tried to convince yourself to act normal and not to imagine that this was an indirect date.

Ring... Ring...

“Oh you ar...rive” You glanced at pillows in his embrace. You didn’t mean to look as if you were judging him. Counting the number, he carried 4 pillows from his house.

“You don’t need to carry them here since I have mine.” Now Jin was panic. He forgot that you didn’t know his secret yet and it was the reason behind his weird act.

“Ummm I just don’t want to use your belong that much since I always see you do laundry 3-4 times a week.”

‘Wow, he notices?’ You impressed and got distracted a bit.

“Can I go in?”

“Oh sure.”

Watching a movie wouldn’t be fun if there was no Jin. He could turn every serious moment into jokes, even if it was a scene in a horror movie. Both of you now cuddled on the sofa. The pillow he brought become useful since they all fluffy. It made the place fluffier and more comfortable.

“Tired?” Jin asked. Notice your body that busied cuddling with him and wiggled in his embrace to get sleep. Your eyes were half open and seemed to not focus on the screen anymore.

“hmmm,” You only hummed with a nod.

“Good night then, blossom.” He bent down and kissed your forehead to you who already drifted to dreamland.

Next morning

You woke up because you heard a growl and mumbled of someone. The realization then hit you. Looking around. you were in Jin’s embrace. All the growl and mumbled sounds came from him.

“Mine...” Your eyes widen when you got to hear those sounds. Every question started answering on its own in your head. Connecting all dots, you got the final answer.

He is a dragon.

“No!” You got out of his embrace by pushing him. Seokjin was awake and looked at you with eyes full of confusion.

“What happen blossom? Did I do something wrong?” He asked with a sleepy voice.

“You...you are a dragon.” Now he was fully awake from his beauty sleep. All of sudden he felt his heartbeat drop.

“Uhhh I can explain i-”

“You tried to fool me, did you?”

“No, I di-”

“I am very disappointed in you, Kim Seokjin. I thought we were a friend and it turns out you fool me. Perhaps, you want to kill me? Why yo-”

“Stop! If you are going to accuse me then stop. Ok, I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you. I trust you, y/n, but I also know you were a hunter. What do you expect me to when I meet you the first time and find out that my mate is also the dragon hunter?”

Now it was your turn to be shocked. First, you fired your anger toward him. Second, you accused him without thinking straight. Now, knowing a piece of new info that you were his mate.

“Seokjin, I a-”

“Save it, I know this will happen. Sorry for bothering you all this time and I won’t do it again. Have a good day.”

And he left.

2 weeks later

“Namjoon I fuck up.”

“For the hundred of time, when will you stop saying this to me? I suggest you go to his house and apologize to him.”

“No, it isn’t that easy. You know I...” You told Namjoon the full story without missing any detail. You trusted him when it comes to advise.

“Now I know. I’m not surprised that hyung feels upset. I will all feel upset if that happens to me as well. We only have one mate in a life time s-”

“Wait right there, what do you mean we?” Namjoon then chuckles with your reaction.

“I thought you know about this city.”

“I have no idea.”

“Y/N-ah This is a dragon city. Most people here aren’t just human. The ones who look like normal humans are mostly not human either. You are one of a few citizens here that are pure human.”

Namjoon then explained more about the town and promised to bring you and meet his friends.

“Now go to him and apologize to your man.”

Ring... Ring...

“Who dares to interrupt my bea- huh?”

“Is Jin here?” You asked the guy who opens the door. You assumed that this must be one of his friends. He nodded and let you inside.

“Upstairs, turn right.” You bowed as a thank you before went to the room according to the direction.

You gathered all your courage together and knocked on the door. Waiting there for a while, there was no answer. You dropped all the manner and entered Seokjin’s room.

“Yoongi, I swear I’m not hu- oh it’s you. What brings a little missy here?”

“Jin, we need to talk.” You spoke and tried to be calm.

“And what do you want to talk about? How I will kill you? How you will kill me?”

“No Jin it is no-”

“So what is it then? I didn’t pay for the grocery bill last time that we hang out? Oh no, I brought some of my food too. Let me think again. I parked the car too close to your entrance?”

“Jin stop, I come here to apologize, ok? I fucked it up, yes. I will admit that. I just want to correct things between us. I know I said those words and you are upset. I want to apologize for that. I didn’t know why I got so angry when I found out you were a dragon. I shouldn’t do that. Hell, I should be happy because I am your mate and you are my crush from the first day I arrived here. You might not forgive me and that’s fine. At least, remember that I am sorry for everything.”

Jin froze in his place. He didn’t know how to act, what to say, or even what is his feeling right now. He felt the guilt eating him because of his attitude toward you minutes ago yet his heart full of delight when he heard that he was your crush.

The moment of silence made you upset little by little. His face showed no emotion. You assumed that you were too late.

“I’ll go now and sorry again.”

The moment you opened the door, it closed immediately. The door slammed shut and then your body toward it. Jin towered your body and stared deep into your eyes. You felt like he was searching for your soul.

“I love you blossom.”

“I...” You didn’t get the chance to reply when his lips connected with yours. The kiss was heat and rough yet passionate. He continued to savor the sweet taste of your lips without caring that you were now out of breathing.

Your hand tried to push his check as a signal. His lips left yours with a string of saliva. Your face was flushed. Your heartbeat echoed in the room. Jin then grinned widely before carried you to his bed.

