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fushic0re · 4 months ago

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❝FROM THE START❞

Toji Fushiguro x MamaGuro!Reader

𝑺𝒀𝑵𝑶𝑷𝑺𝑰𝑺 ╮the five times toji realized he loved you; in which you take in the black sheep of the zenin clan.

𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑻 𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺; 𝟏𝟖+ 𝑶𝑵𝑳𝒀 ╮familial abuse (this is the zenin clan after all). hardship. trauma. a very wounded toji. pregnancy.

TOJI WAS NOT SURE IF HE EVER HAD A LIFE TO BEGIN WITH.

But if he had to say when he thought it ended, his answer would be at six. Toji’s parents were said to have struck gold. His father was next in line to be the clan head with two strong and healthy sons by his side. His elder brother Jinichi did not possess the Ten Shadows, but he was talented enough to outlive any scrutiny from the family–besides, he was a son and not a daughter. On the eve of the new year, Toji welcomed the Zenin clan compound with his screams. All eyes were now on the newest Zenin, seedlings of possibilities planting themselves in the very soil the little one’s feet touched. Seedlings that would never grow.

On the eve of another new year and Toji’s fifth birthday, one that was meant to be celebrated greatly, there were no signs of cursed energy manifestations. Winter gave way to spring, which then gave way to summer until summer faded into fall, and fall into winter. As the seasons changed, Toji did not. By his sixth birthday, the clan elders officially declared that Toji had zero cursed energy–a Heavenly Pact, they called it. A first in jujutsu history. At six years old, Toji Zenin became the shit stain of the Zenin clan. At twelve, they started throwing him into the disciplinary pit to fight curse after curse with nothing but his bare fists. His parents never blinked an eye. He was sure they were hoping not so secretly that one day, he would never come out.

At 20 years old, he left. Like a thief in the night with nothing but the clothes on his back and a knapsack of food he managed to store away, he left the gates of the Zenin compound. Not a single trace of him was left–not that anyone cared. Time meant nothing to him. For what could have been months or years, Toji lived like a wild animal. He slept on the streets when he was not serving as a bedwarmer for women who were too soft-hearted or too desperate. They fed him, but when the currency his hulking physique and rugged looks provided him ran dry, he ate scraps. He rarely bought food with the money pitiful strangers tossed at him, but one cold day led him to a hole-in-the-wall ramen shop.

It was a small little place that hardly sat ten. The kitchen was cramped, but the aromas it produced were heavenly. With his meager earnings, the lone wolf bought himself a steaming bowl of ramen that he devoured at a speed that he would find embarrassing had he maintained his dignity. No one acknowledged him. For once, he was just another face in the crowd. Toji’s emerald eyes rested on the empty porcelain bowl in front of him, mocking him unforgivably. With a bitter expression, he glared at the bowl. He wondered how far down he had spiraled into the abyss of nothingness that was his life to end up in these circumstances–a simple household item reminding him of everything he was not. Since day one, his bowl had run empty with no one to fill it.

Until you.

Toji’s train of thought is interrupted when one of the owners, an elderly woman with a withered face and silvery wisps for hair, places another bowl of steaming tonkatsu ramen in front of him. His hard eyes meet hers.

“I didn’t order this.” He states gruffly.

Despite his harsh expression and soulless delivery, the elderly woman’s features melt into a warm expression.

“That girl at the end bought it for you.” She says giddily, discreetly pointing a bony finger in the direction of his benefactor. “A real sweetie. She’s a regular.”

He tracks the elderly woman’s finger. His eyes narrow as soon as they land on you. He did not appreciate pity in the slightest. Just as he is about to open his mouth and tell you off, his stomach rumbles. The sound prevails over the clanking of utensils, garnering the mystery woman’s attention. Not expecting to be caught, she gives Toji a sheepish smile before snapping her head back around to bury her nose in her book. Toji finds himself at a crossroads. If he ate the bowl, he owed her. If he did not, he would be wasting the rarity of free food. Once again, his thoughts are interrupted by another elder–the old woman’s husband. His fists knock on the table just as he appears before Toji, and a kind smile is on his face.

“Son, just eat.” He jests before disappearing.

Toji scoffs with a roll of his eyes. Old people could never mind their goddamn business, it seemed. But as he stared at the bowl of ramen for the umpteenth time since it had been placed in front of him, an unfamiliar feeling stirred within him. He gave you an unsuspecting glance from the corner of his eye, taking in every feature from the slope of your nose to the shoes on your feet. His eyes could not remove themselves from the warmth in your eyes. With that, he picked up the soup spoon and took one big gulp of creamy broth. He let the heat of the soup envelop his body the same way your eyes did.

For the first time, his bowl was filled.

THE STORM HAD KNOCKED THE POWER OUT.

You did not know what woke you first–the severe gust of wind that sent branches flying against your window in a repetitive fashion or the bone-chilling drop in temperature the second your heater shut off. You tried your best to ignore it, curling up under your covers as you pathetically warmed yourself with your breath. It was when your shivers escalated into violent shivers in a matter of minutes that you knew something had to be done. Tearing yourself out of the safety of your blanket cocoon, you scurried to your kitchen as quietly as you could in search of emergency candles. Maybe if you lit enough, they could act as some semblance of a fireplace. To your detriment, the clattering of your teeth was enough to wake the slumbering wolf in your humble living room. Your eyes widen the second you hear the familiar creak of the cushion springs, whipping around to face your impromptu roommate.

“S-Sorry. It’s really cold, s-so I thought I could light some–” You frantically gesture to the cabinet of candles you had opened, the cold freezing your brain in its poignant state of desperation. “You know. To help maybe.”

Toji lets out a quiet huff. From where you are standing with one candle lighting the space, you can barely point out the smirk on his face,

“Don’t be sorry. It’s your apartment.” He mutters, his voice gravely from sleep as he rubs his tired eyes.

Thanks to his heightened senses, he could see you perfectly. You were in your usual pajamas, ones that worked against you in this weather. With your bare feet on the cold tile, as you shivered, you looked endearingly pathetic. He scoffs.

“C’mere.”

You shake your head, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“I’m o-okay. You should sleep.”

Toji lets out a deep sigh, sitting upright on your futon.

“Come here.” He repeats, this time more firmly. “You’re freezing, your pajamas are thin as shit, and the power is out until god knows when which means we have no heater.”

You’re going to get sick is what he means to say. I can’t bear the sight of you in any state of suffering.

When you hesitate again, loudly sighs again, patting his lap audibly.

“I won’t be able to sleep with all the fuckin’ teeth chattering, sweetheart. Stop being stubborn.” He grumbles.

And with that, he stands up and strides towards you to grab you with the stealth and agility of a panther. You could not help the squeal that escaped from your mouth the second he effortlessly scooped you up and swooped you right under the covers. He was right. The second Toji curled his brawny body around yours, your shivers began to decrescendo. His heat melted your stiff muscles until you fully surrendered, intertwining your body with his.

“Shit. You’re freezing.”

“Sorry.” You squeak, snuggling closer to him.

“Stop apologizing.” He mutters, flinching ever so slightly as your cold feet brush up against his calf.

The gesture wills you with embarrassment.

“Sorry.” You squeak again.

“Christ, woman. I told you to stop apologizing.”

“....sorry.”

Toji dignifies your antics with a chuff that carries a hardly noticeable laugh. Closing his eyes, he nuzzles his nose against the top of your head, flooding his senses with the smell of your signature shampoo. He is not used to this–affection. Holding someone. Someone holding him. He finds himself having to squeeze your frame impossibly closer to his to convince himself that this experience is real.

“Stop it.” He murmurs against your head, his voice the softest you have ever heard.

Closing your eyes, you rest your head in the crook of his neck. You fit right in there like a missing puzzle piece.

“Okay.” You whisper, conceding to sleep.

“TOJI?”

It is some ungodly hour when he abruptly sits up in bed, his body coated in a layer of cold sweat. His eyes are enlarged as he scans the room, his orbs frantically darting in every which direction. His heart pounds rapidly against his ribs, his bare chest rising and falling at a quick pace. He is numb, unable to feel a single thing as his brain transports him back to that place. That god-forsaken place. Since the two of you began sleeping in the same bed, his night terrors diminished into nightmares until they ceased altogether. For once, just once, Toji thought he could outrun his past. But just like the scars on his body, darkness was ingrained in every fiber of his being. It ran through his bloodstream, pumping into his heart and fueling every move he made. He was stupid to think he could live a life like this with you. People like him simply did not belong in the realm people like you existed in, so good and so pure.

“Hey,” You whisper, rolling onto your side to face him. “Did you have another nightmare?”

Your voice feels like the sun. Not in the way it gets in your face and makes your eyes sting to the point where all you want to do is get away from it. No, he could not run from you. No matter how far he got in his head, he simply could not.

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart. You got work in a few hours.” He rasps.

He pulls you into his arms, resting his cheek on the top of your head. Like clockwork, he grounds himself with your touch–skin against skin, your heartbeats creating a rhythmic cadence until ultimately his own slows down and thumps in tandem with yours. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“It’s nothing. Sleep.”

You cannot help but frown. It was hard whenever he got this way. You did not mind, of course, that was not the problem. It was watching him wrestle with himself in his head until he was numb again. It was the vacant look in his eyes. Whenever Toji broke, a part of you did too. If there was a way to physically pour love into him until he was bursting at the seams, you would–anything to never see that lifeless expression again. Sitting up, you reach for his face, cradling his jaw in your palm.

“Don’t say that. It’s not nothing.” You say gently yet sternly. “The things that hurt you aren’t nothing.”

Just like that, Toji feels like that seventeen-year-old kid again who desperately craved approval and a sense of belonging in a system that actively worked against him just because he needed to feel something. You disarm him not in a way that makes him feel scared and defenseless, but in a way that assures him that he is no longer in a state of survival. Unless it is for you, his days of fighting are over. Even then, he was very capable that you could hold your own as a Grade One. Yet still, if he had to bloody his first for anyone, it would be for you.

“I was back there again.” He says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your eyes soften.

“You’re not there anymore.” You assure, running the pad of your thumb across his cheekbone. “You’re here–”

“You don’t get it.” He snaps “I can’t change shit. No matter where I look, I’m back there in that fuckin’ hole.” “You. Are here. With me.” You state firmly, cupping his face with both hands now and forcing him to meet your gaze. “You escaped. And now you get to forge a new path for yourself. It’s not going to be easy. You’re going to have a lot more nights like this, but the difference is you’ll have me. No matter how much you try to push me away because you think I don’t get it just because I grew up in some ‘cushy’ sorcerer family, you can’t push me away. I’m not going anywhere.”

Toji clenches his jaw. A part of him hated when you were like this, blindly believing every conviction that came out of your mouth. It was downright painful. In these moments, he could not bring himself to believe you.

“This is just the way it is.” He mutters defiantly, turning his face away from you as he clenches his fists at his sides.

Your heart feels like a stake has been driven through it when your touch makes him flinch. But now is not the time to lead with her feelings. He needed you. you meant every word she said.

“I am promising you that. My cold, dead body is gonna have to be pried away from you to get me to leave you.” You shakily whisper, trying your best to keep your emotions at bay as his pain causes your body to react viscerally.

He does not answer you, continuing to avoid your gaze. The only sign that he had not gone catatonic was the way his chest began to heave. He was losing it.

“Toji…look at me.”

