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rafescoke · 3 years ago

Note

Hiii! I don’t know if you’re still taking requests but how about a rafe fic where he is super sweet and gentle and just soft with the reader in private but an asshole once their in public? Just angst and a lil but of fluff and rafe being rafe, if that’s not too much to ask!

Facade ; Rafe Cameron

masterlist

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: “This whole thing you’re showing to people. . . that’s not you. Fuck you.”

Warnings: Angst, angst, and more angst. Not the ending everyone’s expecting (I think)

A/N: I’m extremely sorry if this isn’t my best work but thank you for 700+ followers wtf ily <3 finishing all requests in my inbox this week!

“Don’t leave me yet,” Rafe groans. He places his arms around her waist, snuggling close. Her scent of strawberry wafts into his nostrils, and he closes his eyes against her warmth.

“Work.” she mumbles, and tries to stand up again. But Rafe does not let go, still holding onto her skin as if on his last breath, and she lets out a chuckle at the adorable sight.

“I can pay you twice the amount you’re working for right now,” he says. He finally let go of her, and slumps into the vacant pillows that she had slept in a few hours ago.

“I know, and I won’t give you the satisfaction of doing so,” she smiles, and take the chance of freedom to walk towards the bathroom. She checks the naked boy on top of the bed from the mirror, her heart soaring.

His boy.

She kisses him on the cheeks when she’s finally done, swiping her thumb on his pink lips as he whimpers softly in his sleep. She kisses him again, this time on the lips, for good measures.

(Y/N) never really like the restaurant in the country club, because it’s full of impolite kooks and bratty tourists. But money is money, and she’ll never say no to a good sum of them.

She sighs, clearing another dirty table all while thinking of Rafe in his room. Her insides suddenly beam when his kisses slides through her memory, and she wishes the clock would turn faster.

She slides in the empty back room, pulling her phone out from her back pocket and tapping on the top name of her contact. Her fingers glide effortlessly, her mouth forming a smile.

miss you.

Three seconds later, her phone dings.

Rafe: Disgusting.

Rafe: Miss you more :)

She wants to go back to him as soon as possible.

The door behind her back open before she can stuff her phone back in, and she struggles to appear busy as the manager peek his head in.

“What are you doing here? It’s full house. You got a table.”

(Y/N) look up to him, trying to pretend like she wasn’t just skipping some time to text her boyfriend, and nods.

Okay, maybe not boyfriend. She’s not completely sure. They never really certify anything, but whatever’s going on between them is definitely something more than ‘friends’.

She sighs again, picking up a menu before heading towards the group of friends sitting at the long table by the golf course.

“Hey, welcome to—”

Oh my god.

“Hey, you’re (Y/N), right?”

(Y/N)’s attention snaps back to the blonde boy sitting next to Rafe, and she gulps before nodding slowly. “Um, yeah.”

“You work here?”

Is he stupid?

She refrains herself from rolling her eyes, “Yes.”

Rafe scans the menu, not looking at her, and she feel a tug at her heart. Why is he pretending not to know her? She’s not expecting a sudden hug or a kiss on the lips; she’s thinking of something like a goddamn smile.

“Might come down here often, then,” the boy laughs, and the others follow him. Except for Rafe. “What’s the best order here?”

“Pasta,” she mumbles. He’s still looking at the menu, clearly trying to ignore her piercing stare.

“Which one?” The blonde sighs, flipping through the menu. “You got bolognese, carbonara—”

“Aglio Olio,” she answers quickly. He can choke and starve for all she cares for ruining her day like this. Why would he need her opinion on this as if he has never tasted on every single dish on this menu?

“I’ll take that one,” he smiles, and peeks over her arms. “Did you write that down? Can I see it?”

What a fucking cunt.

“That’s it?” She asks, tilting her head to one side. She takes more orders from the other boys, but there’s only one left.

She looks up to him, and finally, he meets her eyes.

“What’s the best soup here?”

Really?

“All of them are good,” she answers, biting her tongue. She never told Rafe before about her workplace, and they had agreed on that, but she did not expect this kind of treatment once he finally found the answer.

“Is this how you treat the customers?”

What. The. Fuck.

(Y/N) bites her lips, and suppresses her groan while the other boys laugh. “We have the best mushroom soup.”

“I’ll go with the mushroom soup, please.”

(Y/N) scribbles down ‘mushfuckingroom soup for the asshole’ down, and gives out her fakest smile. “That’s it? I’ll come back shortly with your food.”

“One more thing—”

(Y/N) turns to them again, still holding onto that smile, “Yes?”

“Try to be nicer to the customers sometimes. That way, we’ll tip you bigger.”

She stalks off, not knowing that person under the same skin she caressed and kissed this morning.

. . .

Rafe bites his lips, sitting on the edge of the bed and pressing the call button for the 17th time tonight.

He sighs when the operator comes on, and throws his back against the mattress again.

Okay. Maybe he was mad at that time. She never told him where she works, and he assumed her workplace to be some kind of a hipster cafe with cats for decoration. He didn’t know she would be serving in the restaurant at the country club.

He texts her again, groaning.

Pick up the phone

Helloooooooooo

The typing notification pops up, and he waits excitedly for her reply. After a few minutes, the notification disappear. He grunts again, and goes straight to his contacts.

He presses the phone against his ear, waiting for her voice to say something; to listen to his pleas and to come back to his arms. He misses her so much, more than anything else in the world.

“Stop calling me,” she says.

He sits up straighter, feeling his blood rushing throughout his body. “Hey, how are you?”

“How’s the mushroom soup?” She mocks, and Rafe raises his brows.

He sees it clearly now.

“Are you mad about that day in the restaurant? I wasn’t even talking shit to you like Topper—”

“Really? The whole ‘bigger tips’ thing? Was that necessary?” She asks, her voice breaking.

Oh god. “It was a joke!”

“Yeah? Congra-tu-fucking-lations, Cameron, it’s a funny one,” she says, and Rafe can hear her slowly distancing voice.

He panics, “Don’t end on me. Look, I’m sorry. It’s just that you won’t tell me where you work, and it appeared as a shock to me.”

That’s the dumbest reason (Y/N) had ever heard. She feels like laughing and crying at the same time, because this is exactly the problem;

Guys like Rafe Cameron would never want to be with a girl like (Y/N) (Y/L/N).

“Suck my dick, asshole!” she yells, and slams the phone down.

Rafe pulls the phone away, his face contorting in anger, and his shoulders slump. He should’ve known better.

It’s just that. . . he’s afraid of what the others would think of him if they knew about him dating a pogue. Ward didn’t take it well when Sarah ran off with John B, and Rafe assumes he would be feeling the same way about (Y/N).

Why does life have to be so fucking complicated all the time?

Two days after, Rafe heard about a party in The Cut, but nothing from (Y/N). He know he’s fucked up big time, and he’s content to make it right with her again.

He doesn’t like stepping his foot onto The Cut, only going to the other side of the island to meet Barry for his medical issues, and sometimes to see how Sarah is doing.

But he’s driving down to the strange place again, so determined to see his girl one more time.

The party is in an abandoned warehouse, and from the outside, Rafe can see how loud and huge the party is. He sighs, thinking about the amount of time he would be wasting to find her whilst going through the throng of bodies.

But he wants to see her and touch her more than anything.

No one seems to notice him, Rafe Cameron, the Kook prince yet, and he’s hoping to keep it that way until he can pull (Y/N) out. Not one person back in Figure 8 could know about his presence in the party, what more the reason he’s there in the first place.

It’s easy to notice her. Black top, denim shorts, and (H/C) hair flowing from her shoulders. He stalks forward, extending his hand, but stops when he notices the boy beside her.

JJ fucking Maybank.

He balls his hands into a fist, and watches the way she laughs at a joke by JJ.

He takes his phone out, dialling her number, and stares as she grabs her phone out of her pocket. (Y/N) sighs, sliding the call button to the left, and keeps it in her shorts again.

Oh.

Meet me outside

Now.

(Y/N) pulls her phone out again, contorts her face at the texts, and finally look up. Her eyes scans the whole area, trying to find a particular brunette. . .

“What’s wrong?” JJ asks, touching her forearm.

“I’ll be right back,” she says, holding a finger up, and heads straight towards the exit.

Her shoes crunches against the gravel as she tries to look for Rafe’s jeep. She stands there alone, crossing her arms, and groans when she realises that he must’ve been tricking her.

Rafe slides his arms around her. “Hey, princess.”

She yelps, pushing him off and looking straight into his eyes. She relaxes when reality hits her, but stiffen again when reality hits her again.

“You’re not supposed to be here.” Her cold voice rings into his ears, but he misses her too much to care.

“C’mere,” he says, extending his hands. “Missed you.”

“Fuck off,” she announces and stalks away, only to be pulled by Rafe’s arms again. This time, she stays in his arms.

“Sorry,” he mumbles against the top of her head. “I’m sorry I was such a dick to you.”

She stays silent, trying to put up a wall between her and Rafe, but it’s near impossible. She misses him a bit too much too.

So she lets him pull her into his jeep, and whatever feud they have before dissipates into the air.

He kisses her on the lips once in the car, and when she pulls away, he groans.

“I’m not going to let you go with just a kiss after 2 weeks,” he says, inching closer to her. She gives him a sly smile, knowing exactly what he’s trying to tell her, and closes the gap.

He pulls away again after finding his hands under her top, and points to the back. She shakes her head, smiling.

“Come on, you missed me too much to say no.”

. . .

Maybe he should say something to his friends to stop them from harassing her.

But he’s glued to the spot, watching as Topper taunts her.

“You lied to me,” Topper pouts, “The Aglio Olio isn’t that good.”