“Wh..what are you doing?”

“Cuddle.” He answered and placed you on the mattress. Kissing your forehead, he wrapped his arm tightly around your figure. Making you feel secure.

“I’ll make it up to you tomorrow then”

“Hmmm just sleep for now blossom, I’m tired. Besides, you have your whole life with me anyway.”

“Nah, you didn’t ask me out yet, Seokjin.”

“Very well, then be mine?” You turned around and faced him. You decided to tease him a little by peck him before answered.

“I’m yours.”

“Bold and eager are you?” He flipped then hovered you.

Guess what? No nap time for both of you.

Author note 2.0 : I hope you enjoy this one. I’ll see you next story(not sure whether it’s going to be in this series, but will write something soon). Thanks a lot and take care of yourself.

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bitterepiphany · 3 years

Text

pawprints

Archive Of Our Own

warnings: none

summary: annie decides she wants to buy a cat

**reposting this on here since i moved it’s place on ao3**

Annie suppressed the urge to sneeze as the combination of the pet store’s scents invaded her nose; a vaguely unpleasant mixture of that distinct ‘furry animal’ smell, the sharp tang of disinfectant and bleach, and something that reminded Annie of straw, strangely.

She adjusted quickly though, and wandered further into the shop, smiling noncommittally in response to the greeting of the young girl behind the counter. She surveyed the room. This was the third pet store they had been to that week, in search for the perfect companion following their conversation the previous weekend.

****

Annie had been the one to bring up the subject, surprisingly. The thought struck her in the afternoon randomly as she was lazing around their living room, when it occurred to her that there was a gap beside the fireplace that would perfectly fit a cat tree. The idea didn’t repulse her, as many of her’s often did. She usually left the life decision-making stuff to Armin, finding that any period of time surpassing half an hour discussing something as menial as where to buy bedsheets or how to arrange the kitchen would lull her into an exhaustive stupor, without fail.

The last time they went to a homeware store together, searching for an infuriatingly long amount of time for the perfect set of dinner plates, of all things - “They match the bowls, see!”, Armin had insisted - it had ended with Armin dangerously close to having said plates shattered over his head, and a terrified looking cashier who’s hands didn’t stop trembling as he scanned their items, spooked by the ‘I have been here to two hours too long’ look on Annie’s face. She and Armin had agreed afterwards that he would do the rest of that kind of stuff on his own, with the occasional help from Mikasa to carry things around.

After waiting another hour and finding that the idea still persisted, she got up and searched for her boyfriend. After poking her head into a few empty rooms, she found him in the study at his desk, frowning at a document with a pen pressed up against his lips. He must be working on his paper for some fancy job application his old professor Hange had heard through the grapevine and recommended him for. Knowing he was in that type of zone where he barely registered his surroundings, she tapped on the doorframe, not wishing to startle him.

He didn’t react at first. She leaned on the frame and knocked a little more forcefully. Armin jerked, blinking, and looked over at her.

“Annie!”

His face broke into that stupidly large, happy grin that he always wore when he saw her. Annie blushed unwillingly at the sight, automatically averting her eyes. He never failed to make her stomach lurch when he looked at her like that.

He leant back in his chair. She heard his spine crack as his back bent over the frame. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Oh, I wanted to run an idea by you,” she said, walking over to him. Armin pushed himself away from the desk, giving her room to climb onto his lap. His arms encircled her, and he pressed a gentle kiss to her exposed collarbone. “I’m all ears,” he murmured.

“Well…” She hesitated, struggling to formulate the ideas in words, despite its clarity in her head. “I was thinking… um… well I was sitting on the couch, and…”

Armin watched her patiently as she stuttered, eyes unblinking. A soft smile played upon his lips.

God, just say it straight Annie.

“I wanna get a pet. Uh.... a cat, in particular.”

Her cheeks reddened immediately, and she ducked her face into his shoulder, finding the whole thing embarrassing for some reason. Armin gently pushed her up straight so he could look in her eyes. He raised his eyebrows questioningly. Then he grinned. “Really?”

Why was she blushing so much? Still staring firmly at his shoulder, she nodded.

Annie squeaked in surprise as she was suddenly lifted into the air. Armin pushed out of his chair and spun her around, humming happily. He set her down, hands sliding to rest on her shoulders, and beamed. He began to talk excitedly.

“Ooh yay, I’m so happy to hear that Annie! Do you want a girl or a boy cat? Should we buy one as a kitten or get a rescue? Hmm, we’d have to get litter if we don’t want it to go outside, but that’s kinda gross to clean… oh! Do you have any colour preference? Or the length of fur, or…”

He trailed off, blushing as he realised he was rambling. Annie just smiled and reached up to brush his bangs back off his forehead.

“We’ll figure it out”

****

So here Annie was now, scanning the store for the cat section. She had been particularly partial to getting a rescue, feeling a kind of kinship with the abandoned animals. But their local shelter didn’t have any cats at the moment, specialising in dogs more, and Annie didn’t feel like travelling and searching for another one hours away. So Armin had eventually convinced her that buying a kitten from a pet shop would be just as good - “It means that this one won’t ever need to go into a shelter!”, he had said - and they began kitten searching.