He remains frozen in place. A tense silence builds between the two of you, threatening to force the two of you apart until you are too far gone to be retrieved. For the first time since you naively welcomed the then-homeless stranger into your home, you felt scared of him. The grave distance is closed when he finally meets your gaze, a wild and terror-filled expression in his eyes–the same one he wore the day you met him.

“You and me. When shit gets tough, we’ll fight through it. If you don’t want to fight, I’ll fight for both of us. No matter what, we’re doing life together.” You breathe, swallowing the lump in your throat.

Toji remains silent, simply staring at you with an unreadable expression. Finally, his hands stop shaking and he unclenches his fists, resting them on your cheeks. The warmth of his palms makes your eyes involuntarily flutter shut.

“You’re gonna get sick of me.”

Your response is a mere shake of the head.

“I’ll get sick of you not wiping down the counter after you brush your teeth or wash your face. Or when you don’t put the dishes away right when I ask you to.” You laugh softly. “But sick of loving you? Never.”

That earns a throaty chuckle from him. Leaning forward, he presses his forehead against yours.

“I’ll give your bossy ass something to complain about.”

Before you can retort, his lips are pressed against yours. This kiss is a far cry from the passionate, sensual, all-consuming kisses you both usually share. No words need to be said this time. His lips imprint unspoken locutions of ardor and besottedness into yours. I love you. I’m sorry I’m a fuck up. I don’t always have the right words to say. Please.

That night, Toji surrenders.

HIS NAME WAS MEGUMI. THEIR BLESSING.

Regardless of his gender, that is what he was to Toji–his saving grace.

The two of you hadn’t exactly planned on having a baby so soon. It was about a year after you and Toji’s small intimate wedding that you found yourself feeling…off. Fatigue was the first symptom to make itself apparent. No matter how early you slept, your body still fought against you whenever you were awake. Then it was the hunger, which amused your newlywed husband. Funnily enough, Toji decided to take up cooking to mitigate your sudden appetite increase. Your condition was obvious from that point on. Nine days before Toji’s birthday and the new year, Megumi was born. Just like his daddy when the two of you were wed, Megumi took your last name–Fushiguro. Just like that, the three of you were a little family. As Toji held his newborn son in his arms, he realized that he had done it. He forged a life of his own from the darkness you pulled him from.

And it’s moments like this in which the first thing he sees is his son’s big green eyes staring up at him in the middle of the night that he realizes how much of a test fatherhood was. He runs a hand over his tired face, rubbing his eyes before he places a finger over his lips as he agilely slides out of bed. He glances over his shoulder to check if you are still asleep before effortlessly scooping Megumi up into his arms and quietly exiting the bedroom.

“What’s the matter?” He murmurs, his sonorous voice raspy from sleep.

Megumi is quiet for a moment, the five year old rubbing his eyes with his small fists. He hangs his head low.

“I keep seeing them.” He says quietly. “Can’t sleep.”

Toji frowns, his large hand smoothing over the back of his son’s head.

Not too long ago, Megumi began to see curses. The two of you were prepared for the dreaded day he would, you could feel your son’s cursed energy develop little by little until it was suddenly surrounding him like a forcefield. Your reaction to the matter was much different than the Zenin clan’s–you were scared, terrified even. Megumi’s cursed energy manifesting meant the possibility of him becoming a jujutsu sorcerer was officially established. With that came the painful realization that you could lose your child at any moment. It was a refreshing experience for Toji to witness; healthy parenting, the love of a mother. He could not even bring himself to be surprised that you were such an amazing mother. After all, you had amazed him in all aspects of life.

“Do you want to go back in there?” Toji asks nudging his head towards Megumi’s room.

The toddler ponders for a moment before shaking his head, his eyes apprehensive. Toji does not question him, simply nodding and making his way to the kitchen. A quiet silence makes itself home between father and son as Toji prepares a warm cup of milk for his mini-me. Once the drink is ready, he gently places Megumi on the counter and hands him the cup.

“Careful.” He says, his eyes swimming with concern as they take in Megumi’s appearance thoughtfully. “Talk to me.”

Megumi takes a cautious sip, testing the temperature of the creamy beverage before drinking it more freely. His lips press together, and a million feelings that he cannot describe run through his head.

“You and mama see them too right? The…curses.” He whispers. “When did you stop being scared of them?”

For a five year old, Megumi was quite insightful. His perception skills were exceptional yet amusing when paired with his childish and innocent wonder. Hearing such a small voice ask questions beyond the scope of a child still gave Toji a whiplash.

Toji lets out a noise that is akin to a laugh and a huff, shaking his head ever so slightly as he does so.

“Who says we’re not?” He answers much to Megumi’s–whose eyes are now wide with shock–surprise.

Toji struggles to find the right words to say. This was usually your thing; he was never one to console with the power of words. No, to this day, he still finds it easier to fight his way through conflict. But then there is Megumi staring up at him with his eyes, fear and trepidation tainting the usual sparkle in his eyes in a way that reminds him of himself when he was this age. His son had everything he wanted for the majority of his life–the very gift that could have saved him a world of hurt–and was still being subject to the ugliness of sorcery.

That is all it takes for Toji, who is now a father and not a fighter.

He washes the violence away with a warm sip of milk from a sippy cup that is so small in his hands that it is borderline ridiculous and uses his once bloodied hands to cradle the small, precious being that carries his heart against his chest. He shields this boy with all his life the way he himself should have been, carrying him to the couch for a cuddle.

“Remember how mama and I showed you how to summon your dogs?” He whispers, wrapping an arm around Megumi as he settles at his side.

Taking his tiny hand, he situates it into the correct signage. Megumi looks up at him for assurance before his Divine Dogs are loyally at his side, their cold snouts nudging him happily. The toddler giggles, wiggling around with the excited canines. Once they have settled down, curling around him protectively as they snooze, Toji smiles down at him and presses a tender kiss to his forehead.

“Whenever you’re scared, your pups are here for you. You understand?” Megumi nods, now content. Toji is silent for a moment, at a loss for words yet again but for a different reason this time. He’s overwhelmed by emotions, ones that he cannot even name. He blinks his eyes, abruptly pulling the toddler on top of him so he could wrap his arms around him tightly.

His child. The one you gave him.

All you have ever done is give, and give, and give until you gave him the greatest gift of all.

“Can’t breathe.” Megumi murmurs against his dad’s chest.

“You’re fine.” Toji whispers, swallowing the lump in his throat. “You’re fine.”

It was fine. Everything was…fine.

Finally.

“WAIT, FUSHIGURO IS YOUR LAST NAME, SENSEI?”

You have to press your lips together to hold back your laughter as Yuuji and Nobara stare at you with shocked and bewildered expressions, Megumi unphased yet exhausted by the antics of his friends. Toji barks out a loud laugh from behind you, resting his hands on your shoulders.

“She makes the money around here. Might as well.”

“I think you’re doing great, Mr. Fushiguro! Feminism!” Yuji cheers exuberantly, turning to Megumi and Nobara for approval only to be met with perturbed expressions.

“Then get a job.” Megumi grumbles.

Toji simply kisses his teeth, removing one hand from your shoulder to ruffle Megumi’s hair. The teen hurls out a string of disciplinary phrases, only amusing his father who smiles smugly in return.

“Your mom doesn’t want me to work. She thinks I’ll cheat on her. So possessive.”

The gasp that immediately leaves your body is dramatic enough to land you a role in a soap opera. Your husband only directs his smug smile to you now, gazing down at you with the familiar playful yet fond expression he has maintained for a decade now. And just like it did exactly a decade ago, it irritates you to no end.

“You’re easily bought. I know that firsthand.” You quip.

“You were eager to buy this hu–”

“Please not this again.” Megumi laments.

Nobara and Yuji stare at Megumi with expectant expressions. If they had tails, they would definitely be wagging expeditiously. Toji claps Megumi on the back unnecessarily hard, making him glare at him for the umpteenth time in an hour.

“Oh come on. You didn’t tell them how your mama and I met?”

“Why would I tell them that?”

The two young sorcerers respond with a clash of loud pleas and declarations of camaraderie, how dare Fushiguro withhold this part of his upbringing for them, haven’t they gone through enough together?

Toji’s hands knead your shoulders. He bows his head, nosing the top of your head. His eyes flutter shut, a satisfied hum rumbling from his chest.

“Let’s just say I loved her from the start.”

#toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro fluff #toji fushiguro angst #toji fushiguro #toji zenin #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader

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mushroomates · 3 months ago

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the fellowship grocery shopping (modern au!):

frodo: has a list which he always loses halfway through shopping. tries to bring his own bags but they’re never enough, or he forgets them in the car and realizes mid checkout. does not like a lot of the name brand foods, goes for the knock offs- partly because he thinks they taste better and partly because he’s rooting for the underdog. (also they’re cheaper which means more money go towards buying treats for the neighborhood cats.) makes an exception for name brand strawberry poptarts, a pippin favorite. keeps his fridge stocked with snacks for his friends.

sam: grows a lot of his own produce and makes an effort to shop local. has his own chickens and a thriving herb garden. he often trades with neighbors-tomatoes for honey, basil for goats milk, etc. once a month he teams up with boromir and goes to costco for insane amounts of flour (he bakes his own bread) and a foot long hotdog. sam refuses to get his own membership.

merry: has a list of things to get that he has worked very hard to compile. this list stays on fridge, and whenever he runs out of something he adds it. this is always sabotaged by pippin who, in a port attempt to mimic merry’s handwriting, adds a copious amount of sweets and things only pippin likes. ends up buying them anyways only to not share with him- will gloat by snacking in front of pippin and not offering any to his cousin.

pippin: does not actually grocery shop. yes, he has food in his house but this is more because he just tags along whenever someone else is going. selectively copies whatever they get into his own basket. has eight jars of peanut butter because he loves peanut butter but does not consume it at the rate he believes he does. also for backup, incase he runs out mid sandwich and needs eight jars of the stuff. loves to ride in the shopping carts when no one’s watching. definitely scooters along isles. loves to hijack boromir’s shopping trips as boromir is the only one who will push him in the cart and give him a lil treat at the end.

gandalf: kind of just. wanders around the store. gets lost in the bakery. buys the most random things, causing the clerks to conspire about what he’s doing with two packs of rubber gloves, a rosterseie chicken, and a tub of mayonnaise. is he a murderer? a professor? a single mother? what is he doing with this stuff?

aragorn: does a lot of trading with neighbors, like sam. likes to accompany arwen on errands and do the little things. she points at an item and he puts it in the basket. he bags at checkout. drives her home. unloads the car and put it away. real quality time and acts of service. yes, arwen is capable of doing these things herself, but he likes to do it for her: hunts so be always has a surplus of jerky, does need to buy more salt then the typical person.

boromir: also hunts. has a thing about using every part of the animal, will eat bone marrow straight out of the femur with a spoon for breakfast. eats a lot of protein. is real big about no food waste and will use everything he can. has his own compost bin and a humble herb garden. likes hosting barbecues for everyone, and makes the burgers and hotdogs from scratch. every other tuesday is grocery day. he goes to costco and buys his things in bulk. he’s the only one in the fellowship with a costco card and everyone loves to take advantage of it.

legolas: mainly just happens upon farmers markets and grabs what appeals to him in the moment. does not have any seasonings or cooking oil as it’s not something that’s ever really occurred to him to buy. will forget he has food in his fridge for weeks and when he finally does it’s gone bad. this, however, does not stop him from eating it. makes a lot of smoothies.

gimli: has a lot of preserved foods and a cupboard dedicated to emergencies. owns a lot of canned beans, fruits and vegetables- anything that will keep well. has a freezer filled with food in his garage with backup stock. is a very good with coupons- pippin likes going with him just to see the total (and the clerks jaw) drop. eats a lot of trail mix and jerky. enjoys fresh fruit when he can but doesn’t like to buy it because it doesn’t last.

gollum: sneaky little man. he hides in the bottom part of the carts meant for heavy items and parties his way across the store with his hands, scooting along tile and grabbing anything with reach, tossing it back up to the cart and continuing on his journey. then he just rolls right out the door. no one can stop him.