She looks at Rafe, hoping, wanting, longing for him to say something. Anything.

He stays shut, scanning the menu.

“Sorry. Would you like to order anything else?” She sighs, spelling a big ‘fuck you’ on the top of her notepad.

“Do you come with the menu?”

She looks at Rafe again, waiting.

Say something. Please.

She smiles, “I do.”

Topper smiles and the other coos. (Y/N) watches as Rafe’s jaw tightens, and she goes back to her dirty work.

Two can play this game, Cameron.

“Give me your best food, babe,” Topper smiles, and shuts the menu. “Anyone else? Rafe? What do you want to eat?”

She waits. Say something about us, Rafe, please.

“Can we change for another server—” he says, and raises his hand up. “Hey, yo, you, yeah, you the manager?”

Logan gives (Y/N) a warning look before putting on a smile for Rafe, “Yes, sir, is there anything I can do?”

“Can you call someone else to take our order?”

This is way too far. He’s taking this way too far—

“Did our (Y/N) say something?” Logan asks, still smiling. She knows he’s seething inside, and she hates Rafe for putting her in this position.

“No. I just love for a better view.”

That feels like a hard smack across the face. Her throat starts burning, and she can feel her tears slowly appearing.

“That’s no problem, sir, I’ll get you another server—” Logan looks around, “Kate! Yes, c’mere.”

(Y/N) looks at Rafe again. His eyes meet hers, but there’s nothing behind his gaze.

Coward.

She reaches for the cold water on the table, her head’s so light she can literally faint, and splashes the brunette boy so quick that he stands up immediately.

“Asshole,” she states, and turns to Logan. “I fucking quit!”

. . .

Rafe Cameron is 100% an asshole.

She used to think of so many counterattacks to that statement, but there’s zero now.

She hates Rafe Cameron will all her heart, and wishes to never see him again.

He tried contacting her a few times over the week, to which she ignored heavily. She never thought he would stoop so low to preserve his title as the ‘Kook prince’.

To hell with that.

She would never treat him like that, and she’s just so clueless as to why he said all those mean words to her.

He kissed her on the lips, pulling her close. “My baby. So fucking perfect.”

(Y/N) grinded against him, hearing his soft whimpers, and laughed. She watched the clock ticking, and sighed.

“Forty minutes until I’m off to work.”

Rafe groaned, “Stop talking about work. Work with me.”

“As what, idiot?” She laughed, gazing at him lazily. “As a fuckbuddy?”

He sat up straighter, his face contorting in anger. “You are not my fuckbuddy, okay? Stop saying that. God, I will never do that you.”

She smiled, and leaned to kiss him against his chest. She trailed her lips up to his neck, and stopped right behind his ear. He shivered, biting his lips.

“And I’ll make you mind one day, (Y/N), I will,” he whispered.

Now that’s the biggest lie of the century. She gets it now;

The night dates in the most unknown places, like a fancy restaurant in a fucking town 2 islands away from Obx. Not wanting to hold hands or to be posted on her Instagram.

Why had she been so stupid?

“Fuck,” she groans, laying her back against the pillow.

Rafe Cameron is embarrassed to be seen with her. Something like that.

All the sweet things he would say to her in bed is nothing but a tactic to get into her pants. And she allowed him. God.

“You’re a stupid fuck, (Y/N),” she cries, and bites her lips. And she thought he would be the one—

Riiing! Riiing!

“Stop calling me!” She yells first thing when she picks up the phone, trying to stop her voice from cracking. Like always, she failed.

“Yo? You good?” JJ’s voice rang through the phone, a hint of worry in his voice. “I can call you another—”

“No! No, J, it’s fine, I thought you’re someone else,” she sighs. “What’s up?”

“Wanna come down to the beach with me tomorrow?”

“And do what?” She sighs. She doesn’t feel like swimming in the water, or watch JJ swim, or search for dolphins (JJ told her before that there’s dolphins in Obx), or anything, really.

She wants to sleep.

“Surfing,” he answers, like it’s a fact. “Come on, you got the whole summer to practice surfing. Let’s start with asking the hottest guy in Obx to coach you.”

(Y/N) slapped him in the face, giggling ferociously. He picked her up, twirling her around, and when she least expected it, he jumped into the water with her in his arms.

They resurfaced, still in a laughing fit.

“God, Rafe, you’re an asshole,” she laughed, pushing his chest.

“And the hottest guy in Obx.”

She bites her lips, thinking of the memory, and clears her throat. “Maybe not surfing, J, but I’ll come down anyways.”

“Okay to me,” he says, and (Y/N) can imagine a smile playing on his lips. “Goodnight, (Y/N).”

“Night, J.”

She sighs, and shuts her phone off.

Whatever Rafe did to her disappears into thin air when she arrives at the beach and see JJ with two surfboards planted in the sand.

He grins at her when she comes close, “There you are. Thought you bailed on me.”

She rolls her eyes, “I don’t want to surf, J.”

“Since when?”

She groans, “Like. Right now.”

“Nah, come on.”

Maybe JJ’s right. She gives him a nudge every time he tries to hold her, but he’s patient. He waits until she’s more comfortable before helping her up on her board, and when she topples over from the small wave, he lets out the biggest laugh.

And she completely forgets about the fight with Rafe for the whole hour.

“God. You’re a dick.”

JJ smiles, stabilising her board again. “Try again. You can call me a dick once you will not fall over a small wave.”

And she tries again.

By the time the sun sets they were laying right next to each other, just admiring each other’s presence and not saying anything.

She likes it like this. No secrets.

“(Y/N)?”

She hums in response, leaning on her elbows for support.

“You deserve someone a lot more better than Rafe.”

“Don’t talk about him,” she sighs, and closes her eyes.

When (Y/N) told the pogues about Rafe the night after the incidence, they were all fuming with anger and hatred towards the brunette boy. But (Y/N) doesn’t have an ounce of hate in her for him, even after all the hurtful things he said to her.

What an idiot.

“I can’t watch you get hurt again,” JJ says. “I care about you.”

She looks him properly now, watching as the golden light illuminates his handsome face. “I know, J.”

They lay in silence again, staring at the blue landscape of nothingness.

“There’s someone out there who will treat you better.”

She looks at him again. No. No.

“Yeah?” She laughs, trying to give him the idea to stop right now and not make it any complicated for her. She loves him, more than anything in the world, but not in the way she feels for Rafe.

He’s her Laurie to Jo March. Nothing more but a best friend.

He scoots closer, feeling her warmth. “Yeah. Look around, (Y/N).”

She inches away, “J, I’m not looking for anyone. You know that.”

“Except for Rafe,” he mumbles. “Is that right?”

“He’s different.”

“Why, (Y/N)? He treats you like shit, is embarrassed to be seen with you—”

“Okay, J, fuck! I get it, okay? But I’m not looking for anyone. I’m just not. Leave me alone!” She groans, throwing her arms into the air exasperatedly. She doesn’t need another boy in her life right now.

JJ’s right. Except for Rafe.

“I’m leaving,” she says, grabbing her tote bag and stuffing all her belongings. “This is a mistake.”

“(Y/N), wait—” he tries to hold her, but she flinches away. He crosses his arms, “Let me drive you home at least.”

“I can walk.”

“It’s getting darker. Come on, don’t make this any harder for me.”

“A drive back home, and that’s it, J,” she warns, and sets for the black bike a distance away.

The ride towards her small home takes a few minutes on the bike, and all the time she’s sitting behind JJ with her arms placed on his shoulders for balance, they didn’t exchange any words. There’s an obvious awkward dome between the two of them.

“I’m sorry, J,” she sighs, stepping away from the bike and handing him the helmet. “I didn’t mean to lash out on you.”

He smiles grimly, not saying anything.

The engine roars back to life, and he looks at her again; standing with her hair slowly drying and her shirt still sticking to her body. He looks away.

“J?” She calls, placing her hands over his. He raises his brows at her, waiting.

She places a soft kiss against his lips, so subtle yet meaningful to him, and pulls away after a few seconds. She rubs his cheeks slowly, and gives him another kiss on the cheeks.

“Sorry, J,” she whispers.

JJ smiles softly, and runs his thumb over her cheeks.

Maybe in another lifetime.

“(Y/N)?”

Their heads turn towards the voice behind her figure, and (Y/N) swears her heart stops.

Rafe looks at her and back to JJ, his mind connecting the puzzle, and he nods.

“Wait, Rafe!”

JJ tugs on her wrist, his eyes begging. “Leave with me. Come on.”

She looks at JJ, and then back to Rafe, and she hopes for some kind of a way to get out of this. She groans, and pulls her hands away. “Go, J. I don’t need you.”

And that’s enough to hurt the blonde boy.

“Rafe!” She yells after the boy walking to his jeep, but he continues to walk, ignoring her.

She lurches forward and grab his shoulders, turning him to face her. She looks into his eyes, looking for any sign of love for her.

“Rafe, it’s not what you think.”

“Yeah? Were you trying to give him a CPR or something?”

She holds him in her hands again, “No, Rafe, I swear. I was just. . .”

But there’s no proper way to explain why she had kissed JJ. Was it because she feel bad? But why would she kissed him?

“Yeah,” he nods, prying his hands away.

A sudden wave of anger courses through her, because the boy who had hurt her did not just make this look like it’s her entire fault. She pushes him on the chest, and his back hit the car door.

“What the fuck?” He yells, glaring at her.

“So what? You’re making me look like the fucking bad guy now? After all the shit you said to me in the restaurant?

He laughs dryly, “Of course you would point this back at me. Hey, hey, look—” he cups her face, “At least I didn’t kiss anyone.”

She pushes him away, “It doesn’t mean anything! And you’re not my fucking boyfriend.”