They had gotten the general supplies - things like food and water bowls, a bed, a tree (which fit perfectly into that space that Annie had imagined it to), toys, and litter from the other stores they visited. But they lacked the essential - the kittens themselves. Armin had to make some calls, and they finally found a shop in a neighbouring town that had a litter come in a few days ago.

Annie walked past the dog collars, looking for the enclosures.

“Do you think they’re over here…?”

She trailed off as she glanced to her side, realising Armin had completely disappeared. She frowned, glancing around. He was nowhere to be seen. Annie huffed. Trust him to get distracted in a place like this. She had an idea about where he might be, and set off to find him.

As she made her way to the other side of the shop, a sharp yip to her left caused her to jump. Her head whipped around, startled, but she soon relaxed when she saw what made the noise. Annie was not very comfortable with dogs in general - there had been incidents with shitty neighbours and their untrained mutts throughout her childhood - but puppies were different. They were just too small and soft to do any damage, and she found the way they chewed on your hands with their little teeth to be endearing.

A mish-mash of different puppies rumbled around in an open enclosure next to her. Annie crouched down and watched them as they played for a moment. A curious daschund pup came up to her, and she smiled as it sniffed and licked at her fingers through a crack in the enclosure’s glass.

I wouldn’t mind getting a dog with Armin if they stayed this size forever.

Right. Armin.

Annie stood back up, spotting the section she thought he would be in. Her suspicions proved right as she turned down the fish aisle, spotting her boyfriend crouched in front of one of the tanks, gazing at the little fish swimming around with a curious, awestruck shine in his eyes.

They already owned some fish. Annie didn’t think she would have ever been able to stop him from getting some, the crazy ocean nut he was. She let Armin take care of them though, terrified she would kill them immediately if she tried to do anything with them at all, satisfied with occasionally admiring their bright colours as they swam around in their tank.

She approached her boyfriend, placing a hand on his head. He looked up at her, that starry-eyed look still on his face.

“C’mon Armin, you know we aren’t here for more fish,” she reprimanded gently, running her fingers through his hair.

“I know, I know, but I can’t help it…” He pouted his lips, that puppy-dog look entering his eyes. “They’re just so cool!”

Annie chuckled lightly, shaking her head. “You know that doesn’t work on me Arlert,” she said, tugging on his hair to hide the fact that that look did indeed work on her very well. Armin’s face melted back into that easy smile and he stood up, catching the hand on his head, pressing his lips against her fingers. “Sure, Annie,” he replied. “Ok, let’s go look at these kittens.”

He laced their fingers together and led her to the back right corner of the shop. “I spotted the sign over here on our way in,” he explained as an in-built wall enclosure came into view. Annie hummed.

Something caught in her chest as she spotted the kittens.

There were four of them, all tiny, little balls of fluff with stubby legs and wispy tails. Two were dark brown, one was ginger, and the last one was cream coloured. The brown ones were snuggled on a suspended platform sleeping, the ginger one was sniffing at a bowl of food, but the cream one was tottering around on its little legs, and came up to the glass and stared directly at Annie.

Almost trance-like, Annie approached the glass and crouched down, locking eyes with the kitten. It had pale blue eyes, like hers, and it tracked her finger as she raised it up and hovered it over the glass near its head. She vaguely heard Armin walk over to one of the employees and requested if they could hold the kittens. Annie moved her finger around, entranced as the kitten pounced about, trying to catch it, its little paws pressed up against the glass.

“Excuse me miss,” came a voice from behind her. Annie turned to see Armin and a female shop assistant with a pair of keys in her hands. “Would you like to hold one of the kittens?”

“Oh, yes please,” Annie replied, stepping back to allow the girl to unlock a side door and step inside the enclosure.

“This one?” The girl pointed at the cream kitten Annie was playing with a minute ago. Annie nodded, and watched as the girl gently lifted the small cat into her arms and walked back to the couple. Carefully, the girl placed the kitten into Annie’s outstretched hands.

Annie gazed down at the tiny animal in her hold, feeling it squirm slightly, paws pressing into her bare arms, its long whiskers brushing against her skin. She bobbed it up and down slightly, almost automatically, as if she were carrying a small child. It wriggled a little more, before finally settling and resting its small head on her wrist. Annie watched it, wide-eyed, hardly daring to breath, lest she disturb it. Her fingers began to stroke through its soft, downy fur. Her breath hitched as its sides began to vibrate. It was purring.

Annie glanced up at Armin, a smile forming on her lips. He was grinning, looking very pleased. He approached them quietly, and bent down slightly to face the kitten. “Hey there little one,” he whispered. He offered his fingers for it to sniff; it regarded him with its big eyes and let out a tiny mewl. Armin’s smile grew even bigger. “Yeah, I know…” He looked up at the shop assistant. “Is it male or female?” he questioned.

“Female, sir.”

Annie stared down at the kitten, who seemed to be falling asleep in her arms, purring all the while. Armin looked at her. “I think we’ve found the one, huh? You two even match!”

Annie didn’t think she could leave this kitten behind if she tried. “I love her,” she murmured. She lowered her face, pressed it into the silky fur, and breathed in her scent. Unbeknownst to her, Armin smiled and grinned at the shopkeeper, nodding. He pulled out his phone and quickly snapped a picture of the new pair.

****

A sharp yowl cut through the air, wrenching Annie out of her fitful slumber. She lay there silently, waiting, hoping, praying that it wouldn’t continue. Of course, her wishes were ignored. Another cutting meow ran through the house. Annie groaned, rolling herself onto Armin’s chest.