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saint-ambrosef · 7 months ago

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newbie's guide to produce

for all my peers who were not taught how to shop for veggies and fruit on a budget and struggle to use them before they go bad:

(disclaimer: prices are approximate based on where i live in the Southern US. costs may be higher in your area, but the comparison of cost should still be valuable.)

cheap produce year-round:

roma tomatoes. if they look under-ripe you can leave them on the counter for a few days. keeps in fridge for about 2 weeks. $1/lb.

cucumbers. around here they're 50-60 cents each. go bad quickly though, about 1 week in fridge.

celery. two bucks for a head. starts to get sad after two weeks in fridge. only makes sense if you like to snack on celery or make soups often.

corn. whole ears are like 20cents each mid-summer, otherwise just get frozen. $1.50 for a lb.

peas. get these puppies frozen for $1.50/lb. good protein, too.

romaine lettuce. one head is good for several small salads, about $2 and lasts a week in fridge. the big boxes/multi-packs may seem like a better deal but not if it all goes bad before you can eat it.

onions. kind of a given but you can get regular yellow varietals for less than a buck per pound. will last for 1-2 months in pantry.

potatoes. you can get 5lb bags of russets for three bucks. sweet potatoes are a lil over $1/lb. last 2-3 months in pantry; if they grow sprouts, you can cut those off and still eat it.

bananas. dirt cheap. a small bunch (4-5) costs like a dollar. if they go over-ripe before you eat them all just get less or get a few green ones (p.s: you're allowed to break them off larger clumps).

radishes. $1.50 for a little bundle. greens get wilty after a week, roots will last 2 weeks (you can use both parts).

hot peppers. poblano, jalapeno, etc., are often quite cheap and you usually don't need very many anyways. few weeks fridge or counter.

cheap produce when in season:

summer squash. in summertime (duh), zucchini and yellow squash are like $1.25/lb. only last a week or so though in fridge.

winter squash. actually in season in fall, these are your butternuts and acorn squash. less than $1/lb then. lasts in pantry for months.

green beans. in warm months they can be on sale for $1.50/lb! last 1.5-2 weeks in fridge? (kinda depends on the shape they're in)

kale. it's a cool-season green that commonly is on sale in colder months. $1.60 for a big bunch, about 1.5 weeks in fridge before it gets seriously wilty. (can be eaten cooked or raw!)

apples. fall/winter, usually at least one variety on sale for $1.25/lb. last forever.

oranges. most citrus are winter fruits. $1/lb. will last forever in your fridge.

strawberries. spring. at their peak, i can find them for $2/lb. otherwise they are too expensive.

watermelon. $8 for big 10lb melons. they can take up a ton of space though and need to be refrigerated once cut/ripe.

cantaloupe. another summer star! $1.50 each on sale. they will slow ripen in the fridge but you do have to keep an eye on it.

pineapple. $1.50 in summer time. might be ripe even when still a bit green, ready when they smell noticeably ripe.

pears. fall season, sometimes into winter. $1.20/lb. last 1-2 weeks on the counter or forever in the fridge.

pomegranate. in winter time they can be found for $2 each. tricky to peel though.

peaches. and nectarines (which are just fuzzless peaches). $1.25/lb in summer and will last for weeks in your fridge.

eggplants. summertime veggie, you can get for $1.50 when they're on sale. otherwise a bit pricey. keep in fridge for 2 weeks.

mid-range produce:

cabbage. three bucks for a 2-lb head but you can get a lot out of it. will keep 3-4 weeks in the fridge but any exposed cut sides will start moldering after a week.

mushrooms. white button or baby bella. $1.50 for 8oz. keep in mind, mushrooms halve in size after cooking. ~2 weeks though.

avocados. if you live in the South like me, small hass varietals are 60-80 cents apiece in winter. ripe when it gives just a little to squeezing (you can't go off color alone).

broccoli. fresh is $1.70ish per head and lasts a week in fridge. frozen is $1.50/lb but might be kind of mushy.

most greens. spring mixes, spinach, arugula, etc can really vary in price but often fall into a few bucks at least per bundle/package. in a fridge's humidity drawer they last 1-2 weeks.

kiwis. i love them but they're a bit pricey for their size. 50 cents each. their keep depends on how ripe they are at purchase.

expensive produce:

asparagus. one of the most expensive veggies. sometimes in spring you can get it for $2/lb (a steal but still a bit much). lasts 1.5 weeks.

brussel sprouts. same as above.

red or yellow bell peppers. they are used sooo often in recipes and it annoys me. often $1.50-2.00 each. last a long time in fridge.

caluiflower. three bucks for a head. yikes!

green beans. when they're not in season, they are like $3/lb.

snap peas. same as above, except they never seem to be on sale.

raspberries. go bad in 3 days and cost an arm and a leg. sometimes when they're in season you can get them for like $2 per half-pint as a treat.

blueberries and blackberries. even when they're in season, they're still $2 per pint.

grapes. they can sorta be affordable in the fall season for $2/lb, but otherwise they're double that. and usually you have to commit to buying several pounds. last 2 weeks in fridge.

plums. i love them so so much but they're only in season for like 2 weeks of the year it seems and they're like $3/lb.

inexpensive accoutrements: (for garnishes, seasoning, etc)

limes. 25cents apiece. they'll start to dry out after 1 week on the counter so keep them in the fridge unless you will use it soon.

lemons. usually 50cents each for the small varietals. keep same as above.

green onions. less than a dollar for a bunch, and you can easily regrow a few times at home if you stick the white rooted end in water by a window.

cilantro. 50cents. will last WAY longer (1-2 weeks) if you keep it in a mug of water in the fridge.

parsley. 85cents. same as above.

obviously sticking just with popularly available produce across the country. it's not an exhaustive list but can give you a bit more perspective on what produce you should be focusing on if you're trying to work with a tight grocery budget. good luck!

487 notes · View notes

yoongihan · 9 months ago

Text

You Left A Mark - LYB - OneShot

pairing: felix x female reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff

romantic trope: soulmates (inspiration from this reel)

word count: 10k

rating: M for smut, a little language

warnings: cursing, penetrative sex (unprotected), kissing, cuddling, so much touching but it's FELIX, an excessive amount of felix admiration, mc is a reporter and i make up all of that because i know nothing, ages are never mentioned but felix is a few years younger than mc, mc is shorter than felix, silly use of skz song titles for the names of venues. i can't think of anything else that might need a headsup, please let me know if i've missed something.

a/n: fic #2 in skz as romantic tropes collab with @jl-micasea-fics. the soulmate trope i use is one i encountered here (it's a great fic and i'd highly recommend it) and i have no idea if it originated anywhere else. don't click if you don't want to be spoiled, my fic explains how it works about half way through.

It was, in appearance, just another work day like any other.

In truth, just another work day tended to be not like any other work day as your job entailed reporting the news, which means you could be anywhere in the city in any kind of situation. Your job probably seems exciting to the regular person, but more often than not, it’s dealing with the news anchors’ larger than life egos and your producer not allowing you to cover much more than fluff pieces.

You like fluff pieces, you do. The world is a big hot mess of negativity and darkness and reporting on a child who saved a hamster is definitely a small bright light in that void. But you also care about the dark things, the horrors big and small that need to be announced so that maybe someone can do something about them.

But you aren’t there yet. According to your boss and her boss. You are still growing as a reporter, as a television personality (wtf?), and the latest showdown at the courthouse is to be covered by seasoned professionals.

Not little you and your four years of effort and hard work (not even counting the internship).

But you digress.

You’re in front of the newest coffeehouse in one of the smaller neighborhoods. Taste is the simple name and it looks more like a sleek, modern cocktail bar than a cozy coffee shop. Austere and intimidating if you aren’t someone who can look put together (which you often aren’t).

“So for those interested in a new type of caffeine experience,” You start to close your segment after speaking with the owner and manager. “This place is definitely for you. The coffee mocktails themselves would require multiple visits before you try them all. So come by and have a ‘Taste.’” You smile as brightly as you can despite the cringe-worthy pun, but before your cameraman (one of your favorite humans on the planet, Chan) can call cut, you are bowled into by someone running past.

Part of your professional attire sometimes includes heels and as it is a particularly nice day that doesn’t require too much traversing, you wear heels. Which give no stability when being bumped by someone careening down the street.

“Hey!” you hear Chan say but you can only concentrate on trying to keep upright (a losing battle) and you hold onto the microphone because compared to your body, the mic will cost more to replace.

But you don’t fall. You don’t feel the hard smack of the concrete against your skin.

Hands are wrapped around your upper arms, grip firm and steady.

“You okay?”

You try to regain your balance, find your footing in these insensible but pretty heels. “I’m okay, I'm fine.” You turn your head to see your would-be rescuer and have to blink a few times.

Okay, freckles.

He smiles. This guy of probably mid-twenties, warm russet eyes, with black hair is smiling at you once you’re standing on your own merit. He releases you, but not without a quick pat as though to say ‘there you go, you got it’.

“Thank you.”

His cheeks redden. “Oh, um, you’re welcome.” There’s an accent to his words, but you’re still rather gobsmacked by the entire exchange to place it.

“You alright?” Chan has moved to the both of you, eyes quickly inspecting you as though you might hide any injuries even though you didn’t fall. “It was some kid.”

There’s a deep sigh from your rescuer. “Yeah, he stole some of the chocolates we keep by the POS.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I…well, it’s just chocolate.” His smile is less brilliant and more sheepish. “He probably needed it.”

“Chocolate is not a necessity,” you reply immediately, but then pause and rethink your words.

“It might be.” He smiles again. “It’s pretty good chocolate.”

You shrug. “That’s fair…wait, we caught a crime on camera?” you ask Chan. “Amazing.” You brush yourself off even though you really aren’t covered in debris because again, you didn’t actually fall. But this guy’s attention is throwing you off just a bit.

“I caught you nearly falling on your face,” Chan says before laughing at your glare. “I’ll edit it out.”

“Whatever,” You aren’t really annoyed because it’s Chan and you did nearly fall on your face. “Thank you, again, Mr….”

“I’m Felix,” your rescuer says. “I work here.” He reaches out to move a wayward piece of your hair out of your eyes, his finger brushing along your cheekbone. It makes you pause in your attempt at gratitude because you’re not really bothered. Like he’s a stranger and is touching you and you don’t mind? Because he has a nice, sweet face? “Sorry, you had some hair…”

You can sense Chan moving away, packing up the camera, leaving you relatively alone with this person.

“It’s okay, it’s fine,” You stutter a little because you’re off your game. “Felix. At some point, I owe you a drink.”

“Oh no, it’s not a–”

“I owe you a drink.” You smile, though it’s your television smile because you need to be professional even if you feel the least professional. “Even if it’s just a coffee.” You gesture to Taste. “If you want.”

The smile returns in full. “Yeah, okay. I’m here most days.” His lips part like he might say more, but he doesn’t. Nor do you.

It’s nice just looking at him. The sun-warmed skin that contrasts with the inky black of his hair and eyebrows. He’s taller than you, but there’s no intimidation factor in the difference. He feels like someone you could meet anywhere and approach without worry.