He licks his lips, “Yeah. So let me go.”

She pulls him to her again, “Don’t fucking run away from me like this! You didn’t even apologise!”

“Because you won’t pick up my calls!” He yells back, throwing his arms into the air. “You want to fuck JJ fucking Maybank? Then go.”

“Maybe I do want to fuck JJ, Rafe, because at least he’s real. This whole thing you’re showing to people. . . that’s not you. Fuck you.”

“Yeah?” He taunts, staring at her left hand placed directly on his chest. “Then fuck him. You don’t need me.”

“I don’t.”

“Yeah,” he laughs, watching as her chest heave. “I can go to Kie too, you know, to make this even.”

“Yeah? Would you embarrass her in front of your friends too?”

He shrugs, “No.”

She grits her teeth, knowing that he’s just trying to get under her skin.

“I hate you.”

He turns her over, so she’s facing him, and inches closer to her ears. “You don’t.”

“I do.”

He laughs again, pressing himself against her, and Rafe blames the heat of North Carolina in mid July for the sudden tingling in his stomach.

“I hate that stupid smirk on your face right now, and I’ll do anything to wipe them off.”

He presses a soft kiss against her cheeks, feeling her brush against him, and let out a soft whimper. “Okay.”

After 2 weeks of not seeing her, all he wanted was to talk to her at her house, after all the calls that she didn’t pick up. But when he waited for her to come back from God knows where and saw him getting off JJ’s bike, he lets the cold side of him take over.

He lets her go, sighing. “I’ll just go. This is a waste of time. You’re clearly not thinking about me.”

(Y/N) bites her lips, because a part of her wants him to stay, and they can kiss each other again, but another part of her wants him to go and leave her alone.

“Go.”

He hesitates, and nods. The jeep speeds away, leaving (Y/N) alone in her front step, thinking about what she had just done.

She hurt JJ, who wanted nothing but the best of her, and she just lost Rafe. She’s as good as alone in this world, and she’s not sure what to do anymore. She wishes she never let her temper got ahold of her, but it’s too late.

She just wants to sleep it off right now.

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miekasa · 4 years ago

Text

random boyfriend levi hcs (modern au)

↯ pairing: levi ackerman x (fem) reader

↯ genres and warnings: modern au, fluff, i feel like he would honestly just be a quiet, gentle soul if given the opportunity to relax for once in his life lmao

↯ notes: i was planning to do some levi hcs, and then i got a request for them so yay! here you go, enjoy!

Has a carafe and fills it every morning (because he finishes it every day). He also absolutely does get his 6-8 glasses of water in on the daily thank you very much.

Oh he likes bubble baths. Not into lighting a thousand candles around him (altho he does like candles). Maybe one or two. Doesn’t stay for very long, but does like to get a good soak every once in a while, after he’s already showered of course.

Likes showering with you. A lot. Not necessarily for sexual antics, but he just likes it. Likes it a lot when you get all soapy and then hug him. 10/10. Although shower sex is always a welcome added bonus.

Fluffs your pillows for you in the morning behind your back. Not sure why it’s a secret for him, but it just is.

He’s like a fucking VIP member at SoulCycle or some shit and enjoys taking you with him to the classes just to see you sweat and suffer LMAO

Doesn’t mind doing things late at night with you, actually prefers it to some extent. Just don’t ask him to do anything dumb.

“Do you wanna walk to McDonald’s and get a McFlurry?” “No. I fucking hate McDonald’s and it’s 2am.” ....... “Do you want to drive around and maybe get some chinese food on our way back?” “... I’ll get the keys, let’s go.”

Surprisingly, likes to bake. It’s somewhat relaxing and therapeutic for him. He’s not the best at things like brownies and cakes and icing and decorating and all of that, but is really good at smaller, I suppose more refined desserts.

Think things like little fruit tarts, lemon squares, creme brûlée. Things that might not require a lot of ingredients, but are very particular in technique.

He doesn’t mind cooking though. But he likes cooking for other people best, not to mention he can be picky about his take-out. It can become a chore to him otherwise (and you can miss him with that meal-prepping bullshit), but he doesn’t mind cooking dinner if he knows it’s for you and him to share. And is willing to honor any particular meal request you might have.

Not exactly a wine connoisseur, but he doesn’t mind having a glass with you when you ask. He keeps bottles you and his friends get for him, but he doesn’t know shit about tasting and pairing and all that. If he needs to know or needs a recommendation, he’ll ask Erwin.

Into niche home design things like lighting fixtures, finding the perfect handles for his furniture and drawers, and things of that nature.

Very much a DIY kind of guy, and your fixer-upper. Need to assemble furniture? Fix a broken TV? Re-tile your bathroom floors? Levi’s your guy.

Loves candles. Not super sweet smelling ones like birthday cake and vanilla bean, but loves lighter, fruitier scenes like eucalyptus mixes, lemon, even sage. Always has candles on hand and never misses a single Bath and Body Works sale.

On that note, yes he does coupon. Why wouldn’t he? Capitalism already sucks and everything is so expensive, he’ll take a bargain where he can get it.

Never owned a speaker because he never saw any use for it, but one day, you coerced him into having a mini-karaoke session while you were cooking together and he found out he enjoyed it quite a bit. (The music playing a loud, not the karaoke. Even though he’s a pretty decent singer).

So when you bought him a record player for his birthday, it easily became one of his most valued possessions. And he’s really enjoyed collecting vinyls.

Other than that, he’s open to most kinds of music, and likes it if you make playlists for him—otherwise he’ll just listen to whatever you have made.

Levi and Erwin are presidents of the Beyhive but you didn’t hear that from me. Nothing but respect for THEIR Queen Bey.

Enjoys taking walks and going running when the weather is nice, and likes having you along with him. It’s actually on occasion on which he prefers to hold your hand in public. You don’t always talk much, but it’s still nice and Levi really relishes in it.

Genuinely laughs out fucking loud whenever you put a face mask on and cannot take you seriously for the next 20-35 minutes LMAO

“Hey, Casper, did you want me to get you a glass of water on my way back.” “FUCK YOU MY SKIN IS GLOWING LEVI!! GLOWING!!”

Despite that, he still fucking steals your other skin scare!! Like retinol isn’t expensive as hell!!

Likes getting massages from you, and may or may not have feigned or exaggerated soreness form his workouts a few times to get one.

Fucking hates pumping gas, but doesn’t trust the little brats at the gas station to do it for him, and would rather eat a pair of jeans than let you get out and get gawked at, so he does it himself.

If you’re in public doing something/looking at something and taking too long, Levi will just start nudging you to get you moving. Like if you’ve already spent 10 minutes looking at different pasta shapes in the grocery store, he’ll put a hand on your waist and slowly usher you back to the cart so you can actually finish your shopping (and go the fuck home).

On that note, he pulls you/grabs at you quite a bit, usually to out the way of other people or harms way (or so he claims). For example, pulls you back further onto the sidewalk while you’re waiting at the crosswalk; further away from the lines on the ground near trains and busses; away from Hange.

Really likes kissing you. Not in public, but doesn’t mind having you all over him in private. And honestly, when he wants it, he doesn’t mind being all over you either.

He’s a particularly big cuddle bug in the morning bye.

Likes it when you drive. Mostly because he can just chill in the passenger seat and take a nap.

LMAO he can’t ride a bicycle. If you taught him, he’d probably pick up pretty quickly, but nobody ever taught him so he doesn’t know how yet.

(When you find this out, you’re VERY eager to teach him and Levi feels like he might have finally met his demise). “Do you want some training wheels, Levi? I saw a pretty pink pair in the toy store on the way here.” “No, fuck you, I just need to find my balance—hey, don’t let me go! Do you want me to die???”

Despite not liking having his photo taken, he’s a pretty good photographer and doesn’t mind taking pictures of you.

Keeps a picture of you and him inside his wallet. You don’t know that it’s there.

Despises the dentist with every fiber of his being and would not fucking go if you didn’t force him to. Seriously, you have to book the appointment for him and everything or else he’s just not make one or go.

And it’s not even like he has bad teeth?? They’re fine, maybe just in need of the regular professional cleaning. He just hates people prodding inside his goddamn mouth.

Which is very weird and you tease him very loudly about because he’s fine with the doctor?? And the ophthalmologist?? And everything else but the dentist LMAO

Quite spontaneous with dates in all honesty. Sometimes he just sees shit or has an idea and asks you if you’d be down.

Not one for cliche coupley items, but you do have matching sneakers. (They’re his favorite pair of sneakers).

Picks up things you’ve left laying around and puts them in their proper place. “Levi have you seen my—” “It’s on your desk. Where it belongs.”

Museum dates! Not that he cares for the pompous air of museums, but objectively they’re nice. Quiet, pretty objects, clean. Overall, not so bad. Just don’t take him to a fucking history museum.

Has a habit of kissing the palm of your hand. It’s his silent way of telling you he loves you.

Lays his head on your lap when you’re sitting on the couch. Claims he’s not keeping up with your shows but secretly is. Curls up into a ball and takes a nap halfway through tho.

#aot x reader #snk x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi x you #aot imagines #snk imagines #levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman fluff #eren x reader

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floralseokjin · 4 years ago

Text

⤑ made-up love song iii.

Your first encounter with Kim Seokjin doesn’t go so well, nor your second, or your third… and maybe that’s because it shouldn’t work on paper. You’re an elementary school teacher, never left the country despite hitting the third decade of your life not so long ago, and you’re unable to remember the last time you dated. He’s the dad of one of your students, nearly a decade older than you and divorced. Oh yes, and just another minor detail – he’s a multimillionaire.