“Armin,” she hissed, “I swear to god if that thing doesn’t stop whining right now, I will take it back to where it came from.”

She felt his arms wrap around her and his face nestle in her hair. He mumbled something incoherently, chest rising as he sighed. The thing in question let loose another cry into the night.

“Armin!”

He sighed again, arms tightening, then relaxing as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. Annie followed suit, watching him as he rubbed his face tiredly. “Just ignore it,” he grumbled, “She’ll stop eventually.”

Annie shoved his shoulder weakly. “What?” he whined.

“Armin, I’ve woken up five times in, what - “ she glanced at her phone “- two hours, and if I don’t get solid, unbroken sleep soon I’m… god, I'm gonna be fucked in the morning.”

As if on cue, their new pet, who had been named Donut on the car trip back home, cried out. It sounded like she was right outside their bedroom door. Armin cringed and Annie buried her face into a pillow.

“Alright,” her boyfriend huffed, throwing back the covers. “Let’s try this then.”

He walked over to the door and swung it open, cueing a surprised sounding meow from the kitten, who looked up at the man in the doorway.

Armin bent down and gathered Donut into his arms. “Hey little one. What’s wrong? Are you lonely out there all by yourself?”

Keeping the door cracked open, he padded back to their bed, setting the kitten down onto the covers. He settled beneath the sheets again, watching as the cat began to sniff around, making soft, squeaky noises. Donut’s head jumped up as Annie shifted, locking onto her. She mewed loudly, before bounding over to Annie, and promptly began to crawl all over her body.

“Aagh, no don’t step there, no- ow ow claws, Donut, stop-”

Armin laughed, making the bed shake, which only served to aggravate the kitten further into her scramblings. “Seems like she just missed her mummy, huh?”

Annie protested as she felt tiny pinpricks sink into her skin again. She grabbed the offender and gently placed her next to her chest, running a hand over her tiny body. This seemed to calm the kitten, and Donut settled and curled up, shoving her soft head beneath Annie’s chin. Vibrations ran through her, as she began to purr lightly.

“Ah, I can’t stay mad at you if you do that,” she mumbled, glancing up at Armin, who seemed to have fallen asleep again already. “Hmm… I guess you’ll have to stay with us until you get used to this place then…” Content, with warmth spreading through her body from the soft bundle of fluff nestled against her, Annie drifted off.

They slept through the night

#aruani #armin arlert #annie leonhardt #oneshot #shingeki no kyojin

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kessielrg · 3 years

Text

[Kingdom Hearts] The Heart of a Dandelion

Summary: By far, Ven’s got the most boring job at the flower shop; the cashier. Sitting day in and day out for someone to browse along the rows of flowers and gardening tools, then probably walk right out again. Sometimes an interesting thing would happen- but they were few and far between. [flower shop AU focused on UX kids][Part 5 in a series of oneshots][VenxOC][EphemerxOC/F!Player]

Rating: K

Word Count: 1,725 words

If you liked this story, please reblog!

---

“Strelitzia needs a different job.”

Ventus gave a rather annoyed eye up at Elrena. Finals were coming up soon, and he was using this time to study. Of course, Elrena wasn't talking to him, she was talking to Lauriam. The older man was gently spritzing some flowers with a glycerin mixture. Elrena felt the need to lean against the front counter and shout at him from across the store. It was really starting to get on Ven's nerves.

“Why are you telling me this?” Lauriam gently asked as he looked over one flower, gave it a small tilt of his head, before giving its petals two sprays of glycerin. “Strelitzia's shift ended ten minutes ago. If you wanted to tell her this, you could have done it before she left.”

“She wouldn't, and didn't.” Ven retorted as he wrote down a math formula to memorize later. “Strelitzia makes her feel emotions. It scares her.”

“Shut up Roxas.” Elrena demanded as she reached over to slam his book closed. Ven blinked for a moment before looking at Elrena with a rather dark glare.

“You know my name is Ven.” he informed her, opening his book back up.

“See if I care.” came the nasty retort.

“Elrena, don't be rude to Ven just because you're worried.” Lauriam idly noted as he inspected another flower. He frowned in finding that it was wilting a bit.

“I'm not worried!” she immediately spat back. “I just… I just hate when she gets hurt.”

“No wonder you're always in a bad mood.” Ven remarked without thinking about it. Elrena flashed him a glare so dark, Ven physically recoiled from it.

“It is nice to know she's cares, isn't it?” Lauriam just as easily laughed. Elrena gave him a dark glare as well, but he simply shrugged it off. Instead, he picked up the wilting flower and brought it up to the front counter.

“In any event,” he said, taking the flower out of the ceramic vase. “You and I both know that Strelitzia's not going to change jobs anytime soon. She loves it here.”

“Must be a stupid masochist then.” Elrena huffed, even folding her arms in defiance. “Not a day goes by that she comes home with some new cut, or bruise, or headache from all these stupid plants...”

“Pretty sure everyone in our family has a high tolerance for pollen.” Lauriam laughed. “I think it just depends on your perspective.”

That earned him a peeved eye roll, along with another huff. Lauriam was definitely not paying her any mind while he laid the flowers in a single row. He placed the vase close to Ven- a hint that the younger needed to dump out the water. Ven made a mental note of it; he was still studying, after all. He did hand Lauriam some loose newspaper when he asked for it, though. Apparently Lauriam was going to dry the flowers out later.