You bet he gets great tips as a barista. Imagine walking in to get a coffee and that luminescent smile.

You hear Chan call your name in an attempt to get you to head back to the studio. It shakes you out of the strange reverie this stunning, deep-voiced person has you in.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you.”

He waves as you walk away before tucking his hands into his back pockets, rocking on the balls of his feet. It’s now that you notice that he wears the half-apron other employees were wearing, black pants and emerald shirt (a t-shirt, but like a really nice one). You glance back once you’re in the news van with Chan who chuckles.

“Isn’t he a bit young for you?”

You look back at the road and huff. “Aren’t you a little too interested?” You grab a granola bar out of your bag and take a bite, sighing happily.

“Not at all. I haven’t seen you look at anyone like that though.”

“God, he’s cute, alright. And saved my job because I doubt I could keep reporting with a broken face.”

“Methinks the lady doth protest too–”

“I can murder you, you know,” you interrupt. “No one would suspect because I know things. I’ve watched a lot of Criminal Minds.”

He presses his lips together, but is grinning. “Ooooo, scary.”

“Exactly.” You roll your eyes, your mind briefly leaving the cute barista and returning to all that is work.

–

When you get home that night, he pops into your brain again. The pretty, voice as deep as the ocean, Felix.

But not for the normal reasons one would ponder a good-looking acquaintance.

He pops into your brain when you undress in your bathroom in order to take a much desired shower. In the corner of your eye, you see your reflection when you remove your shirt. There, in marked contrast to your skin, is the beginnings of the darkest bruise you’ve ever seen.

“What the–” You turn to examine it better, spooked by it when you had no memory of bumping into anything that hard. Your other arm shows a similar discoloration, in a similar area.

In fact, it almost looks like something left by a tight hand grip.

You roll your eyes at your own reflection. It hadn’t felt like he’d held you that hard, but you could bruise pretty easily, so of course, Felix, the fae-looking barista, grabbing you to keep from planting into the sidewalk would leave a mark. No big deal.

You pull your hair back as it is not hair-washing day, and then quickly use make-up remover on your face. You are stopped again by your reflection.

On your cheek, not as dark or as prominent, there is the slight darkening of another bruise.

You push a piece of your hair out of the way as you move closer to the mirror to see it clearer. As you do, it sparks the memory of Felix moving your hair and how you’d felt the brush of his finger keenly.

“But…like, a bruise?” Talking to your reflection isn’t a thing you do, but today really has been a weird day. You press it and wince. It does pinch a bit. Nothing worse than the time you ran into the sliding glass doors at your family’s home as a child. Nothing topped that fiasco and subsequent pain.

Dismissing it as your body being more sensitive than usual, you hopped in the shower and soon went to bed after that. Your dreams are filled with a strange scenario of chasing after croissants and them being sucked into a hole in the sky.

–

It’s two days later when you find yourself at Taste again. You aren’t sure if it’s just Felix who’s stuck in your brain, or the fact that the bruises you see when you wipe off your makeup and undress at night makes you remember meeting him; therefore, he’s just there, hanging around in your memory which is distracting.

You tell yourself you just need some coffee that isn’t out of the ancient coffeemaker at the station.

You can’t really buy him a drink unless you have his number or something after all.

The list of excuses and rationalizations you’re coming up with is concerning.

You walk in and smile at the person behind the counter, trying to look for your rescuer without looking like you’re looking. The barista smiles at you as you place your order for a Fiery Redhead (salted caramel breve latte with a hint of cayenne) and you go to sit at an empty table by the window. You know you should ask if he’s working or coming in later, but you also just sort of want to not do much of anything for a few minutes. Work is very intense even on days you aren’t recording. News never stops whether it’s life-changing or just a cat stuck in a tree (life-changing for the cat), and you spend most of your off-work time catching up on stuff around your apartment or sleeping.

You’re staring out the window, watching the cars pass, people drift by, and you aren’t sure where you go, but when you hear a slight noise, you jump and see a mug topped with curlicues of latte art. You look up the arm attached to see Felix smiling apologetically.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

You feel your skin heat at his attention on you. You’ve thought about him quite a bit in the last forty-eight hours, assuming that maybe your fascination is due to that imagination of yours. But no…he’s really that lovely to look at.

The freckles are particularly still eye-catching.

“I just zoned out.”

He’s wearing the uniform, though no apron.

“Are you on break?”

“Haven’t quite clocked in yet,” he swallows. “Saw you…kinda thought you might be here because of me.”

On anyone else that could sound arrogant, but his voice is incredibly gentle and the lilt up at the end of his words frames it hopeful; a tiny question.

“I am. You thought right.” You gesture to the chair across from you. “Hard to buy you a drink when I don’t know how to get a hold of you, except show up creepily at your job.”

As he sits, he’s chuckling, tugging on the foodsafe opaque plastic gloves encasing his hands. You notice them and it triggers something in your brain, but before you can follow that path, he speaks:

“I figured with your connections being a reporter, you could find out everything about me in mere minutes.”

You smile. “I’m so flattered you think that I have really good connections.”

“You don’t?”

“I’m still kinda low in the newsroom hierarchy.” You rest your chin in your hand. “How long do you have before your shift?”

He glances up behind you, presumably at a clock. “Ten minutes.”

“Early.”

“I hate rushing if I can avoid it.” He looks back at you and you take a second to marvel at the rich brown of his eyes.

He is stupid pretty.

“So…” you begin, trying not to be too direct (hazards of the job). “Is barista-ing something you’ve done before here?”

He nods. “Yeah, though this is a lot fancier than where I was before.” He shrugs. “I'm in school, so it helps pay the bills. And I like serving people.”

“School? For what?” You thought he might be young, but how young?

“Culinary. Baking specifically.” He smiles, the warmth just lighting him up.

“That’s so cool.” You lean closer. “I am a passable cook, like enough to follow a basic recipe and feed myself, maybe buy cookie batter on days I need a sweet, but that’s the extent. If a recipe says to fold in something, I run away in fear.” His answering chuckle warms you more than the latte (though it is very good), all the way to your toes. “Do you love it? Even though it’s school?”

The skin between his freckles turns pink. “Yeah…I enjoy it. Both learning the traditional rules, and getting to experiment.”

“Do you get to experiment here?” You point toward the shelves of pastries. You’d been tempted by at least three. Maybe you’ll give in before you leave.

“A little. When he’s feeling generous and doesn’t think I’ll screw it up.”

That’s a story you want to hear, but you file it away for later. Maybe when you get him that drink.

“What about you?” he asks, derailing your thoughts. “Always wanted to do the news?”

You straighten up and gesticulate aimlessly. “Kinda. I think I wanted to do more print journalism in the beginning. But you have to do both in school and I was good at speaking clearly and on the fly, so I stuck with broadcasting.”

“What do you like about it?” Now he rests his chin in his hand, winces before then straightening. The pained expression makes you want to reach out and check on him. You aren’t uncompassionate or anything, but the immediate concern for this near-stranger is unusual.

Maybe it’s because he looks like taking care of him would be nice. Like to curl up with him on the couch someday and watch a movie together. You bet his hair is soft and playing with it would be so nice. Maybe he’d look up at you with those big eyes and ask you for a kiss, his voice all rumbly and–

Uhhhh, maybe you should not fantasize like that.

“It feels important. Even when perhaps it’s not. I get to meet people and learn things I wouldn’t in a ‘normal’ job or ‘normal’ life.”

“Makes sense.”

You watch him look back at the clock and then sigh.

“Work?”

“Work.” He opens his hand. “I’ll give you my number? If you still want to–”

“I do.” Maybe a little too eager. “I mean, you are under no obligation if you don’t want to.” You pull out your phone and unlock it before handing it over.

“I do.” He says it simply and you wonder if he’s mildly as fascinated by you as you are by him. “I do, too.” His nose scrunches up as he types in his number, and it’s adorable.

“Okay.”

He hands you your phone back and smiles at you. “Okay then.” He starts to stand, pressing his hands on the table to aid him and he grimaces. “Ow.”

“You okay?” The concern, again, you feel is bigger than it should be, but that’s another thing you file away for the time being. “Did you hit your knee?”

“No, I…” He is looking at his hands then at you, and you feel like he’s searching for something as he gazes at you. “It’s nothing.”

You must come up short.

“I better…” He jerks a thumb toward the coffee bar. “I’ll hear from you?”

“Yeah.” You are still intrigued and concerned and a whole lot of other things, so you just force a smile to your lips. “Have a good shift, Felix.”

“Thanks.” He walks over to the bar, grabbing an apron to tie around his hips (why does that emphasize his narrow frame so much and why does that affect you?) and greets the other barista. You look back out the window, taking another sip of your drink (it’s really very good, especially with the heat of the cayenne) and try not to look back at him.

But you do. You watch him as he greets each customer, that smile bright like stars. You watch as he moves around with the other barista in the small space, like a choreographed dance for two; opening a cabinet for something, closing it with his hip or foot as he moves to the espresso machine, spinning the knob to steam the milk.

He speaks with a customer as he makes their drink, laughing without slowing down his work. He sets the paper cup in front of them, showing off the latte art you think, before covering it with the plastic lid. The customer takes it, with a smile almost as brilliant as Felix’s. He waves goodbye before glancing over at you.

You smile, embarrassed at being caught staring, but his tiny grin is shy and cute, and he gets back to making the next drink.

There’s a quick rush in the thirty minutes that you spend there. A queue of ten people, several who are in a hurry and speak with sharp, short words.

One even berating the other barista for not inputting her order quickly enough.

Felix comes to the side of his coworker, speaking calmly to the customer; not smiling, but not frowning.

You wish you could hear what he says, but the lowness of his voice makes that difficult. The perturbed customer doesn’t look too pleased, but does seem to back off. Felix makes her drink and sends her on her way.

He walks back over to his colleague, eyes searching and you know, you just know that he’s checking in. Making sure.

Caring.

You glance at the dregs of your latte, surprised at how much you feel you know this person. You don’t. You know you don’t, but there are things about him that feel familiar. That feel safe, like maybe instead you could curl up in his arms, he could play with your hair, you could ask to kiss him, taste those curved, pink lips and–

You stand up rather abruptly, taking your mug and setting it on the marked table for dishes.

“Bye!”

You turn to see him looking bewildered but bidding you a farewell. You think you smile, but you just nod and hurry away.

Good thing there’s a bit of traffic on the way back to the station. You need a moment or ten to calm down.

–

It’s a few days before you actually message Felix and make plans. Work is relentless as the local election is days away and both candidates for commissioner seem to believe that character attacks on the other is the best way to convince people to vote for you.

There was almost a fist fight yesterday. You also forgot to eat, which you didn’t realize until breakfast the next day. Perhaps your stomach shrunk because you could only do a small yoghurt in wake of not eating for a day. Despite the printed expiration date, you think it might have been spoiling already. It tasted tangy.

As you get ready for your…you’re just gonna call it a date and not overthink about it…, you see the bruises and they seem darker which makes little sense to you. You’ve bumped them a few times and it hurt, but no more or less than a normal bruise.

The bruise on your face is darker too, but your foundation and concealer does a good job of lessening the contrast so most of the time it looks like an oddly placed shadow.

But you feel like it’s a thing. Something you can’t quite figure out. And you will, once the election and campaign stuff is over and perhaps you’ll have a bit more free time.