Your lives are lightyears apart, yet somehow, your paths having now crossed, things just seem to fall into place…

pairing; kim seokjin x reader au/genre/warnings; strangers to lovers, romance, eventual smut, eventual angst, single dad! seokjin, ceo! seokjin, elementary school teacher! oc, age gap (oc is 30, seokjin is 37), seokjin is a dilf, lots of lasagne talk, flirting, kissing, fluff 🥰 words; 9,340

↪︎ chapter index

chapters; i • ii • iii • iv • v • vi • vii • viii • ix • x • epilogue (+ drabbles)

After you had time to calm down, of course you ended up telling Soojung about what happened on the date. You kept some things to yourself, mainly about how giddy you had felt throughout the whole thing, but you were sure she could see that for herself – she kept looking at you knowingly, and for once she kept the teasing down to a minimum. You ended up staying awake quite late, Soojung opening a bottle of wine. You were still excited from the date and the thought of what was to come next, but somewhere along the line, you and your best friend started getting into your feelings. (Was it really a Saturday night until you and Soojung ended it with slightly drunk sappy heart to hearts and hugs? Obviously not…)

For the first time in a while you felt comfortable enough to open up about your love life (or lack of one) and felt it easy to talk about the past and to even bring up Donghae. He was a forbidden topic for the most part, no matter how much you were over him, but tonight had changed something. You didn’t know how to explain it, and no, it wasn’t because Seokjin was somehow the man of your dreams who had magically made things better with just one date. That was dumb and only happened in cliché Hallmark movies.

No, it was because tonight had shown you that life goes on. No matter what rock bottom you hit, or how long it took you to get over it, no hurt was forever. You’d been single for a long time, and happy at that – after you’d gotten over the heartbreak of Donghae cheating on you – but tonight you’d had fun. You’d enjoyed yourself, enjoyed Seokjin’s company. You didn’t know what would come of your second date, or if there would be a third, but you were okay with that. You were just living in the moment, and right now you really liked that infuriating-not-so-infuriating bastard.

You were taking a chance, just like he was, and it was actually pretty exciting…

You woke up late the next morning, something you didn’t reprimand yourself for because it was summer break after all, but also, you had a raging wine headache that had needed all the shut eye it could get. Your head was still throbbing slightly as you reached for your phone on the bedside table but seeing a text from Seokjin waiting for you made it miraculously disappear.

Seokjin (10:28am) Hi Y/N, Thank you for such a great time last night. I can’t wait until Saturday. Would it be alright with you if I kept in touch throughout the week? Seokjin

You giggled to yourself at his insane formalities. Why was that so adorable? But most importantly how could he be both cute and sexy at the same time? He was hellbent on making you lose your mind. You thought about teasing him, asking him when he’d grown comfortable enough to drop the Regards from yesterday, but despite how well last night had gone, and despite how much you loved joking around with him in person, over the phone seemed different. You were still a little nervous – giddy nervous, but nervous, nevertheless. Your conversation from last night with Soojung came back to you, reminding you that this was all too real. You were potentially catching feelings for this man, and it was new, and exciting, but equal parts terrifying now that you’d woken up with a hangover.

Everything you typed out in reply seemed way too stiff, so growing frustrated, you settled on an emoji to cut through the formalities.

You (10:49am) I had such a lovely time too, Seokjin. Of course it’s fine to keep in touch. I’m looking forward to Saturday night! 😊

What did he mean exactly about keeping in touch?, you wondered as you got out of bed, padding your way down the stairs and into the kitchen for a much needed glass of ice cold water. A good morning text? A how are you? You knew he was busy with work all week, so you weren’t expecting too much, but just knowing he wanted to stay in contact until next Saturday made you smile to yourself as you waited for his response.

You didn’t have to wait long.

Seokjin (10:55am) Great! I’m so excited to try your World famous Italian lasagne 😁

Cute. He’d followed your lead, ditching the last of the formalities and even signing off with an emoji instead. You instantly felt more at ease, but –

Oh no.

Why did he have to bring that up and remind you of your humiliating blunder? You knew what would be taking up all of your time for the few days – you needed to perfect this goddamn dish.

Soojung on the other hand was unbothered by your predicament. Mind in the gutter as always. “Do you think that’s a euphemism for something else?” She asked straight away once you’d shown her your messages a few hours later.

“Soojung!” You exclaimed, feeling yourself get a little hot in the face. You wish she’d stop bringing up sex, it was stressing you out. You told her as much.

“You’re the one who’s invited him to your house for a second date.”

You stared at her, greatly unimpressed. “You know why I invited him here.”

You’d told her last night. You’d been hit with a surge of confidence when you’d suggested it was your turn to decide on something. In truth though, you didn’t know the first thing about restaurants, you hardly ever ate out, and when you did it was either fast food or at the food court in the department store Soojung worked at. You knew he wouldn’t have minded any choice you’d made, but that didn’t stop the slight apprehension you felt.

It was normal, given your difference in lifestyles, and whilst that seemed to be no issue thankfully, that difference was still there. However really, that’s why you’d chosen to cook for him. Seokjin had shown you something close to him last night – the restaurant he owned with his brother, and now you were to show him something close to your heart. Something that was you. You loved cooking and baking in your spare time and you wanted to share that with him however small. Granted it was things you were confident with, but lasagne couldn’t be that hard, right? A true perfectionist, you’d master it quickly enough…

Soojung rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you could suggest McDonald’s and Dilf would be insanely happy.” She nudged you, squealing like a kid. “He’s just so into you!”

You wouldn’t bite. She was making you nervous again. “Stop calling him Dilf, he has a name.”

“Geez, sorry.” She held up her hands in apology. “Didn’t mean to offend your man.”

You pushed her shoulder, silently telling her to quit it.

For the next few days it became your life’s goal to master the art of lasagne. Sunday night was spent googling recipes, trying to find the most authentic one. There seemed to be a lot of fuss on the right type of pasta. Flat edged would be fine, but the wavy edge was best. You made note of that. Next was the sauce. Two types. The tomato based one and then the white one – which you learned was called Bechamel. That seemed pretty easy to cook up, but the former seemed a little daunting. Every time you’d had pasta sauce in the past it had been premade, starting from scratch was giving you anxiety. Seokjin thought this was your expertise so you had to make it believable. What if you made it too salty? Too bland?

…Possibly you were thinking way too hard about this. Soojung thought the same.

“Just buy it in a jar, Y/N, for Christ’s sake. You’re taking this way too seriously. You don’t need to learn fluent Italian to make your little white lie believable. It’s a goddamn lasagne.”

She had a point.

“He’d be happy with a sandwich. He’s coming over for you, not the shitty lasagne.”

“Don’t call my non-existent lasagne shitty, you’re setting me up for failure.” You grumbled, looking at the ten tabs you had up on your laptop screen, all claiming to be the best most authentic recipe around.

On Monday you went shopping for ingredients. You knew a small world foods store that was just outside of town, you’d been there a couple of times when you’d been baking with the children for class. With help from signposted aisles, you found what you were looking for in no time at all, so that night, you and Soojung both tucked into your first (sort of) homemade lasagne. Only the Bechamel sauces was harder to master than you’d first thought.

“I think you added too much flour.” Soojung’s nose wrinkled as she spoke. “It’s nice, don’t get me wrong, but the white stuff… I don’t know, maybe it’s supposed to taste like that?”

Nope, she was definitely correct, too much flour, which was odd because you were pretty positive you’d followed the right measurements…

Tuesday you had a day off from the sight, and even the word lasagne. You met for coffee with your mom but kept the date with Seokjin a secret. Not that she pressed about your love life anymore, she’d long given up on that topic. It was nice to catch up and you made plans for a trip soon. It was hard to find time to visit her when you were in work so you were always thankful for the summer and Christmas breaks. You were her only child, so it made your time together even more precious. She’d only remarried ten years ago, and while Jonathon had kids from his first marriage, they lived abroad. They were older than you and had families of their own. You weren’t particularly close for no other reason than the distance. You’d only met them a few times but they were lovely people. Your father had remarried while you were still in high school, having two more children (a son and daughter) with his wife. You were very close to them despite the age gap and saw them as regularly as you could. Your extended family had long been the norm and you wouldn’t change it for the world.

Wednesday you were back on the lasagne. You purchased more pasta sauce and decided on the pre-made Bechamel sauce too, just to be safe. This time around everything went smoothly, Soojung had no complaints and neither did you, but you still invited Taehyung around on Thursday for a third go. He was way more enthusiastic than your best friend, singing your praises all night.

“Y/N, that was amazing!” He exclaimed, leaning back in his chair to pat his belly. “Dilf dick – Uh, I mean, Seokjin, is going to love it.”

“Guys, is that what you really call him when you’re alone together?” You whined.

“Blame Soo,” Taehyung shrugged. “She’s rubbed off on me. But, I’m right,” he smirked. “He’s going to want to give you his DD once he tastes this, if you know what I mean.”

Wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, you looked on unimpressed. Maybe if you gave them no reaction they’d stop?

“Oooo. I wonder what his dick even looks like. I bet it’s as handsome as his face.” Soojung squealed, sat beside her boyfriend.

“SOOJUNG!” He cried, mouth open in disbelief.

“Can we just stop talking about his… y’know…” You sighed, unable to say the word aloud. “Imagine if it was the other way around and he was wondering about what I looked like naked.” Soojung wouldn’t be impressed, that was for sure.

“Fine, you’re right,” your best friend sighed. “I’m just way too excited because you finally like someone!!” She was getting loud now, she always did when she was excited. “And I want it to work out because you deserve it!”

You chuckled. “Soo, calm down.” But you had to admit her words were sweet. You reached for her hand across the tiny table, giving it a gentle squeeze of thanks.