“Our parents started Dandelion's you know.” he then thoughtfully said. “It was right after they got married.”

“I know that.” Elrena grumbled.

“You do, but Ven doesn't.”

Elrena let out an undignified huff. Lauriam offered a small chuckle in response before properly turning his attention to Ventus.

“They used flowers from their own garden. Mother handled the arrangements, and Father actually went to do minor landscaping work around town. Hence the dual 'Floristry and Gardening' bit on the full business name. It's not just because we sell gardening supplies year round.”

Ven gave a small, rather uninterested nod. By now he'd gathered that Lauriam wasn't really related this story to him, he was reminding Elrena. There was a reason why Strelitzia loved working here.

“Strelitzia was the one who brought up the idea of placing the shop here in the outlets. She was about 16 then, and the four of us decided to go out shopping for Mother's birthday. The moment she saw the store front, she knew the store had to be here.” Lauriam let out a soft snort before going on to say, “She had pretty good tastes, honestly, with it being a corner lot and all. Makes it easier to get big deliveries in and out.”

“Hmmph.” Elrena grumbled. “She only wanted it here because Ephemer's sylph worked at the antique store three shops down.”

“I thought she met Strelitzia when Ephemer started working here.” Ven cut in, now a bit confused.

“Anora and Strelitzia dated for a year and a half.” Lauriam gently agreed. “But Anora started working at the antique store when she was 17. Strelitzia was 18 then.” Lauriam offered Ven a kind smile. “You might be thinking of Anora and Brain. They met when Ephemer started working here, and hit it off pretty well from what I understand.”

At this, Elrena laughed in a rather obnoxious pitch. “More like hit on each other!” she cackled. “Those three were threewaying so often, that brat of theirs would have needed a paternity test if he didn't end up with Ephemer's hair!”

Lauriam frowned. “Elrena, you don't know that.”

“I bet they still go at it every now and again.” she went on, absolutely reveling at the thought. “Betcha in the next five years (maybe even sooner if you catch my drift), she's gonna pop another and it'll have hair as black as sin!”

“Elrena!” Lauriam finally demanded. “That's enough!”

Elrena immediately reined herself back in. Even Ven shrunk a bit at Lauriam's tone. Seeing Lauriam angry was possibly one of the most scariest things about him. Assuming he even let that anger show, of course.

“Back to the original topic at hand,” the oldest between the three of them said before slowly returning to a more relaxed demeanor. “It's because of Strelitzia that we were able to understand what Dandelion's meant to the community. Our parents had to raise the money to rent out this property at first. Once the whole town caught wind of it, we were able to meet the goal in a month.”

“That's pretty impressive.” Ven noted. His voice didn't sound as enthused though. Lauriam smiled at the acknowledgment, regardless.

“It was quite the shock.” he agreed. “Our parents were old souls- gentle, and fair too humble for their own good. Moving Dandelion's to the outdoor mall became a rather big affair. At the head of it was Strelitzia. Before Skuld was brought on to be our bona fide manager, it was Strelitzia.”

“Strelitzia's the one in charge of hiring new people too, right?” Ven asked. The thought had came to him suddenly. He could faintly remember his initial interview two or so years ago. Tired of being cooped up at home while Terra and Aqua worked at their respective jobs, Ven had been wandering around the outdoor mall for something to do. He walked by Dandelion's Floristry and Gardening, noticed the 'Now Hiring!' sign taped to the window, and immediately made a choice. Ephemer was the first person he got to know that worked here. Strelitzia became the second.

“She is.” Lauriam agreed with a smile and happy nod. “She has a natural intuition toward other people. We don't hire anyone without her say so.”

Elrena grunted. For a moment, Ven had to wonder why. Had Elrena tried to work here before?

“Point is,” Lauriam went on, “You can't separate this store from Strelitzia, or vice versa. Our parents might have started it, but she is Dandelion's Floristry and Gardening.”

Elrena was silent. The words settled around them as she thought long and hard over the idea. She knew he had a point, and she hated it.

“She's going to kill herself here.” she finally decided, looking up at Lauriam with a steely gaze. “How can she be happy when all she does is hurt herself?”

“Maybe you could ask her yourself.” Lauriam suggested with a sly grin. He then gave a rather bemused chuckle before taking the flowers to the backroom.

Elrena waited for when he was out of earshot just to mimic in a whining voice, “Maybe you could ask her yourself.” She huffed, folding her arms once again, then proceeded to act rather indignant. Ven didn't know why she was still in the store at this point.

He raised an eyebrow at her before questioning, “If you like Strelitzia so much, why don't you just tell her?”

“If you like that tramp Brain calls a sister so much, why don't you just tell her?” Elrena shot back, her voice still obnoxiously high. She let out a frustrated sigh before snapping at him, “It's not that simple, Roxas.”

Ven looked at her. Any thoughts about studying now were thrown out the window. If she wanted to go for the throat, then he was more than willing to fight back too.

“First of all,” he said, “My name is Ventus; Ven if you bothered to be nice for all of five seconds. Second, Strelitzia actually listens if you asked her to. And third, at least I'm trying.”

Elrena stood up a bit straighter at his assertion. A look of bewilderment crossed her face before being replaced with a snide smirk.