But tonight is a date. A something with Felix. Who you have texted a couple times beyond the mere matching of your schedules. His schooling is at night four times a week. You imagine working a shift then going to class must be exhausting. You spent your undergrad years in class and in the library for work study. Not on your feet for eight hours or more, serving person after person.

Wow, you are creating a traumatic story for him. He might really love both.

He is excessively positive in his messages. He diatribes one night about nailing baumkuchen (you have to google that to understand what it is and why it’s hard) finally in class.

He’s really proud of that grade. And though you had nothing to do with it, you’re really proud of him too.

Something about him is just inviting, the opening of a door and a wave to come in.

You arrive at Back Door, a relatively less popular bar than Up All Night, which is where you would normally grab a drink after work with your colleagues if you were feeling social (which is about 50% of the time post-work). You’ve not been to Back Door yet, but just walking in makes you smile. Everything looks like a hotel lobby with big couches and large tables to stand at. The art on the walls is a mixture of traditional and modern. The red and black color scheme is daring.

Not a place to get cozy, but a place to make an impression.

Do you want to make an impression on Felix? Maybe.

You walk to the bar, finding a spot in between well-dressed people. You wait your turn for one of the two bartenders to find you and as you often do, you watch people and imagine what their lives might be like.

“Hey.”

You jump at his voice (how do you forget how freakin’ deep it is every time?) and then you get his laugh.

“I keep scaring you. Sorry.” He squeezes in next to you and you get a new image of him. Dressed in ripped black jeans and a pale pink button-down shirt with black tie loosened.

He is…delectable.

You shake your head to his comment as well as the path your thoughts are going.

“I just zone out a lot.”

He moves closer, his ear toward you so he can hear better. You repeat yourself and he nods before turning back so his eyes can look into yours.

Damn, that’s powerful.

“Where do you go?” he asks. “When you zone out?”

Do you admit that you regularly think about people you don’t know and make up backstories for them? You think that maybe he won’t judge you too harshly.

“I–” You cut yourself off when he lifts his hand to try and get the bartender’s attention. He’d had on gloves the last time you saw him, but he doesn’t now.

And the insides of his hand is dark. Like a bruise covering the length of his index finger across the palm to his thumb.

As though he’d grabbed something (someone) and bruised himself.

You don’t think to check for consent, but grab his hand, peering at the marks then you take his other. It doesn’t register that he just lets you, not even saying a word about your impoliteness.

“Felix,” you say slowly. “You…” You look up and he’s looking at your arms which are covered by three-quarter length sleeves. You’ve been intentional about not highlighting that you look like you’ve gone through a round with a MMA fighter. You nod at the question in his eyes.

What’s the point of lying? And to lie to Felix feels beyond wrong.

“Let’s get that drink and talk, huh?” he offers, tugging away from your hold to wave down the bartender. Your brain feels like it’s frozen, like a computer that has glitched so badly no matter what key you press, it’s unresponsive.

“What do you like?” Felix asks you softly, which helps your brain function just a bit. The bartender is there as well, waiting.

“Whatever you’re having.”

He nods, seeming to know that you are processing intensely at the moment. A few seconds pass, you trying to logic why bruises on him and you mean something, but you’ve got nothing when he nudges you with his elbow and lifts his chin to indicate you both should find somewhere to sit.

You follow him, blindly, as he weaves through the weekend crowd, finding a small table in a far corner where the music and talk is muted. He sits, laying the two wine glasses on the table. You scoot in across from him, staring at the wine wine ripple in the glass before settling.

“Can I see?”

You meet his gaze and shrug a yes, knowing what he’s asking. You shove up one of your sleeves, inadvertently pressing the bruise which makes you inhale sharply. He leans forward, hand reaching out to hold your arm carefully.

“Fuck. That’s dark.” He lightly rubs his thumb over it, gentle. “I’m sorry.”

“I wouldn’t have thought much about it,” you begin, feeling content with him touching you, even though he’s the one who left bruises. He’s warm, not just in temperature, but it’s like he emits a toasty energy that flows into you. It’s odd, but you like it. “Because I bruise pretty easily, and you did keep me from busting my face. But…” You touch the bruise on your cheek. “You barely touched me here.”

He follows your motion and peers closer. You actually stare back into his eyes, sparkly as they are with the bar’s array of lights.

“Fuck.”

His second cursing makes you smile even if you don’t understand why. Maybe it’s because his freckles and generally soft demeanor make him seem innocent; i.e. not someone going around using the f-word so easily.

You’re also really enjoying the skin to skin contact. You weren’t even cold, but his touch feels secure, sheltering. Like you’re in an oversized armchair with a cup of tea, reading on a thunderstorm night.

“Do you know what it is?” His demeanor makes you think that he knows more than you, and you have to admit, you’re bothered that you’re so clueless right now. You’re used to being the smarter person on a date.

Which explains why you don’t date much and have been single for nearly two years now.

“I…no. I didn’t realize you had them too.” You sigh, and trace the marks on his hand that isn’t holding you. You don’t question the intimacy as you’re pretty sure whatever is going on is not a normal interaction with a man you only barely know, even if he is pretty. “Work has been slammed…I was going to go to the doctor if they didn’t fade soon.”

“They won’t. I mean, not on their own.” He stares at the mark on your arm. “Not without me.”

It’s like he’s talking in riddles. “Felix. What do you know?”

He lets go and you shiver as though a cold front blew through the bar, at you specifically. He takes the wine glass and sips it, closing his eyes as though he’s savoring it.

He must like wine because it seems like minutes upon minutes that he keeps his eyes closed.

“Look…” He opens his eyes and you are floored by how much pain echoes there. The same eyes that sparkled seconds ago. “You have questions and I think, think, I know the answers, but…fuck…this means–” He breaks off, dropping his head.

Is he crying?

“Felix….” You reach out, burdened, and place your hand over his. He jolts at your touch, but doesn’t pull away. He slots his fingers in between yours. “Please tell me what’s wrong? Can I help?”

“I need to go. I knew what it was. I just wanted it not to be true.” His voice cracks and he looks up, eyes welling. There’s a quiver in his lips, like maybe he wants to smile or maybe he wants to cry, or maybe it’s both. “I just need some time?” He stands up, leaving his glass and leaving your touch.

“But…?” What the fuck is going on?

He’s next to you, leaning down so your faces are close. You catch your breath.

“Soulmates. Look up soulmates.” He presses his mouth to your cheek before tearing away and disappearing in the ever-growing crowd. You stand up, to do something; call him back, chase after him…something. But he’s gone and you sit down again, staring at the two wine glasses. You take a sip of yours and grimace.

It just doesn’t taste quite right.

–

You take a cab home because you drink your wine, his, and order two cocktails (they all taste odd, but honestly it doesn’t matter by the time you get the first cocktail, you are such a lightweight). It’s dumb but you spend two hours at a bar, using Google on your phone.

At a bar. On a Friday night.

You get approached at least three times by someone either intent on chatting you up, or getting your coveted spot at the table. You basically ignore these approaches because you are intent.

Soulmates.

That’s what he’d said and though normally you would laugh derisively at the mere use of that term in anything other than some cliched romantic film, you find that the moment he said it, your heart felt like it was being squeezed in a tight grip.

So you search ‘soulmates’ which yields more links and pieces of information than you are willing to wade through.

You type in ‘bruises soulmates’ and that narrows it way down.

When you touch the first time, it leaves a mark; something similar to a bruise, but far more distinct. This is your soulmate.

“I met mine, because we ran into each other on the train. Literally. My hip is black and blue. How do I find them?”

The marks take hours to show up, so you have to retrace your steps to find them. Chances are they’re looking for you too.

“I can’t eat any more. It tastes like licking the inside of a dumpster.”

Food and drink will lose its pleasurable taste. It’ll become disgusting, revolting.

“I’ve sent out messages on all SNS. It’s been a week. The hospital keeps pumping fluids, but it’s not working. Someone please help me!”

The only way to survive is to be with your soulmate. Skin to skin contact for hours if you are sick or hurting. Not as long if it’s just daily need. You will no longer need food or drink. Water will be the only thing palatable.

You stumble out of the bar, Uber app open on your phone. The air outside is heavy from late summer humidity and it’s like you can’t catch your breath.

If you don’t find your soulmate, you will starve to death.

You can starve to death. You’re not even thirty years old yet, and death is now something more likely than ever.

You look at your arm, the sleeve still pushed up from earlier.

He doesn’t have very big hands, you muse. The mark is actually lighter and you realize that the little amount of contact you had with him has already started to heal.

Holy fuck.

Your Uber shows up and you practically throw yourself into the backseat as though someone nefarious is chasing you.

“You alright?” the driver asks, glancing back. “You run here?”

You are panting, your breath short from the magnitude of what you’ve just found out. Part of your brain denies it all. Surely this is bullshit. Soulmates, touch, inevitable death for those who lose their person.

It can’t be true.

But what you thought was just hormones when he touched you tonight; the warmth, the comfort, the irresistible draw…

You’ve dated. You’ve fucked. You’ve had men who looked great and those who looked less so. No one affects you the way the quiet-eyed, deep-voiced barista has in three encounters.

You give the driver your address and force yourself to stop looking at your phone before you get more nauseated, and look out the window.

You need to sleep before you can tackle whatever the fuck this is.

–

It strikes you two days later. You go through the weekend researching everything you can, or pointedly turning off your phone and your laptop in order to clean your apartment and reorganize your kitchen.

You look at the set of pots that you got two years ago because you wanted nicer, matching ones and now, you aren’t going to need them.

You’d been able to stomach one egg this morning, the desire for food already waning. You wonder if going to get your favorite donuts would be good, if life-changing information warranted donuts.

It hits you then.

Felix wants to be a baker.

And he’s going to lose his sense of taste.

You sink down to the floor of your kitchen with the weight of that revelation. You lean back against the lower cabinets and let that take hold.

By meeting you, Felix can’t pursue his dream.

You barely know him, but you know enough to understand perhaps a tenth of the loss he must be feeling knowing that he’s going to lose what he wanted to do with his life.

You did this. By nearly falling over, you have changed the direction of his life.

You enjoy food, and the loss of it isn’t something you’re looking forward to, but it doesn’t change your job or your life.

You cover your face when you realize that you’re crying.

It’s your fault.

You cry for longer than one would for a near-stranger before you force yourself back to your feet. You trudge toward your bedroom, seeking your phone that you’ve put on silent and plugged in. There are notifications for work, for social platforms, from your mom.

You don’t check them, but you search out the chat between you and your…

Soulmate.

<<I am so sorry.

What else can you say? There is nothing you can do because unless every source you’ve found online about this phenomenon is wrong and lying, the ball is rolling and nothing can stop it.

You set your phone back down, sitting on the edge of your bed. There’s a window across from you and the view is simply the brick building next to your apartment complex. There is nothing to really look at, but the simplicity of the brick, the gradient of burgundies and reds with beige caulk between is a lot easier to make sense of than anything else right now.

Your phone vibrates.

>>It’s not your fault.

There’s hardly anything you can say. You can state that it is. It is your fault. Without touching you, he’d go on with his life, pursuing his dreams like everyone should get to.

<<Regardless. I am. Very very sorry.

You don’t expect to hear from him. You set your phone aside, noticing that your hands are shaking. You feel exhausted, like the crying you’ve indulged in has drained you. Maybe you’re coming down with something.

Or maybe it’s something else. Something soulmate.

>>Can I come by?

You type out yes before you think through it fully. You send him your address and close your phone before getting back up to go to the bathroom and look at yourself.

Maybe it’s silly to make sure you don’t look like someone who has fought dust bunnies and lost, but you think that showering wouldn’t be amiss.