“What about Barman dick?” Taehyung asked randomly, totally oblivious that you and she were having a moment. “Huh? Soo? You want my Barman dick tonight?” He wiggled his eyebrows again, a playfulness to his voice as he nudged her.

She giggled but wasn’t having any of it. “It doesn’t really have the same ring to it, babe.”

Highly offended he pulled away, pursing his lips. “Whatever.”

“Okay guys, let’s not have a domestic at the dining table.” You laughed. Which was a mistake because now Taehyung’s attention was back on you.

“So, Y/N, when are you going to invite Mr. Dilf to my bar?”

You sniggered. “How about never?”

“Hey, you ladies are being very mean tonight. I complimented your lasagne.” Hm. That was true, you guessed. “What’s wrong with my bar? I think he’d love it. What does he drink? I see him as a dark rum type of guy.”

You shrugged. “He was drinking red wine on our date last week.” It still made you feel funny to say the word date. You’d gone on a date. You were dating. A flurry of excitement found its way to your stomach, your excitement for Saturday growing.

“Interesting,” Taehyung mused.

Soojung stood up, starting to collect your plates. “Okay, I’m washing, who’s drying?”

“Not me,” you sang. “I’ve cooked nearly every night this week.”

Soojung eyes were wide when you met them, as if she was silently begging you. For what? “Just please promise me there won’t be any lasagne waiting for me after work tomorrow night? I’m going to turn into one at this rate.”

Saturday arrived soon enough. You woke up the same time your phone went Bing and you knew exactly who it was. Seokjin had been texting you Good morning every day since Monday. He was no longer signing them off with his name, which was progress, and he was even adding more emojis, so you guessed you had rubbed off on him.

Sometimes he’d drop a meme with the greeting. They were mostly to do with early mornings and workloads to which you’d tease him about because it was your summer vacation after all, you didn’t need to worry about work. But you always sent a Hope today runs smoothly his way too. You didn’t want to rub it in too much.

Yesterday’s meme had been about dating, something about the guy trying to flirt but being garbage at it and asking if she liked cheese. You didn’t agree that was like Seokjin though – you were gradually learning that he was incredibly modest – but it had made you laugh. Only Seokjin could send you lame memes and you’d find it adorable… You were possibly whipped.

Seokjin (8:01am) Good morning. [Image sent]

Today the meme was about lasagne, which made you question whether he was googling these every morning because no way had a lasagne meme popped up on his social media – if he used any at all. The realisation that he was searching for memes every day was even more endearing and your heart got a little gooey. You read the text on top of the image of lasagne. Dude, is that your new white shirt? Lemme just hop off this fork for a closer look. You genuinely laughed at that one, still wrapped up in your bed sheets. So incredibly lame, but equal levels funny.

Seokjin (8:01am) I will not be wearing white… I can’t wait to see you later. Just a reminder that I hope you omitted the garlic for tonight’s meal. I don’t want to embarrass myself by itching all night 😅😂

Immediately the smile dropped from your face and you shot forward, horror washing over you. Oh no. He was allergic to garlic. With the stress of perfecting the world’s best lasagne you’d totally forgotten. What were you going to do? Find a plain tomato sauce? Where the hell were you going to find one? Was that even a thing? You needed to leave now. Jumping out of bed you almost forgot to message Seokjin back. Looking at your phone again the image of the lasagne mocked you…

Two hours later you were back at home, in need of a sit down after you’d rushed around town looking for a pasta sauce that didn’t contain garlic (very hard, by the way.) The stress had aged you about ten years. Soojung of course found it highly hilarious.

“You’d have been in ER before 9pm,” she chortled, still in her pyjamas on the couch. She’d been still asleep when you’d dashed off, a woman on a lasagne mission.

You ignored her. It wouldn’t have been that bad, right? He said himself he’d only be itching… Clawing off his own skin was probably better than his throat closing up… maybe…

“How did you manage to forget?” She was still laughing. “AND you said you’d make a lasagne. Italian food always uses garlic. He must think you’re trying to kill him.” At this point you could hardly understand her, words blurring into one as she lost her shit.

“We went over this. I wasn’t in my right mind when I said I’d cook lasagne.”

She stopped her laugher immediately. “No way, you’re not blaming me again.”

“Ugh.” You sighed, suddenly remembering something. “I was going to make my homemade garlic bread.” Now that was a speciality of yours. This night was going to be a disaster.

“Skip the garlic,” Soojung suggested.

“So, just bread then.”

She tried her best not to laugh again, not wanting to make it worse. “Yum.”

It didn’t help.

What did help though, was making her clean the entirety of the downstairs of the house. As the day went on you started to get more and more nervous, which was silly, but you couldn’t help it. You realised that your place was a shoe box in comparison to his, what the hell were you thinking when you’d invited him here?! It needed to be spotless, to distract him from the fact you would be eating dinner in the same place you would be cooking it…

You knew there was no need to worry, it was just like last week when you’d grown self-conscious only to be fine once you’d set eyes on Seokjin. No doubt tonight would be just the same, he didn’t give a crap about stuff like that, so why would you even think he would? He’d probably be hurt if he knew… You just couldn’t help those little bubbles of insecurities from floating around inside your brain. You were a law unto yourself, and the garlic-less lasagne wasn’t helping. You’d had no time to prep for it. What if it tasted like cardboard?

“Lasagne is lasagne,” Soojung reassured you, in the kitchen as you got all the ingredients together. “It’s not going to taste gross just because there’s no garlic in it. Put it this way, at least you can kiss without needing to pop a mint.”

You whined, shaking your head, you couldn’t even dare thinking about kissing him right now. You’d spontaneously combust from anxiety.

“Should we clean your room too?” She asked, picking up the jar of pasta sauce absentmindedly. You’d already read the label approximately fifteen times, double checking it was indeed garlic-less.

“What? No,” you told her, voice all high-pitched. There would be no going upstairs besides from bathroom usage. “But hey,” you exclaimed, rounding on her with the spoon you were holding in your hand. “My room is always clean, bitch.”

She was the messy one.

Soojung left for Taehyung’s place at half 6, ready for Seokjin’s arrival at 7pm, a hug for good luck before you waved her off. You’d calmed greatly now, nothing like some table laying to ease some nerves. The lasagne was prepped and ready to oven cook, you had a fresh key lime pie in the fridge and you were dressed and presentable with ten minutes to spare. Wonderful.

The doorbell rung not long after you’d made your way downstairs and you were quickly finding out that Seokjin was a very punctual man. Opening the door to reveal him stood at the porch your heart instantly warmed, skipping a beat when he gave you a dazzling smile and a soft Hey. You felt a little weak at the knees. Nope, you were not ready for tonight.

In your tiny entryway he offered you a silver gift bag. “I didn’t know what to bring, so.” He said with a shrug as you pulled out a bottle of red wine.

“Oh, thank you, Seokjin.” You hadn’t been expecting him to bring anything at all. It was a lovely surprise.

“You probably have some waiting already. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you reassured him. “We’ll use this one.” You were going to use a bottle of white wine you had laying around, nothing special at all. Red wine seemed better, fancier, maybe it would go better with the lasagne?

“Are you sure?” He asked. “I was gonna get you flowers but I didn’t want to freak you out or anything.”

You laughed. What was he going on about? “Why would that freak me out?”

His smile was crooked as he chuckled quietly. “I don’t know. I’m new to this, I thought they would’ve been too forward.”

You gave a small shrug, voice barely there when you replied. “I like flowers.”

He gazed at you, warm eyes softening as he stepped forward. “Next time.” He smiled. “Next time I’ll get you flowers.”

You swallowed fairly loudly, averting your gaze as you outstretched your arms. “Let me take you coat.” Was it hot in here? You felt a little stuffy.

He shrugged off the beige wool blend, revealing the tight fitting black shirt he had on underneath. It stretched over his shoulders, accentuating how broad they were, how hard his chest was and how much his waist curved inwards. The pants he was wearing didn’t help matters too. He looked effortlessly gorgeous, hair parted to the side, a piece curled above his left eye, softening the blow of his exposed forehead. You moved to hook his coat on the rack, realising you could’ve been gawping. Not that you could help it, the man was trying to kill you.

As you turned to face him again, he smiled. “You look really nice.” His voice was soft which just made it even more dangerous. “I think this may be the first time I’ve seen you in pants.”

“Really?” You wondered. You were partial to a dress in the summer, so he was probably right. You’d chosen a pair of black skinny jeans and a patterned chiffon blouse. Nothing too fancy, but he looked at you with awe-filled eyes. Unless you were imagining it. You cleared your throat. “You look good too.”

He stepped back, arms outstretched as he looked down at himself. “Thanks. No white.” He chuckled.

You forced yourself to laugh too, nerves creeping back just because of your stupid damn lasagne. “No white.”

Moving forward again he took your hand. It was warm and soft, just as you remembered from last week. Who cared about the lasagne when you were this close to him? When he was looking down at you with those brown, twinkly eyes? Not you anymore.

“I’ve been looking forward to this all week, Y/N.”

Oh.

You invited him inside the living room first, pouring him a small (and his only because he the car) glass of wine as you chit chatted for a few minutes. Sat next to him was RJ, who you’d taken from your bedroom to join you both for the night. He wanted to say Hi, had been your opening line and Seokjin had found it hilarious, cracking up instantly. Although his “I missed you buddy, how have you been?” went rudely ignored. Maybe the alpaca was nervous…

Ever the gentleman, he complimented you on the house, noting the décor with a fond eye. That surprised you, maybe he had played a part with the interior of his home. Well, you’d only seen the cosy family room – but it suited him very well. You knew there had been no need to be nervous when it came to inviting him into your home. There wasn’t a judging bone in Seokjin’s body.