“Look at you, growing a spine.” Elrena marveled. Her voice was still chilly, though. “Keep that attitude up and you might just lose your virginity before graduation.”

It took Ven a solid three seconds for what she said to click. His face then started to flush a rather deep shade of red as he tried to return to his schoolwork. Elrena just snorted at him.

“Pathetic.” she mumbled under her breath. Then, without any warning, she shouted at the top of her lungs, “Well, if you're done talking to me, Lauriam, then I guess I'm out of here.”

Lauriam came out of the backroom just to wave her out.

“Have a safe trip home.” he told her. Elrena gave him a half hearted wave as she went on out. Ven, for one, was glad she was gone now. His joy at her departure did not go unnoticed. Lauriam looked over at him in thought for a moment.

“You're a lot braver than her, Ven.” Lauriam noted. “Just… next time? Be easier on her. She's not out of the closet yet.”

Admittedly, it took Ven a moment to realize what Lauriam said. When he turned around to give his coworker a funny glance, he was already gone.

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kimjongdaely · 4 years

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Escape [Chapter 3]

Superhero!AU/Villain!AU

Pairing: Kai x Reader

Warnings: Language, violence, torture

Summary: All your life you were caged and tortured, a never-ending cycle of pain. You no longer remember a life beyond that. All you wanted to do was escape this cruel fate. But finally finding your escape and being saved by a masked criminal was just the beginning of your nightmares. Can you ever really be free?

Chapter 1│Chapter 2│Chapter 3│Chapter 4│Chapter 5

I jolt awake, roused by nightmares. I take a moment to breathe, to compose myself. I take in my surroundings, hyper aware of everything, making sure I’m safe.

I relax slightly when I remember where I am. I breathe, reminding myself of what happened so far, recounting my steps to reassure myself that I’m not in the lab anymore, Dr. Walters can’t touch me here.

I shiver, noting how cold my body has gotten. It’s still dark out, but the sky had begun to turn red-violet as the sun begins to rise.

I rub my arms, hoping to get some warmth back. Perhaps I should move around for a bit and stretch out my limbs.

I pace around the empty building, my steps kicking up dust which makes me cough and sneeze. Okay, maybe that’s a bad idea. I stop my movements, hand over my mouth and nose as I try not to breathe in the dust. The sky is brightening a little more. Since daytime is approaching, it’ll probably be okay to go outside. People will be out and about in no time, and I’ll be hidden among the crowds.

I look down at myself and wrinkle my nose, wondering if there’s any way I can get clothes that aren’t in terrible condition.

I miss Kai’s apartment already, but I shake my head. I’ve gone my separate way, and I must rely on myself. I still need to figure out who it was that paid him to save me in the first place.

I sigh, heading towards the door. I hope no one pays me too much attention. The last thing I need is to catch unwanted attention, like painting a big red target sign on my back. Dr. Walters is looking for me, I know it. I have to be careful with where I go, who I talk to. I must find a way to disguise myself, and this jumpsuit must be the first to go. He probably has trackers on this thing, even in its tattered state.

I step out just as the first rays of morning appear. The warmth is comfortable and very welcome on my freezing skin. It’ll get warmer from here, which I’m looking forward to.

I quicken my pace past the streets, trying not to look at the people sitting and sleeping in the shadows. Some reek of alcohol with sunken eyes, shaggy hair and unshaved faces. Some have grey skin, looking much too thin to be able to function properly. Bottles, cigarette butts and needles are littered everywhere. A woman with two young children huddle together to my right.

My heart aches for them, feeling their pain and suffering. I wish I could do something to help, but I an barely look after myself as is.

A man who looks intoxicated by drugs or alcohol eyes me lecherously, a grin appearing on his cracked lips. I shiver at the unpleasant attention, breaking into a run in hopes me won’t follow. If he does, he’ll be disappointed to find his strength is no match for mine. Still, I don’t want him to start a scene.

As I leave the slums, I notice how the streets are cleaner now. There are a few people present, shop owners chatting as they begin to open their stores, joggers running past, someone on a flower-filled bicycle.

The quiet murmurs of conversation comforts me, the chirping of birds giving me a sense of unprecedented freedom. I take a deep breath of the fresh air, the temperature becoming warmer and warmer. I no longer shiver, my arms falling freely to my sides, and I forget about my strange appearance.

For once, I feel human. Normal. Alive.

I notice glances towards me, conversations change from idle chatter to curious speculation. Who is this young woman, wearing tattered clothes? Is she from the slums? Could she perhaps be a new criminal?

I keep my head down and quicken my pace. Soon there will be even more people, and I hope they will be too busy to pay me any mind. I wander down the streets, scanning my surroundings and noting anything worthwhile. I pass by clothing stores, looking in through the windows and frowning at the prices.

I sigh. Surely there isn’t anything at the grand price of free for a penniless girl like me.

I continue walking, ideas churning in my mind. Is there any way I can acquire a job? But I’m not sure what the standard requirements are, and it would be troublesome if they ask me for any form of identification. Based on government records, I don’t even exist. So honest, lawful jobs are probably out of the question. A hopeful part of me wonders if anyone is nice enough to provide shelter for an odd-looking stranger.

Most likely not. Oh well, onto the next idea.