It’s a half hour later when there's a knock on your door. You’ve already buzzed him in, so it’s not that you’re unprepared to see him, but really, how would anyone be able to prepare for the groveling you want to do when you see him.

He stands in your doorway, eyes wide and you chastise yourself for changing because he obviously had no qualms, dressed in sweatpants, and a creased t-shirt. He looks terribly soft with rumpled hair, light wrinkles on his cheek from sleeping.

There are dark smudges of weariness under his eyes.

“I’m so–” you begin because surely apologizing profusely will relieve a little of the guilt you feel. He doesn’t let you finish, but strides in and wraps his arms around you. He’s got several inches of height on you (lack of heels) and rests his chin on top of your head. He closes the door with his foot, falling back on it, his hold on you firm.

“You don’t need to say you’re sorry,” he whispers. “It’s not your fault.”

“Kind of is. If we’d never touched…” The heat of him warms you through, as though you were icy but didn’t know it until touching him.

It’s uncanny, how much better you feel just by being in his arms. Soulmate or not, you think that anyone would be better receiving a hug from him.

“I could have let you fall. So I’m just as responsible.”

You feel your eyes well up, your throat constrict with grief. “But you were just being nice. That’s all. And this is your reward.” You bury your face into his shoulder, noting how bony he is and how nice he smells, like cookies. “I’m so so fucking sorry.”

You’re crying into his shirt and it’s embarrassing, but you can’t seem to stop. You feel his hand stroke your back, soothing.

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

There’s a rumble against you, he’s chuckling. You lift your head to look up at him. He smiles sadly, releasing his hold to wipe under your eyes.

“You’re stubborn.”

“And you’re too nice. I would fix it, if I could. I would give you back–” He kisses you.

Oh. My. God.

If touching him casually or even being in his arms is comforting, kissing him is that feeling amped up to eleven. You actually feel light-headed and dizzy like you’re back at the bar drinking too much wine.

He presses one small kiss to the corner of your lips before drawing away. You whimper to lose that caress, but he keeps his arms around you like he knows you need it. He rests his head on the door, eyes fixed on you.

“Wow,” you breathe.

There’s a slight quirk of his lips, like he wants to laugh, but won’t at the moment.

You realize both of you are still standing in your little foyer so you draw away, but his hands tighten.

“I was just…just gonna invite you in.”

“That’s okay. I just…” He takes a deep breath. “Don’t let go?” You peer at him, seeing that the dark under his eyes has already lessened.

You nod, adjusting so your hand encloses around his. You lead him into your apartment, watch him as he looks around, eyes still wide, but seemingly less panicked now. You sit on your two person couch that is opposite your television. He sits next to you, looking at your bookshelves, covered in photo frames, books, knick-knacks from places you’ve gotten to go for work.

“I have to ask,” you say, making him look over at you. “What are you thinking? Right now?”

“I…I feel a little out of place,” he replies, glancing down at your clasped hands. “You have a real job and a nice place and I’m just a barista, trying to get a certificate.” The mention of his schooling makes you tighten your grip and he squeezes back, still not looking at you. “Makes me wonder if the universe screwed up.”

“I don’t think that’s fair.”

He looks up then.

“You are this beautiful, ridiculously kind human who smiles like the sun and because of me, lost your dream and you’re still here. You should hate me.”

He covers your mouth with his untethered hand. “I don’t. I couldn’t.” His hand drifts to cup your cheek. “I’m not mad at you.” He takes another deep breath. “I’m mad at the fallout. Like…it sucks.” He nods. “It really does. That’s why I just needed some time.”

“I’m sorry. I only gave you like two days.”

His thumb runs over your lower lip and you feel like you’re melting.

“I wanted to see you. I can already tell that I need to…” He blushes. “I need to touch you.”

“You look less drained.” You touched his heated cheek. “I felt out of it, too.”

“Me too.” He leans in, face close, watching you. “I didn’t ask. About kissing you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Weird circumstances.” You hope your smile does half of what his smile does for you. “You’re stuck with me unless you want to starve to death.”

He half-grins, his hand still on your face, tracing along your nose. “It’s pretty dramatic, right?”

“It really is.”

“You don’t mind?”

“What?”

“Being stuck with me?”

“No.” You’re louder than you meant to be. He blinks at the emphasis. “I mean, I don’t know you all that well, but what I do know…” You take his hand from your face, holding it as tight as the other hand. “I like.”

He nods. “Can we…” He takes a breath. “Can we touch more?”

It is weird and you both laugh at the awkward and latent innuendo.

“Like nothing…” He stops talking, expression helpless. You just nod.

He watches as you let go of his hand to get close. His dark eyes seem darker when you pause to figure out how exactly you plan to touch him.

“Here.” He pulls you in, aligning you to his chest, your back resting against him, his arms around you, his chin coming to sit on your shoulder. “The longer we touch, those bruises will fade.”

You lift his hands so you can see that his marks are lighter since you saw them Friday night. He presses his face where your shoulder meets your neck. It tickles, but you don’t shy away.

“I feel like we’ve gone from acquaintances to whatever this is really quick.” It’s an obvious statement, a pointless one, but things are progressing at an exponential speed that you need to voice it, if only to remind yourself and him that it’s real.

“It’s okay, though?” he asks softly. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but even beyond the need to touch you, I want to.” His chin rests on your shoulder again.

“You do?”

You can hear the smile in his voice, “I thought you were pretty when you came in for the interview. I think I would have tried to talk to you if you ever came back, even without the rest of it.”

You’re still playing with his hands, absorbing his words.

“This whole thing is weird.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you know about soulmates before?”

You feel his chin as he nods. “My grandmother’s second husband and her. My grandfather died and at age sixty-three or something, my grandmother bumped into this man at her favorite bakery. Bruises and everything. She told me the story when I was about ten, when they decided to get married. No one believed her, but I did. It just made sense when you saw them together. But it’s rare. Like…there are accounts of it all over the world, but not a high percentage.” He noses your ear. “What did you find out? You researched, didn’t you?”

“If you call googling for too many hours, proper research.” Being in his arms is slowly making you feel less weary and calmer. You’re still sad and worried, but your body feels less like debilitated frozen tundra. “I guess we’re lucky that it wasn’t hard to know who it was. There are stories…of people…” You stop talking, overwhelmed by the fact that this could have gone so badly. “I’m glad I knew it was you immediately. Like I meet so many random people and I–”

“Shhh, it’s okay.”

You’re both quiet for several minutes. You’ve stopped playing with his hands and he’s just wrapped around you even more snugly.

“How do we do this?”

“Well, I’m going to quit school tomorrow. The semester is nearly over and I haven’t paid for next semester yet, so that’s money saved.”

“It sucks.”

“Yeah, it does.” His hand slips under your shirt and you tremble at the energy pulse that such a slight touch does to you. “Wow.”

“Yeah.” You ponder for a second. “Do we need to do this every day?”

“I think it’s encouraged, and necessary. Like to go too long not in contact is…well, I felt like a zombie until I held you.”

“I hope you don’t need alone time.”

He chuckles. “Not too much. You?”

“Some.” That’ll be an adjustment. Someone wanting to spend hours with you. More than just the occasional meet-up with a friend. “Do…you…god, this is gets more and more bizarre…should you move in with me?”

The gentle motion of his hand stills. “Would you…would that be okay?”

“I mean, we should probably find a place together, but I still have a few months left on my lease. You?”

He sits up and you move away, though you notice his hand stays on your skin, following as you adjust to face him.

“I’m rooming with some guys. Month to month.” His eyes are wide. “Really?”

“I mean…will it make it easier?”

He chuckles. “I have a twin bed.”

“Mine’s a queen.”

“You really are so much more of an adult than me.”

You bat at his arm. “Stop saying that. You aren’t any less. You work and go…went to school.”

“Yeah.” He stares at you for a few seconds. “You’re willing to just let me move in?”

“I mean, we can have sleepovers if that’s easier.”

He laughs, covering his face with his hands for a second before making sure he’s still touching you with a hand on your knee. “I don’t have a lot of stuff. My baking stuff…that I guess I need to sell.”

You lace your fingers with his. “I’m–”

“You don’t need to say it.” He shrugs. “It just is what it is. Anyway, clothes, not a lot. I have my computer and that’s kinda…” He looks around. “Do you have another bedroom?”

“Yeah. It’s kind of a makeshift office/storage unit right now.” You make a face. “I should probably get rid of some of it. Do you have a big computer?”

He shrugs again. “I built it. I game and fiddle with computers in my free time.”

You move closer. “How are you that interesting? It’s not fair. You’re ridiculously pretty, you bake, and you do computery things?”

His ears, cheeks and neck all flush. “It’s not that interesting…”

“It is to me,” You point at him with your connected hands. “I just do the news stuff.”

“And zone out.”

You laugh. “And zone out. Regularly.”

He brings you back to rest against his chest, a deep sigh releasing. “So…I guess…we’re moving in together?”

You aren’t horribly impulsive usually. In big things you try to think logically and rationally. But that seems to have been tossed aside currently.

“Yeah. Let’s do it.”

You feel his lips on your cheek.

–

It’s a month later, after you’ve emptied out the second bedroom with as much as you can let go off, Felix moves in with his stuff (the computer set-up reminds you of like the command bridge in Star Trek or something), and you’ve learned how to sleep in bed with a person you aren’t actually sleeping with (despite the touch thing, both of you seem to avoid talking about anything past necessary touch).

The progression the soulmate-ness has had is different for both of you. You lost your taste for food and drink well before he did. It’s nearly three weeks to the day you two met that he can’t eat one of his galettes because it tastes like the way wet dog smells.

He cries in your arms.

You handled working over eight hours a day as well as you always have, but if it moved to twelve hours, you found Felix at the apartment, on the couch or bed, looking more fragile and delicate than normal. The toll your separation took on his body was far worse than the toll on your body.

It took some adapting and adjusting; trial and error to see what worked for the both of you. If it was going to be a long day, Felix would leave work and come find you at the station, or you’d come to him just to sit and hold hands for a half hour before one of you had to go. It helped.

For the first time since being on your own, you have to worry about someone else and yes, at times, it can be frustrating; overall, it’s nice. It’s nice to come home to someone.

“I can’t do it,” Felix comes in late from the coffeehouse. You came home early and are spending your time trying to figure out what one does with a kitchen and all that cabinet space if one no longer eats.

“Can’t do it?”

He doesn’t stop in his path, dropping his bag on the ground as he toes off his shoes. You barely can say much else before he’s wrapped around you in what has become a regular habit of his. In your arms the moment you’re both home.

You can’t complain even if it thwarts your thought process about the kitchen.

“The coffee smell is awful,” he mutters into your hair. “Like, I thought not tasting it would be okay, but the smell is just as bad. All day, every day…” he sighs. “I almost quit.”

“Maybe you should. I make enough for you to take a break for a little bit.”

“I’m not…” He sighs again. “I don’t like that. It’s your money.”

“And therefore I can help you out.” You rub up and down his back, soothing him. “You haven’t had much time to figure out a new plan.”

He moves so his face is in the crook of your neck, nuzzling. Normally you giggle because it tickles, but lately when his lips are anywhere near you, it’s like every nerve you have is on high alert.

“I think I’m avoiding it.”

“That’s okay too.” You hurry to continue when you feel his body stiffen as though he wants to argue with you. “For now. It’s a lot.”