You talked about your weeks, yours had been fine, but of course you left out all the stress over the lasagne. Seokjin’s week on the other hand had been quite demanding, but that was nothing new he told you with an accepting shake of his hand. He was used to it by now, but he had to admit tonight’s date had made it easier this time around. He was full of the charm, not that you were complaining…

Misook was babysitting Arin tonight, he told you when you asked how she was. It was his weekend this week, he and Nana took it in turns – when she didn’t cancel, he added as an afterthought – but he seemed a lot more relaxed talking about his ex-wife this time around seeing as last weekend she hadn’t broken any promises. He was happy if his daughter was happy, and that made you smile. You remembered Arin’s sorrowful face that day her mom had cancelled on her, so you were glad they’d found time to spend time together. You also remembered how irritated Seokjin had sounded when he was opening up to you on the bench at the school fate… You wondered just how often Nana cancelled plans, and couldn’t imagine how frustrating that was for both Arin and Seokjin… You hoped this marked the start of things being easier for them now.

Soon after that, you served him your starter (“garlic – wait, no I mean, no-garlic bread.”), and you chatted some more over that and while the lasagne baked. It was surprising how little you’d touched the sides on your first date, so tonight you covered even more bases. Family mainly. You told him about your half and step siblings, your parents’ remarriages of course coming up too. He seemed interested in that, wondering about your views on it and if it had affected you as you grew up. As a divorcee you understood the relevance to him and because he was so easy to talk to you found yourself opening up freely.

His parents were still married and Seokjin was the youngest out of their two sons, so it was quite unheard of for the second born to take over a family company. In fact, it was the first of its kind for his, which made it even harder for him. His older brother had been the rightful heir to LG Electronics but his passion had always been in culinary arts. His parents had been kind enough to let him follow his dreams, and thankfully, for Seokjin, that meant he could follow in his father’s footsteps. He’d been eager to prove himself but it had been hard in the beginning. His status as the youngest son meant that a lot of people set him up for failure, but with his family’s love and belief he’d managed to succeed and confirm himself as the rightful CEO. You didn’t doubt it. It seemed he’d worked hard to get where he was now. That was admirable.

The influx of information was so interesting to you and it didn’t feel real. While you could imagine Seokjin taking charge, visualising him in that tailored houndstooth suit he’d worn when you’d first met him, it was strange to think the smiley and soft-spoken man sat in front of you was from a long line of power and wealth. He should be untouchable, yet here you were able to reach for his hand across the table. Able to feel his forefinger stroking delicate patterns into your palm as you opened up and got to know one another more and more…

“So, if your family’s a big deal, what about things like arranged marriages? Are they still a thing?” You asked, maybe confusing fiction for fact.

Seokjin laughed at your wording. “They used to be, not so much anymore. I met my ex-wife through a friend. They concentrate less on things like that these days.” He shrugged, adding as an afterthought, “As a divorced CEO I think I’m a great example of that.”

That was true, you thought to yourself, wondering how the breakdown of his marriage had also played a part in the stress of his early years as CEO.

“I know it all sounds pretty crazy, but I like to think my family is just like anyone else’s.” He continued, smiling bashfully when you met his gaze. “That I’m just like anyone else.”

You wondered how many people had immediately judged him because of his status… You’d been one of them, right? Even if you hadn’t known any of the details, you’d written him off as some obnoxious, rich guy who flaunted his wealth… You felt guilty thinking back. He was the complete opposite.

You nodded in agreement before grinning. “I’d have liked to see what college Seokjin was like.”

“A complete nerd, to tell you the truth.”

He answered so seriously, you didn’t know how to react, and then he was laughing loudly, cracking up at himself. You couldn’t help but join in. That’s when your stove alarm went off, shrill and incessant, signalling the arrival of the dreaded lasagne…

It turned out he loved it though.

“This is amazing,” Seokjin praised, mouth still half full as he chewed. You did have to admit it was good. It tasted just like the original, despite the lack of garlic. Seokjin quirked an eyebrow, smirking your way. “So, how lucky am I to be able to try this World famous Italian lasagne?”

“Very lucky.” You kept your answer short. Hoping he’d just drop it.

He didn’t.

“How lucky?” He tried to pry from you. “How many people have tried it?”

You gave him a small smile, hovering your fork over the plate. Technically he was the third, but you couldn’t tell him that, could you? “I can’t disclose that.”

He emitted a short laugh. “What about the recipe? Care to share?”

You brushed him off with a soft chuckle. “A chef never tells her secrets.”

“Not even me?” His bottom lip jutted out as he looked across at you.

Your heart did a little dance. He was being unfair. “Don’t pout like that, it’s making me feel guilty.”

Thankfully the lasagne topic fizzled out after a couple more minutes, your cold sweat having time to dissipate while you chatted and ate together comfortably. However a few minutes later you noticed Seokjin fidgeting slightly in his seat. You politely ignored it to begin with, unsure if you were just imagining it, but then he started itching the back of his neck. You put your fork down, a sick feeling washing over you. “Is anything wrong?” You asked, now watching him itch up his forearm. “Seokjin?”

He looked at you in mild confusion, eyebrows creasing together as he opened his mouth. “Are you sure there wasn’t any garlic in this?”

You swallowed away the panic racing up your throat. “I’m sure.” You’d read the back of that jar and then read it some more. “I’m positive.”

… Weren’t you? You watched him scoot his chair back, leaning down to start scratching the back of his calves. He made noises of discomfort as he did so.

“Oh, no…” You were up before you could stop yourself, racing around him to start hunting in the recycling for the glass jar.

“Wait, where are you going?”

You could hear Seokjin’s voice behind you, sounding alarmed, but you were too panicked to really take it in. You needed to be sure. This was just your second date, you couldn’t ruin things already. Turning him into one giant itchy red blob had not been your intention.

“I was only teasing you.” Still, his words didn’t sink in. That was until you felt a hand on your elbow, tugging gently for your attention.

You spun around, worried eyes wide – even wider when you found him so close. He was on his feet too, bent a little to level with you, pretty much within kissing distance. His voice was soft when he spoke, you found yourself distracted by his mouth. “Y/N, I was just messing around.”

You blinked, not truly understanding with all those annoying distractions zooming around your mind, but slowly you pieced his words together. Oh. Despite the relief you felt, now you just felt silly. Plus, he was still so close to you…

You took a step back, the small of your back pressing up against the counter. You needed a clear head. “Don’t freak me out like that.” You told him, but you still sighed in relief, hand against your chest. “I thought I’d poisoned you.”

He looked a little concerned, but you could tell by his eyes he found your reaction amusing. “I’m sorry,” he apologised. “I just wanted to make you laugh.”

“Make me laugh? You nearly gave me heart failure.” However, you gave him what he wanted, a laugh that sounded weak and shaky, but it was something – you did see the funny side.

He joined you, shoulders relaxing now that he knew you were okay. He looked behind you, eyes on the trashcan, a bemused smile on his face. “What were you looking for anyway?”

“The jar.” You answered, as if it wasn’t obvious. You turned, deciding to fish it out anyway. Holding it up to him, you were adamant. “See, no garlic. Check.”

He chuckled. “I already said I was joking.” He took one look at your desperate expression and gave in, taking the jar from your hand. “But if it makes you feel better…” You watched him as he read the label, silently soaking in his handsome features. He looked softer tonight, the curve of his jaw rounding as he smiled. It took you a moment to realise he was done. He handed the jar back to you, and you prayed to God he hadn’t caught you staring at him all gooey-eyed. “It’s fine.” He confirmed. “I’ll be itch free tonight.”

You smiled and plopped the glass back inside the can. “I looked around town for hour trying to find lasagne sauce sans garlic.”

He looked guilty. “I’m sorry for being awkward.” Then he paused, eyes narrowing, the hint of a smirk itching at the corners of his mouth. “But… Y/N, are you a fraud?” Huh? What did he mean? You didn’t need to wait long for an explanation. “I thought a certified chef would cook up a batch of her own tomato sauce.”

Oh. You’d gone and put your foot in it, hadn’t you? It was probably time to explain yourself… “I have a confession,” you began, sounding wary. Seokjin looked interested albeit it mildly confused. “I… may have told a little white lie.”

He shook his head, a puff of laughter leaving him. “You’ve lost me.”

You took a deep breath, knowing you were going to have to spell it out for him. “I’ve never made lasagne before. Ever. In my entire life.”

He looked confused as silence spread out between you. He sounded it too when he spoke again. “Then why did you say it was your speciality?”

You groaned, dropping your face into your hands for one dramatic moment. “I panicked.” Peeking at him, you babbled on. “I know it sounds stupid but Soojung was curtain twitching and it was stressing me out and then you were asking me what I cooked and lasagne just popped into my head!”

Seokjin blinked, his mouth twitched and then he was laughing – loudly.

“You find it funny?” You asked, relaxing a tad.

“Very.” He laughed harder but seeing the look of bafflement on your face he tried is best to still it.

“I’ve been practicing it like crazy,” you whined, happy you could finally tell him all about your lasagne struggles. “This is my fourth time eating it this week. Soojung nearly killed me.” You snorted at the memory. This started up Seokjin again. “And then I forgot you were allergic to garlic. Your text reminded me this morning and I had to rush out to the grocery store.”

He was weak at the knees at that, and you were laughing just because he was. It was contagious. “Stop,” you wailed, attempting to get a hold of yourself. This week had actually been quite traumatic. “I’m glad you find it funny, I’ve been in constant stress ever since you drove off last week.”

“I can’t help it.” He chuckled, although he did sound apologetic. “You’re just so adorable.” The air that settled around his effortless admission made your skin prickle. When he carried on, his tone was gentle. “You know I wouldn’t have minded if you changed the menu to something else, right?”