If honest jobs are not going to accept me, perhaps my only option is something illegal. Or sketchy, at best. I wonder where I can acquire a job like that. The red-light district is always an option. I shiver at the thought, wondering if it’s really worth the risk. They might have jobs that don’t require selling my body, like cleaning or cooking. Frowning, I find myself silly.

I could probably find a labor-intensive job, like at a construction site. Yes, that’s what I’ll focus on.

I pass by an internet café, still closed since it’s too early for them to open. I peek into the dark store, eyeing the computers they have lined up on long coffee tables. If I could access the internet, I would probably find more jobs for hire, but I don’t have the money. Everything boils down to money, a never-ending loop. Where else would jobs be advertised? Magazines? Newspapers?

It’s worth a try, I suppose.

I walk down the street for a while more, looking through windows as they slowly open, and manage to find a convenience store that’s open 24/7. The sliding doors ding when I walk in.

The cashier, a young girl chewing gum and blonde hair tied into a ponytail, looks at me oddly, but doesn’t say anything. I know how awful I look, and she probably thinks I’m some sort of drug addict. I ignore her and sidle into the magazine and newspaper section. I scan through the covers, searching for something that might include jobs for hire. I pick up a few and start flipping through them.

From the corner of my eye, I see the cashier begin to work nearby me, putting things on shelves and checking items. Does she think I’m going to steal something? I roll my eyes and turn my attention back towards the pages. My concentration wanes as I flip through the seventh magazine, not finding anything suitable for me.

I begin to grab an eighth magazine when the cashier clears her throat behind me, plastering on a polite smile. “Hello, may I help you with something?”

I swallow a sigh and turn to her, trying not to look as dead as I feel. “Hi, sorry, I’m just looking through some magazines.”

She nods slowly. “Are you looking for anything specific?”

I sound more snappy than I meant to. “Job advertisements.”

Something changes in her expression and it becomes more sympathetic. I don’t like it. I smile again as best as I can without wanting to kill myself or her, “Sorry, I’ll be quick.”

“Sure.” She shrugs, then slinks away, but I can still feel her eyes on me—you know, just in case I do steal something. I flip through the magazine mindlessly, not even really paying attention to what’s on the page anymore. Some fashion trends, fancy car models, idol gossips…something catches my eye.

I flip back, searching for that page. It’s a job advertisement from Happy Greenbottles, a company that strives to create environment-friendly packaging for all kinds of products; from food products to beauty products. They’re looking for factory workers, and promise free housing and meals. Seems too good to be true, but something about this advertisement screams at me, something odd, something inexplicable.

I doubt they would hire someone like me, but I take my chances. I don’t know why I’m so adamant about this job, but I swirl around and find the cashier who takes a step back in surprise. I hold the page up to her, determined. “Can I borrow a phone please? I really, really need this job.”

“Um.” She looks unsure, eyes darting everywhere as she slowly pushes the magazine away from her face. “Sure, I guess.”

I run to the shop’s phone sitting in a corner on the counter. She watches me as I dial the number on the advertisement, my heart racing when I hear it ring. Three rings is all it took for someone to pick up, a pleasant female voice greeting me, “You have reached Happy Greenbottles. How may I help you?”

“Hello.” I answer, voice squeaking. “I saw your advertisement for hiring?”

“Ah, yes.” She chirps. “We’re in an urgent need of someone right now. Are you thinking of applying? Is it okay if we do a phone interview right now?”

“Sure, that’s no problem.” Oh no, I have no idea how interviews work. What do I say?

“Alright then. First things first, what’s your name?”

I begin to sweat already. “I’m…” I pause, catching myself before I could make a mistake. “…Eve. My name is Eve.”

“Nice to meet you, Eve. I’m Susan. Do you have any previous work experience in a factory or other labor-intensive jobs?”

“Ah, no.” I swallow. I wrack my brain, wondering what kind of answer would be acceptable. What would a normal person say? “I just graduated from college so I don’t have any job experience yet. I’m very strong and have high stamina so I have no problems with labor-intensive work.”

There’s silence on the other end and my stomach drops. Did I screw up? Was that not the right thing to say?

“I see. That’s okay, it’s very difficult for graduated students to find jobs immediately. Trust me, I’ve been there. Where did you graduate from?”

Crap. Crap, crap, crap. I don’t know any colleges or any sort of educational institute for that matter. I come up blank, unable to answer or even make something up.

“Hello? Eve, you still there?”

I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. This is obviously not going to work. “To be honest I didn’t graduate from college.”

Silence. Yeah, totally screwed.

“So,” Susan starts, her voice sounding strangely interested. “Knowing that you don’t have the necessary qualifications for this job, why did you still call? Surely you were expecting to be rejected.”

“I need this job.” I say, trying not to sound too desperate. “I don’t have anywhere to stay and have no money. I just…I just need to do something.”

“And you expect us to give you the job? Even though we’re a startup company, we have high standards and expectations for all our employees. Why should we hire you, who has nothing to offer us and nothing to back you up? Why are you interested in our company in the first place?”

I frown, having no answers to any of her questions. I shrug, already giving up. “I don’t know, honestly. All I can offer you is hard-work and my best efforts. Your advertisement caught my eye and I reacted. That’s all.”

Here it comes. I sigh, closing my eyes as I wait for the impending rejection. Susan is quiet for a moment.

“Alright, you’re hired.”

My jaw drops. “What?”