He lifts his head, but not before brushing a soft kiss on your neck which sends you down a path that you’ve tried to avoid thinking about with Felix in mind. A path that includes not only sleeping in your bed.

“I…” He watches you for a few seconds and you can feel your face heating with his scrutiny. “I’m gonna game for a bit.” He then sees that you have all the plates and cups and paraphernalia on the counters. “Unless you need a hand?”

“Go shoot something digitally. I’m good.”

He smiles that soft smile of his. The one that makes you want to cozy up with him on the couch, his head in your lap and mindlessly watch a movie.

“Sure?”

You nod, and start to move back to the kitchen problem when he drops another kiss, this time on your cheek. You should be getting used to this, and perhaps you are, but it still floors you. The feel of him, the subsequent burst of soulmate voltage that it emits.

He doesn’t seem to notice that every time he kisses you, your brain pauses like a video buffering. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe kissing you doesn’t do much more than just heal in the soulmate way.

He hasn’t kissed you on the lips since that first time. You want him too. You’ve thought about it way too much, even when you’re supposed to be working.

You should say something. You should kiss him, and often. But you hold back. You don’t know why.

He’s had so much of his life uprooted because of you, you don’t want to add the burden of your sexual wants onto his plate.

He shuffles off to the second bedroom and you eventually go back to working on the kitchen.

He calls your name about an hour later, after you have given up on the dusting because it’s too much, and have ended up on the couch, looking through your SNS feed to find that there isn’t much new in the world.

“Hmm?”

“I think…I think I had an idea.”

You get up and wander over to that room, more Felix’s than yours now. You stand in the doorway, eyes adjusting to the darkness because there’s only a lamp that he keeps on by his set-up.

He wheels around in his ergonomic chair.

“What’s your idea?”

“One of my friends,” He waves toward his screen, “Asked me a question about what to add to his computer to boost its…” He chuckles immediately when you furrow your brow. “You don’t care about that.”

“I will attempt to understand it?”

“Nevermind.” He reaches out his hands toward you and you walk in, suspicious. He latches on and pulls you into his lap, which just makes you freeze even more than the nightly cuddles. “I gave him about three different options and he asked if I’d do it for him. He’d pay me.” He cradles your face in his hands. “He’d pay me.”

“Well, that’s nice.”

“I mean…maybe that’s it. I could fix or enhance, I guess, computers. I know too much about it for just fiddling with my own.” He trails his fingers down to your neck and you tremble. “Maybe this is what I should do.”

Even in the dim light, you can see how bright his eyes are. It reminds you of when you met him, before everything changed.

“If you want. I imagine you probably do know more than the average person. I’ve heard you ramble enough to your friends on that thing.” You smile even if the heat of his legs is burning you in the best way. “Will it make you happy?”

His infectious joy fades a little. “It might.” With his finger, he draws an amorphous shape on your skin. “I think it might.”

“Then you should do it.” You pat his shoulders, getting ready to remove yourself from him because being on his lap, facing him, being so close is making you want more than you think either of you are ready for.

His hands slip to your waist to keep you from leaving.

“Felix, what are you–?”

“You make me happy, you know that, right? Being here with you, coming home to you or vice versa makes me happy.” His gaze is zeroed in on you, and it’s a lot. Having his focus.

“You don’t have to say stuff like that.”

He adjusts you so you’re nearer, his hands clasped at the small of your back. “I’m not just saying that. I mean it.” His lips turn down in concern. “Aren’t you? Happy?”

“With you? God, yes.” Sometimes with him, you do this. You say things before thinking it through. “Even when you hog the covers.”

He looks a bit sheepish, but doesn’t apologize.

“But my life didn’t derail because you entered it.”

He touches his nose to yours. “Mine didn’t either. It just changed direction. Maybe a little more dramatically than yours.” He purses his lips in thought. “I only worry about the job stuff because well…I want to work in something I like.”

“Of course you do.” You comb back his hair, longer than when you met him; shaggy and probably needs a cut, but you really like it. “If you want to do this, I think you should.”

“It might take a while for me to make much.”

You point at yourself. “Do I look worried?”

He smiles, teeth flashing, eye crinkles, and your heart flutters.

“You’re so pretty,” you whisper, tracing the curves of his smile and cheeks. His lips part at the compliment, and your finger slides to his teeth. “I…uh, sorry.”

He kisses the tip of your finger to reassure you. You swallow your more lustful feelings and smile.

“You better get back to your friends.” You try to stand up, but his arms tighten. “I should…go.”

“Why?” he asks softly. “Why can’t you stay right here? I want you to.”

“You do?”

He says your name in the same whisper and kisses you reverently. You dissolve into him, scooting closer so you can embrace him. There’s a soft groan, and it’s not from you.

“Am I too heavy?” you ask, breaking the kiss. He pouts at you and shakes his head.

“It’s…it’s not that.”

It takes you a second and your eyes widen before you look down.

“Oh.”

He chuckles. “You haven’t noticed?”

“Well, I mean, in the morning, but that’s like…all guys.” His cheeks turn pink as you continue. “I…I wasn’t assuming that it had to do with me.”

“You can assume.”

You stare breathlessly at him.

“If you want, I mean.” His eyes dart away from yours. “If I’m the only one turned on here, you can pretend I didn’t say anything.”

“Just because it’s not as obvious doesn’t mean I’m not.”

You feel him raise his head and meet your gaze. If he can tell your face is hot in the shadowy room, he makes no mention of it.

“Yeah?”

You nod before hearing some tinny voices coming from his headset. “Your friends.” You nod again toward his computer screen. “Your game.” You don’t even try to move out of his hold, but his arm wraps around you so you’re nearly chest to chest.

“Don’t move.” He grabs his headset from around his neck and slips it on, pressing a button on the side. “Guys…something’s come up. Min…I’ll come by tomorrow with a better graphics card and install it for you.” He presses the same button amid all the protests you hear, and takes the headset off. He tosses it on his computer desk before returning to hold you, with one minor adjustment.

One hand slides up the back of your top, searing. He watches your face, intent. You tug at the collar of his shirt, and he stands up gingerly, letting you slide down until your feet touch the floor. He pulls off his shirt before taking your hands in his to bring them to his chest and arms.

“I didn’t know,” he says as you outline the planes and facets with your fingers.

“Didn’t know?”

He dips his head so you have to look up into his eyes, away from his beautiful skin. “Didn’t know you thought about me like that.”

“How could I not?” You let your hands trail up his sides to his neck and then to his face. “You are beautiful, both inside and out, Lee Felix.”

He doesn’t answer but kisses you with none of the former softness or gentleness. His hands are gripping your arms, directing you backwards out of the room and toward the bedroom. All of your kisses have been chaste, as though the crossing into using tongue would mean something else.

Perhaps it did. Perhaps it’s not just about a mutual need to live, a mutual admiration, though that’s all true. Perhaps being soulmates is just the beginning of having a partner. In everything.

You feel the bed at the back of your legs, unaware that you’ve traveled that much of the apartment because Felix might be good at gaming, but he’s exceptionally good at kissing. It’s all you can do to hold on as he consumes you, tongue stroking yours, teeth nibbling. You fall back on the bed, and he follows, climbing on top of you, mouth still seeking yours. His hands have slid under your top, mapping out your shape with fervor.

The calm and quiet of him has broken.

He draws away to look down at you, panting. “Okay?”

“Yes, so much,” you answer breathlessly. He smirks and peels off your shirt before sitting and undoing his pants. “Hey.”

He pauses and glances at you. You can see his hands trembling.

“We don’t have to rush.”

“I know. I know, but I…” He leans to kiss your jaw. “I want you so much.” He slips a finger under your bra strap and slides it down your shoulder. “Sleeping next to you is both wonderful and fuckin’ torture.”

His grin when you laugh only lasts a second before he pulls you close and on top of him. You work his pants off, trying not to get sidetracked by his undoing of your bra and ensuing caresses. It takes a few minutes, both of you distracting the other in the process, but eventually, gloriously, the clothing is gone and you’re both looking at each other in awe.

Beautiful. Inside and out.

“C’mere,” his voice drops to a decibel you aren’t sure anyone else can hear (you don’t want them too because he’s your soulmate and you are so damn grateful). He places soft kisses all over your face, making you giggle as he props up pillows at your back. “We’ve never talked about past relationships.”

“Oh. I mean…” You twist your lips thinking about your last date let alone last relationship. “I haven’t…work kinda replaced everything else, you know? I’m clean…it’s been at least a year.”

“Six months. Had to move away.” He eases in between your legs, hands rubbing your thighs almost carelessly. “Clean too.” He leans down, face inches away and those perfect freckles blurring together.

“Was it serious?”

“I think it could have been,” he says honestly. “You?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been serious about someone till you. Even before I saw the bruises,” You run your hands up his arms, his muscles taut from holding himself up. “You stuck in my mind. Chan teased me about it.”

He grins before slipping one hand down your chest, your stomach and farther down… “You weren’t kidding about being turned on, were you?”

You half-heartedly slap his shoulder because one, it’s more than obvious and two, his tender exploration of you is dizzying. The soulmate energy, with no clothing to bar skin to skin contact, feels like you’ve laid down in a meadow on a warm day; not too hot, no bugs, no pollen, nothing but heat and light and tranquility.

Then his fingers lightly touch your clit and the tranquility liquifies into heat and lust and want.

“There, huh?” The teasing, soft but dark, makes you want to say something snarky, but he’s kissing you, his fingers circling until you're gasping against his mouth.

“Lix, please,” you whine. His lips leave yours before he pushes in. “Oh god.”

As with everything, the soulmate need for touch just amplifies everything; how he feels sliding in, each thrust, the grazing of your g-spot. It’s a million times more and when you break, and feel him break; it’s not surprising that for a few seconds you aren’t sure where you are.

Then the puffs of his shortened breath on your skin, the length of his body covering yours, one hand trailing up and down your arm.

“You back?” he asks, voice gruff.

“I think so.”

He lifts his head, eyes at half-mast, smile sleepy and well-contented. “We should do that again…often.”

You roll your eyes, a grin twitching at the corner of your lips. He kisses you, open-mouthed, but delicate.

“I am really really glad you caught me that day.”

He stares down at you, eyes fond. “I’m glad you caught me too.”

a/n #2 - the coffee drink, fiery redhead, is not mine, but created by a coffeehouse in my parents' town. i love it, and make it at home now.

(c) yoongihan 2024. please do not steal, translate, repost, or whatever. stray kids belong to themselves and all idols used in this piece are just the inspiration for characters and do not in any way reflect the actual humans.

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peppertaemint · 2 months ago

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Jikook & "Are You Sure?!" : The Beauty of Mundane

The much-maligned reality-TV format deserves most of the criticism and ire it provokes. Schlocky production values and pre-tense often lead to melodramatic fakery that people want to believe because they're bored. We've all succumbed to it; I've seen more than my fair share of Big Brother seasons. But the thing that reality can do, if it doesn't try too hard, is give us a window to life that sits between documentary and that unscripted faux-world, and I think Are You Sure?! makes a wonderful example.

The situations are both planned and imposed on this show, from Connecticut to Jeju to Sappparo. Jungkook and Jimin planned the trip along with producers and agreed to film it as content, a loathsome word if there ever was one. What we see is not genuine real-life, despite what Jimin states in Sapporo; it's a mediated view into the pair's life on camera together -- a life they seem to want to share together and with fans.

What makes AYS work so well is their naturalness on camera and together. I'm struck by how comfortable both facets of their lives seem after just over ten years of vlogging together under agency Big Hit.