You pouted ever so slightly. “But you were looking forward to it.”

He gave a small shrug. “True, but… that was more so code for ‘I’m looking forward to seeing you again.’ The food was just a bonus. I’d be happy with a Big Mac.”

You felt your cheeks burn and you tried to shake yourself out of it. “So embarrassing,” you murmured. You didn’t know what for… The lasagne mess or the fact he could have this much of an effect of you? You were inclined to go with the latter.

“What about the no-garlic bread?” Seokjin asked, changing the subject a little. Maybe he’d sensed your embarrassment and didn’t want to make it worse. He was sweet. “Did you make that?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Well, I didn’t bake the bread. I just toasted it.” It was still a speciality of yours though. “It would’ve been much tastier with the garlic.”

He gave you an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. This body wants to turn me into a miserable old man.”

Pfft. Old? Miserable? He was anything but.

“Sit,” he prompted you, smiling as he motioned with his head to the table. “Finish your World famous Italian lasagne before it grows cold.”

As you moved he delicately cupped his hand around the curve your waist, giving it a soft squeeze before he got to his chair first. Your stomach flipped, head dizzy as you sat and tucked your chair in. Last Saturday popped into your head, the way you’d loosely held hands outside and how you were sure he’d been leaning in to kiss you – properly.

You knew one thing. You really wanted to kiss him tonight.

Trying to get a hold of yourself, you glanced at him, catching his eyes. He was already tucking in again, and he grinned bashfully, as if embarrassed. “This really is great. All that practice paid off.” A pause. “You should show me how you cooked it sometime.”

Your face lit up in surprise. “You cook?” In the back of your mind you were aware that he’d probably been hinting for a third date, but you were so shocked by the possibly of Seokjin cooking you couldn’t stop yourself from asking.

He chuckled quietly. “I mean, when I have time and can be bothered. I like cooking but it’s just easier to go to a restaurant or get it delivered.” He looked sheepish before adding, “Or Misook does it for me.”

There was no shame when it came to that. Seokjin probably worked all hours of the day, no one could expect him to tie on an apron when he got home and start pulling out pots and pans.

“Do you cook a lot?” He asked.

You nodded. “Soojung and I take it in turns.”

“So what is your speciality?” He smiled.

This time around you were in your right mind and able to answer properly. “Veggie tacos.”

He raised his eyebrows, impressed. Then he tried again. “Can you make them for me sometime?”

He was persistent, you’d give him that. You shrugged, trying your best to sound impassive but the little smirk gave it away. “Maybe if you say please…”

He laughed, leaning forward, a hand clasping yours as he tilted his head. The piece of curled hair falling into his left eye. “Please?”

Your heart did another little dance inside your chest.

After dessert you both made your way back to the living room, settling on your couch with two pomegranate mocktails Taehyung had prepared for you yesterday. All you had to do was add the pomegranate juice and lemonade to the ice cubes and crushed lime segments and mint before serving, easy-peasy. Seokjin was highly impressed, but of course you couldn’t take the credit. It was all down to your best friend’s very helpful barman boyfriend.

You were glad Seokjin wanted to stay as you didn’t want the night to be over yet. It had flown by so fast and you’d had so much fun. You already felt like you knew him better, even after only two dates. It was strange to you, how you could feel so relaxed in a stranger’s company, but then again, you guessed he wasn’t a stranger anymore… Plus, he was so easy to talk to, so interesting to get to know…. Everything between you two came easy.

Like opening up to him, being a bit more vulnerable…

“I’ve been slightly nervous all week,” you admitted, clutching your drink to you before chuckling softly. “– and not just about the lasagne faux pas…”

“There was no need to be nervous. I thought we left all that behind on the first date,” Seokjin reassured, smiling warmly your way.

You were sat together, turned to face one another. It was intimate and cosy. He had one leg lifted, the ankle resting on the knee of the other leg, and where his pants had ridden up, you could see an inch or so of his calf before it met the black cotton of his sock. For some reason, you found that very, very sexy. Maybe you had been single for far too long.

“We did,” you agreed, hesitating slightly. “It’s just… I haven’t done anything like this in so long.”

You didn’t even think you’d ever invited someone around for dinner before. You were still quite young when you found yourself in a relationship with Donghae so your dates before him had been very basic. Your dates with him hadn’t really classed as such just because you became official fairly quickly, and your dates after him, well, it was already known that they had been few and far between.

“You already know we’re in the same boat,” he smiled before chuckling bashfully. “No, but really, when I asked you for dinner that day at the fate I was expecting you to turn me down.”

“How come?”

He looked down at his drink, lifting a shoulder. “I thought you’d think that I was crossing a line… or maybe the spark I was feeling was all in my head and in reality you just found me really annoying.”

That was cute. He’d been doubting himself. Human after all. Not that you’d ever thought he wasn’t. You still didn’t miss the opportunity to joke around though. “I mean, both can exist simultaneously.” He taking a sip of his mocktail when you replied so he ended up snorting into his glass, amused by your wit.

A moment or so passed and Seokjin gazed at you, smiling softly. If he kept this up, you’d be a puddle on your parquet flooring. “So, tell me,” he hummed. “How did I luck out so good?” You raised an eyebrow, wondering what he meant. “How come an amazing person like you isn’t married or in a relationship?”

He must’ve seen the slight shock on your face and panicked instantly. “Is that a weird thing to ask? I feel like it is. I apologise.”

“No,” you insisted, sitting up a little straighter. He followed. “No, it’s not.” You wanted to open up to him. You really did. You just didn’t know where to start. Although, it was pretty simple. “I’ve been single for a while.”

“How long?” Seokjin was instantly focused, attentive, noticing the change in your body language.

“Three years. My last relationship didn’t end very well.” You paused, wondering if you should continue. But then… It had been a massive part of your life. No matter how much time had passed and no matter how okay you were now, it had still happened. And Seokjin, he had trusted you enough to open up about his divorce – even before you’d gone on your first date. You wanted to talk about it. You really did.

“I found out my fiancé was cheating on me.”

Seokjin’s eyes widened, unable to cloak his surprise. He hadn’t been expecting that. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said sincerely.

“It’s fine,” you smiled. “It was rough getting over it. Took me a while, but it is what it is. It’s in the past now.”

“Did it put you off dating?”

You were pleasantly surprised to find it was actually easy to talk to Seokjin about this. Your mouth was opening before you had to think about it. “I mean, at first. I was still very much in love with him, even after he broke my heart. But I got over him and I started dating again – briefly – It just didn’t feel right.” You stopped to smile. “It’s been over a year and I can’t say I missed it… but you…” Nerves growing, you pushed them away. “You’ve changed that. I’m having fun.”

Seokjin’s face lit up and he chuckled. “I did hit second date status after all.”

“You did…”

“So,” he leaned closer, a small smirk on his face. “You could say, hitting your car that day wasn’t actually my fault because it was supposed to happen.”

You snorted as you laughed, head falling against the back of the couch. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

He made a sound. “But we wouldn’t have met otherwise.”

“We would!” You exclaimed. “The parent-teacher meeting.”

He blinked, feeling dumb. “Oh, yeah.”

It wouldn’t have had the same effect, granted, but you would have become acquainted with one another regardless. “Would you have still liked me?” You asked without thinking, surprising yourself.

“Yes,” he replied immediately. “I was instantly attracted to you after all, it’s just…” Instantly attracted? Definitely a charmer... “There would’ve been no way for me to get to know you like I did.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re really adamant that you had to reverse into my car to make this work, huh.”

He shrugged casually. “It was the only way.”

You laughed quietly, finishing the last of your drink. Time was getting on, it was pretty late, Seokjin had already finished his, you watched him sit up to lean forward and place the glass on your coffee table. His shirt tightened across his shoulder blades and you could see his back muscles as he stretched. Oh.

Settling back into the same position, he looked over at you and grinned. His teeth were perfect. Did this man have zero flaws? Why were you so whipped? It was embarrassing.

“I had fun tonight,” you told him, trying to keep a lid on whatever was going on with you right now.

He seemed pleased with that, nodding his head. “I’m happy to hear that you think I’m a fun person.”

You scoffed, body falling closer to his. Your shoulders brushed together. Seokjin didn’t take his eyes off you. “Hm. I don’t think I said that.”

“Hey, don’t be so mean.” He murmured, one side of his mouth quirking up.

Like you couldn’t stop yourself, your hand reached for the collar of shirt. He had the top two buttons loose and your pinkie finger brushed against his collarbone. Sparks flew, but you tried to ignore them. “I thought you liked it when I was mean.” You teased, voice low.

Seokjin hummed, his eyes still twinkled like they always did but there was something else to them, a depth that made you feel funny. He sunk closer to you. So close you could study the thick curve of his eyelashes, notice that both his eyelids were different. He really did have beautiful eyes. You could stare at them forever.

Preoccupied, you slowly realised that he was watching you too, studying your features in the golden glow of the floor lamp that hovered over the couch. His lips parted, you heard them rather than saw it, but then your attention was on them again. Just like it had been earlier on in the night. He was staring at yours too as he spoke. “I wanted to kiss you last week.”

You heartbeat quickened but you tried to keep cool. “You did kiss me.” You laughed.

He sighed. “On the cheek.”

You lightly tugged his collar, fingertips now brushing the skin of his chest. “Isn’t that what you said you wanted to do?”

You could feel his own heartbeat against your forearm that was pressed into him. It was definitely running a little faster than it was supposed to – stronger. “Yes, but…” He glanced up to your eyes. “I was just being polite. I wanted to kiss your lips.”