“I said you’re hired, Eve.” She says merrily. “Congratulations. You can come in for work right away. Do you have a way for jotting down notes?”

“I, uh…” My eyes dart around the counter, wondering if I could use any of this stuff without paying. I’m already using their phone for way too long. The cashier hands me an old receipt and a pen wordlessly, and I thank her vigorously with hand gestures for her help. “Yes, I do.”

“I’m going to read you our address, so make sure you write it down.” I fumble to write down what Susan says, wondering if I’m spelling it correctly. She repeats the address just in case I missed anything, and then bids me goodbye.

I am ecstatic when I hang up, my body feeling light as if I just ascended onto a new level.

“Congrats.” The cashier says with a smile. “Hope it goes well.”

“Me too.” I beam back, stupidly excited. “Thank you so much. If I get paid, I’ll treat you.”

She laughs, waving her hand. “Nah, that’s alright. Jobs are hard to get, I’ve been there. You should go treat yourself, yeah?”

I look down at my tattered jumpsuit and nod. “Yeah, okay.” I thank her again as I leave, a skip in my step.

I search for a street sign, wondering if there are any pointers on how to get to the address. I ask a few people for directions along the way (quite a few actively avoided me and gave me weird looks, but some were very kind). Some even generously searched it up on their phones and showed me a map.

It seems to be quite far, about an hour or two by car, but I can catch up by running in no time. I try my best to stay off the streets and under the shades of buildings or trees as I break into a run, going much too fast for a normal human. I go through any alleyway I can find to hide from the general public, focusing on the direction I need to go so I won’t get lost.

I leave the populated parts of the city, reaching the outskirts where it’s much more secluded. There are lots of big factories here, chimneys blowing dark smoke into the sky. Trucks are littered about, busily transporting cargo to and fro.

I quicken my speed when I see the giant Happy Greenbottles company name on the side of a grey building. Their logo is of a bottle with two leaves poking out from the top and a cute smile plastered on the glass. Cute.

I catch my breath as I slow to a walk, shaking out my nerves as I approach the entrance. I try not to be too self-conscious with my awful appearance. They might turn me away immediately after seeing me.

The glass sliding doors open for me, and I walk in sheepishly. Some workers dressed in protective uniform, bouffant caps and face masks turn to look at me before moving on with their work. I glance around, wondering who I should talk to or where I should go. The clacking of high heels makes me look towards the left, where a woman in a black suit approaches me. Her wavy brown hair reaches her bosom, figure tall and slim. She smiles, “Are you Eve?”

“Ah, yes.” I blink. “Are you Susan?”

“That’s right.” She gestures for me to follow her. She leads me to a man who looks like he’s in his thirties, also dressed in a black suit, his posture more casual and relaxed than Susan, but confidence radiates off him. There are several workers surrounding him, seemingly deep in conversation. Susan taps him on the shoulder, then clears her throat when he turns. His hair is dark with strands of grey hair, his features sharp with striking green eyes. “Sir, this is our new hire, Eve. Eve, this is the founder of Happy Greenbottles, Mr. Gregory Miller.”

He beams at me, shaking my hand heartily and clapping me on the shoulder. “Ah, welcome, Eve! So glad you could make it. You really helped me there—we needed someone urgently to take care of the new batch.”

“Glad I could help, sir.” I manage a small smile, surprised by his friendly attitude.

“Susan, please, show her the basics and have her start immediately. We need to have these out tonight.”

“Yes sir.” Susan turns towards me, her eyes scrutinizing. “Let’s get you a uniform. Follow me.” She heads towards a door to the far back, taking me to what seems like a change room. She grabs some cardboard boxes from tops of lockers, searching through the contents. “Hm…you look like a medium.” She pulls out what seems like clothes folded neatly inside a sealed plastic bag. She hands it to me. “Go ahead and change. If it doesn’t fit, just grab a new size. I’ll be waiting outside.”

It’s a simple t-shirt and black pants, a protective covering worn over them like an apron. It’s easy to move in for any sort of laboring work I might need to do. I step out of the changing room, Susan nodding at me and hands me a bouffant cap and a face mask. I hastily put them on, tucking my hair into the cap. Once I’m done, she’s pulling me along again.

“Alright, your work is in here.” She opens another door, leading me down a long corridor. The wall to my left is made of glass so I can see into the room filled with intimidating machines, conveyer belts, and countless workers busy at their stations. Susan holds the door at the other end for me, letting me pass through first. The room is cool, AC blasting through the air vents. The sounds of the machines whirring is loud, and to me, almost deafening. I wince, itching to cover my ears but that would look like an overreaction for a normal person. I struggle to look neutral as I follow Susan to my station.

“Your job is simple.” She points at a hatch on the back of a machine. “When the machine beeps, lift the hatch and use this—” she holds up an iron rod-like thing, “—and stir the liquid. These are what we use to make the packagings. There’s only a 30 second window, so make sure you don’t slack off and miss the beeps.” She hands me the rod, raising a brow at me, a hand on her hip. “Any questions?”

I shake my head ‘no.’

She nods, looking pleased. “Good luck on your first day.” Then she leaves, and I watch her walk back down the hallway through the glass.

Special thanks to the wonderful Ayla @ninibears-erigom for being a sponsor! This chapter was made possible by you! 💛

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Escape Mini Masterlist

A/N: Anyone else have a bad feeling? 👀

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