We see how much they enjoy existing together, grappling with the highs and lows of the mundanity of travel. I say mundanity specifically because so much of travel is just that -- your life simply transported to a pretty view. It's still full of stomach aches and flus, good and bad food and wide-ranging moods. Seeing Jungkook patiently take care of Jimin, ensuring he took his medicine, and then creating a doltap, the traditional practice of rock stacking to ward off bad luck and bring in good energy, was a healthy glimpse into the everyday of their shared life.

The most telling part of the show is, rather ironically, the worst part -- the three-episode interlude with their unexpected guest in Jeju, Taehyung. Our duo made no bones about the fact that the guest invited himself to their trip -- their special time -- and took every possible opportunity to remind him of his status as unwanted guest.

The entire vibe of the show changed because of Taehyung's presence, and not just because JiKook were put out by the whole thing. His presence changed their dynamic toward one another as well, seemingly disrupting their status as a duo. It was as though there was a need to cater to the guest, to an extent, and to put aside their interest in one another to a marked degree. That in itself is incredibly telling for their relationship.

Luckily, the show bookended itself with JiKook solo trips, and it ended in Sapporo where the duo seemed to be most comfortable and in their element, embracing the romance and magic of the snow resort in Japan. This was a welcome contrast to the funny, fish-out-of-water vibe of NY and Connecticut.

What will stay with me is the joy in the mundanity that the two showed throughout the show, but especially when left alone. The fun of grocery shopping when you're with your person. The enjoyment of playing cards, cooking, or simply going to bed when you're with your person. It's easy to forget there is a team of people watching over them for the majority of the show, filming or simply observing. And I wonder if sometimes Jungkook and Jimin forget, too.

#jikook #jimin x jungkook #kookmin #jimin #jungkook #are you sure?!#jikook are you sure

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ladykailitha · 28 days ago

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The Au Pair Boy Part 2

We interrupt your regularly schedule "Of Butterflies and Backstrokes" for another chapter of the nanny AU. I just need to cut down on the amount of backlog I have on this story and bolster OB&B while I work on the Halloween-esque metal band sequel "Around the World".

I am living for the responses to this fic. It makes my heart so happy!

In this we have a correct Robin, well... a mostly correct Robin and they all get to know each other a bit over dinner.

Part 1

Steve walked into his apartment feeling like he was walking on air. He never thought he would get his dream job, in his dream house, with his dream guy, who was gay. Like what did he do to warrant such a windfall?

The first thing he did was call Robin.

“Are you sure he isn’t some mass murderer?” Robin asked after he had explained the job. “Because that sounds too good to be true.”

“Well unless major rockstar and music producer, Eddie Munson is a mass murder,” he snarked back, “I high doubt I’m going to be murdered in my sleep.”

“You could be being catfished,” she warned. “He could only be pretending to be Eddie Munson just lure handsome young men to their deaths.”

Steve laughed. “Uh...no. The pictures online matched all the way to the cute dimpled smile he gets when he’s feeling super happy.”

“Ooh...” Robin teased. “Hot musician got it bad for the au pair boy.”

“No...” he whined. “He was looking at his daughters when he smiled like that. No dating the hot parents. That’s the number one rule. You know this.”

She burst out laughing, too. “For the married ones! But he’s single. It’s been a year since his very public break up with ex Ethan Giovanni. He’s trusting you with the two cutest girls ever. Like why not tap that?”

“Because I want to keep watching said little girls,” Steve huffed. “Plus he’s going on tour for three months in two days. Not going to happen.”

“Yeah,” Robin said. “For now.”

He told her about how they wanted to him to start that night and how this was the final test on whether or not he would be good fit.

“Knock ‘em dead, babe,” Robin said. “You’ve got this.”

Steve opted for a chicken lasagna with white sauce. He could sneak some vegetables in there and see if he could trick them into eating them.

He shredded the chicken and blended spinach and basil into the sauce. Added lots of shredded cheese as well as a well seasoned ricotta and popped in the oven.

While it was cooking he went up to the room that would be his if he got the job. It was large for some place where the help would be staying, but small in comparison to the girls room. Which they shared for now. Once they started school, Eddie said that they would be given their own rooms, but with them being so young it was good to keep them together.

Steve agreed.

He was close by, but he also had a baby monitor with camera that the app would be downloaded to his phone.

The house was well fitted with security measures that had only been tightened since the girls were born.

The room had that same Gothic, spooky feel, but wasn’t over the top with it. Instead of reds and blacks the room was dark browns and deep blues. Steve felt like he was floating on a ship on the high seas. He scratched his cheek thoughtfully.

He wondered if he could go a little harder on the nautical theme. There was an en suite bathroom that could also lean toward the nautical with its soft blues and teal color of the tiles and walls.

Eddie had given him a budget to decorate his rooms and now he was planning a shopping trip with Robin.

Steve knew he was getting ahead of himself, but he wanted the job so bad. Surely the universe wouldn’t be so cruel as to taunt him with it only to take it away.

He checked the timer on his phone and saw that it was almost time to check on the lasagna. He trotted back down the kitchen, again admiring the decor of the place. Everything felt antique but timeless at the same time.

He really did love it.

The kitchen was even stylishly antique in look and flavor, but all the appliances were state of the art. Only nothing was connected to the internet here. It was honestly freeing in that regard.

He hummed to himself as he pulled the dish out of the oven and set it on the stove top to let it firm up a bit before serving. He started to get down plates and cups for dinner. He quickly set the table for three adults and two children. Noting that one plate had a pink kangaroo and the other had a blue ballerina.

Steve correctly guessed which plate where as each girl came running up to the seats that they were sitting in for lunch and gasped in surprise that the right plate was in the right spot.

“Daddy, Daddy!” Joan cried. “He didn’t put my plate in Jannie’s spot!”

Eddie grinned down at his youngest. “So he did. Say thank you.” He turned to Janice, too. “You too, little miss.”

“Thank you, Stevie!” Joan and Janice said together.

Steve practically melted on the spot. He wanted to scoop them up and hold them forever. “I hope you’re all hungry, I made enough for an army.”

He set the dish on a couple of hotplates and everyone, yes even the girls, oohed and awed.

“This looks amazing, Steve,” Eddie said, positively salivating. “You didn’t have to go this far. Something simple would have been just fine.”

“Yeah, Steve,” Chrissy said, leaning forward to smell the lasagna. “I might have to haunt this place while Eddie’s gone if you’re going to cook like this, sweetie.”

Steve blushed as he dished out the lasagna, before serving himself a slice. He picked up his plate and silverware (which looked like actual antique silver, he was not looking foward to handwashing them later) to move to the kitchen.

Eddie looked up at him with his big puppy dog eyes. “Where are you going? You’re going to eat with us right?”

Steve looked around the table and no one said a word against it. “Oh. Um... I’ve never eaten with the whole family before. I eat with the kids when it’s just us, but usually when the parents are there, they want me to eat in the kitchen.”

“Sit.”

Steve set his stuff back on the table and next to Eddie. The only other open on the far end of the table. He dug into his lasagna.

“So you want to break down their evening routine for me?” Steve asked after his second or third bite.

“No business at the dinner table!” Joan cried, kicking her feet in protest.

“Yeaahhhh...” Janice chorused. “That’s the rule.”

Steve raised an eyebrow at Eddie. Who coughed into his fist and looked more than a little sheepish. There was definitely a story there and judging from the sly grin Chrissy was giving him, Eddie was no doubt the reason for said rule.

Eddie cleared his throat and set down his fork. “I’m, was a music producer for a very prominent metal label and before that I was the lead singer of ‘Corroded Coffin’. One of the few and I mean very few valid points my ex had was that I wouldn’t be present at the dinner table.” He twisted the rings on his fingers nervously.

“I would either be talking some band or another, messaging different people about the record I was working on or even just on the phone with former members of my band. So when I quit two years ago to try and save my marriage I still had people calling me and asking for my opinion, so the rule no business at the table was born.”

Steve smiled down at his plate. “No business at the dinner table then.” He paused and tilted his head to the side. “Would be asking you girls what you like business or just being friendly?”

Both girls looked at Eddie for guidance. “I leave it up to you, girls. I think it falls under being friendly.”

Joan cocked her head the side and instantly Steve was struck on how much like her dad she was. “I think it’s business,” she said with a pout. “Like in preschool.”

“I think it’s friendly,” Janice said, just to be contrary to her sister.

Chrissy and Eddie shared a knowing smirk and Steve realized this was a new thing and they might need those separate rooms sooner rather than later.

“How about we compromise,” Steve said gently. “I’ll tell you something about me, and if you want to you can share your favorite thing. Like if I said my favorite color was yellow, you could tell me what your favorite color is. But you don’t have to.”

“My favorite color is pink,” Janice said proudly. “Daddy says my room will be pink.”

Joan stuck her tongue out at her sister, because she knew she was had. “My favorite color is blue.”

“My favorite color is black,” Eddie said, joining in. “And red. Can’t forget red.”

Chrissy giggled. “Well, I guess if everyone else getting in on this, mine is green. I love that it’s the color of fresh cut grass, and spring, and how hot I look in it.”

Steve snorted as he was bringing his glass up to drink. Thankfully he wasn’t quite drinking when she said that. “Green’s a great color.”

Eddie and Chrissy shared another smirk.

“Ooh, I know why don’t we go around in circle,” Eddie suggested. “Like my favorite movie is ‘Lord of the Rings: Return of the King’.”

Steve smiled around his cup and then set it down. “I like that idea. My favorite movie is ‘The King’s Speech’. Colin Firth as King George VI and learning how to overcome his stutter? Amazing.”

Janice bounced up and down in her seat excitedly when she proudly cried, “Paddington Bear!”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Yep, and now there always has to be marmalade in the house at all times.”

Steve chuckled. Poor Dad. “Have you seen the second one yet?” He knew there was a second one, but not when it came out.

Janice nodded fiercely. “Poor Paddington!”

“Barbie and 12 Dancing Princesses’!” Joan replied next. “There are so many pretty dresses in that one!”

“Ooh,” Steve cooed. “That’s a fun one. And there are so many Barbie movies to chose from, have you watched all of them yet?”

Joan nodded as Eddie shook his head sadly. “So, so, so many times. Same with both Paddington Bear movies. So have fun.” He flashed Steve a smile that was half between a grin and a grimace.

“Well I haven’t seen any of them yet,” Steve said with a wink a Janice. “You’ll have to show them to me tomorrow.”

“My current favorite is ‘The Quiet Place: Day One’,” Chrissy said. “Lupita Nyong’o is just too gorgeous for me to not watch every movie she’s in. I even watched Marvel movies for her and I’m a DC girlie all the way.”

They went around the table learning favorite books and other things about each other. Joan forced to participate so she wouldn’t be left out of the conversation. Then after they were all done. Steve cleaned up and put the leftovers into the fridge.

Then he watched as Eddie put his girls to bed. They got baths on Tuesdays and Saturdays unless they were super messy that day. They brushed their teeth to Daniel Tiger song and got into their pajamas.

Well...pajamas for Janice and a nightgown for Joan. Each one got a different story complete with all the different voices. He was assured he wouldn’t have to do the voices. That was only a Daddy thing.

Then the lights were turned off leaving the glow of the bumblebee nightlight to lighten the room and find its way into Steve’s heart.

Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Tag List: CLOSED

1-@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @sadisticaltarts @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @dolphincliffs @steddie-as-they-go @steddieislife

10- @kultiras @morallyundefined @ollieolive

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #nanny au #nanny steve harrington #rockstar eddie munson

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