It felt like you were holding your breath. Maybe you were, you just couldn’t think straight. Time seemed to stretch out, but you knew what you wanted. So you went after it. Giving him a small smile, you replied. “Maybe I wanted that too.”

He swallowed, voice so low now it was barely a murmur. “Is that an invitation?” His eyes bounced to your lips again, then back to your eyes as he asked permission. “Can I kiss you?”

You ever so slightly dragged your bottom lip beneath your teeth as you nodded, breath catching in your throat as Seokjin leaned forward and closed the distance between you. The hand in between your bodies moved to delicately hold the wrist of your arm against his chest, holding you there as his other hand reached for your jaw, angling your face to press a kiss to your mouth. His eyes were already closed so you followed.

He hummed at the contact, his lips soft and warm and you let yourself sink. His actions were light at first, faint as he kept constant pressure, as if he was familiarising himself with the sensation. You couldn’t even let yourself think about how this was the first kiss you’d shared with someone for a very long time. All that was going through your mind was how good it felt to be touched like this by him.

He readjusted the hand on your face, tucking some hair behind your ear to cup your cheek. You liked that. You liked it when he touched you, and he eased from your mouth completely before coming back with a firmer pressure. It was your turn to make a sound; a tiny gasp as your lips began to move together ever so slowly. He liked that, a hum of satisfaction vibrating against the soft skin of your lips. You clutched at his shirt, gathering the crisp cotton in your fist, that would surely turn it creased, but he didn’t seem to mind. He was too preoccupied with reaching for the glass you’d forgotten was hugged to your body by your free hand.

He unclasped it from your fingers and had no choice but to break away from your mouth to put it next to his on the coffee table. You whined, attempting to tug him back to you, and he chuckled, taking a hold of one of your hands. “I’ll be back,” he whispered, leaning forward to place the cocktail glass down.

And he was.

This time he used both of his hands to grasp your face and dive back in. He was more confident this time, moving in such a way his lips pried yours open. You reached for his shoulders, grasping them to hold him closer and this time you both made noises – sweet, quiet ones that worked beautiful together as your lips moulded with gradual urgency.

When your hands found the nape of his neck, fingers through his hair, he had to drag the tip of his tongue across your bottom lip, seeking entry. You met it with yours, tasting hints of pomegranate and lime with each wash of tongue. A hand of his slipped down to your side, stroking up and down the curve as if he couldn’t help but to touch you. He settled at your hip after a moment, the other splayed against the side of your neck, his thumb rolling small circles under your cheekbone.

This was getting addictive. You could tell by the way you moaned softly against each warm, wet curl of his tongue. This was everything you’d imagined and more – because you had imagined it. Late and secretly at night when you were trying to drift off to sleep and thoughts of lasagne were banished… You were glad your first kiss was here, inside, on your couch, because this wasn’t something for the open, your knees wouldn’t have been able to hold you up.

You could have kissed him forever, you mean, you definitely didn’t want it to stop but you pretty much had to. Breathing was a necessity, right? If you couldn’t breathe you wouldn’t be able to ever kiss Seokjin again and that would be absolutely awful…

You did it the right way though – gradually. Seokjin slowed it right down, only hints of his tongue left as he hummed indulgently, like he was savouring your taste before he had to inevitably pull away. It made your insides jump around like crazy, hearing him enjoying himself, and you tried your best to come to when he started easing the pressure of his lips, pressing small, chaste kisses to them instead as you ultimately (but slowly) broke apart.

You opened your eyes, blinking up at him, hands falling from his hair, aware you had become one with your cushions. You struggled to free yourself as he sat back and you watched him smile fondly at you. His breath was shaky – so was yours, and you were sure his hands trembled slightly as one reached up to scratch the back of his neck. His neck that was blotched with red, flushed, travelling to his cheeks. They were rosier than you’d ever seen them before. Your gut stirred.

“I’ve been dreaming of that,” he told you, before making a face at himself. “Too cringey?”

You giggled – it sounded foreign. “Just a bit.” But didn’t deter the fact you loved it.

You warmed when you felt him squeeze your hip, realising his hand was still there and you reached for it, tangling your fingers with his. He pulled them to his mouth, kissing your knuckles softly. His expression was thoughtful when he lowered your hands. “In all seriousness, thank you for giving me a chance, after well, you know, everything.”

You smiled, touched by his earnestness, but it was hard to keep a sane mind when his lips were as kiss bitten as they were – deep pink and glistening. You wanted to kiss his face off.

“It’s no problem,” you quipped, as if you were doing him a favour.

He chuckled tenderly, and luckily for you he was unable to stop himself from kissing you again. He reached forward, hooking a finger under your chin to press his mouth to yours softly. “I’d really love if we could keep on doing… this.” He murmured.

“The dating or the kissing,” you grinned, stealing another kiss in the process.

“Hm,” he contemplated. “Both preferably.”

And then you were on one another again, eager once more.

Although, you did manage to pull away briefly to tell him something, his mouth moving to the side of your face to kiss there instead as your hands dragged down his back. You were somehow able to get the words out – ones that made him laugh against your wet jaw.

“I’m so glad you hit my car.”

Written 2020 - 2021. Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2021

#seokjn fanfic #bts fanfic #jin fanfic #floralseokjin:writings #fic:mls

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arrowflier · 3 years ago

Note

Ian growing his first tomatoes and being proud of himself really excited to share them with Mickey and cooking with them everyday. But what he doesn't know is that tomatoes don't agree with Mickey. They upset his stomach and make him feel sick. He loves seeing Ian so happy and proud of himself so he doesn't tell him and eats everything he makes him. Ian eventually realizes what's going on. A prompt if you'd like to write it

Content Warnings: food, vomit

The first time it happened, Mickey assumed it was a coincidence.

Ian had been so fucking excited for his first tomato crop; he'd spent ages looking up recipes, running ideas past anyone who would listen, and scrounging through old boxed from the house to look for weird cooking shit. He had beamed when the day of his first harvest finally came, carrying those little red fruits in his big hands so carefully that you'd be forgiven for thinking them infants, or puppies, or some other fragile living thing.

So after an hour of Ian washing, slicing, and cooking up his new pride and joy, there was no way in he'll Mickey was going to ruin his husband's happy smile by telling him that just the smell of dinner was making his stomach churn.

It was probably nothing, he told himself, choking down bite after bite, letting out agreeable little hums after each one just to add to the sparkle in Ian's eyes.

Maybe lunch wasn't sitting well; he should have known not to eat anything offered by the Alibi, even under new management (especially under new management). That had to be it. There was no way it had anything to do with the dish Ian had painstakingly made from ingredients so fresh they had still been on the vine just hours before.

So Mickey swallowed his bile with the last bite on his plate, asked for seconds, and ate that too. Then he made his excuses, ran down to the little restroom off the gym, and threw it all up where Ian wouldn't have to see. He ignored the visible seeds and flecks of red tomato skin as he flushed the evidence away.

Just a coincidence, that was all. Next time would go better.

The second time it happened, Mickey thought that maybe Ian was just a bad cook. Ian's courage had been bolstered by his "successful" first attempt, apparently, because this time he went all out. He'd even traded one of his precious tomatoes for some fresh herbs from the plot next to his in the community garden, just to make it special.

And special it was. A special he'll, more like, when Mickey nearly voided his bowels an hour later on their new sofa. He leapt up and made it to the bathroom just in time, and spent the next thirty minutes trying to quietly take care of things so Ian wouldn't hear.

Of course, Ian did hear, and he just had to ask about it. They were getting ready for bed, Mickey tugging on a too-large sleep shirt from a pile of Ian's laundry, when a hand landed lightly on his waist.

"Feeling better?" Ian asked softly, rubbing soothing circles into the stretched skin of Mickey's sore belly.

"Uh, yeah," Mickey hedged, not wanting to reveal his lingering discomfort. "It's nothing, really."

"You sure?" Ian asked, pressing closer against his back as his hand migrated to rest over Mickey's chest. "You can tell me if something made you sick, you know," he said. "I won't take it personally."

If he wasn't used to Ian hitting close to home while having absolutely no knowledge of what he was talking about, Mickey might have wondered then if his husband was catching on.

But it was an innocent enough question, after all.

"Nah, man," he said, pulling away to sit on the bed. "Probably picked up a bug on our rounds or something."

Ian looked unconvinced, biting his lip, and Mickey rushed to reassure him.

"I'm be right as rain tomorrow," he promised. "Just you watch."

Ian hesitated, but ultimately nodded, and joined him in bed. He curled just a little tighter around Mickey than normal, hand resting carefully on his stomach.

It wasn't a lie, Mickey figured as he waited for sleep to claim him. He would be fine by morning. And next time, he'd do the cooking himself, just in case, and then this couldn't happen again.

By the third time, just the next morning, Mickey finally had to admit what he dreaded all along: it really was the goddamned tomatoes.

He’d made the omelets himself, using normal ingredients they got from the store, all things he had eaten before. He’d mixed in some diced tomato, just for flavor, and because he knew Ian would like it.

And like it Ian did. His husband was chowing down like someone might take away his plate if he didn’t eat fast enough, barely stopping to sip at his coffee, while Mickey sat silently across from him.

The first bite of his eggs had already almost done him in, the taste of the tomato now forever associated with stomach cramps and bile and bloating. He knew there was no way for it to be effecting him already, but his stomach clenched when he tried to lift another bite to his lips, and he set down his fork with a clatter.

Ian stopped eating.

“Everything okay, Mickey?” he asked, concerned. “You’ve barely touched your breakfast.”

“What are you lookin’ at my breakfast for?” Mickey deflected. “Eyes on your own fuckin’ plate, you’ve got yours.”

Ian obediently ducked his head, but still managed to catch Mickey poking a chunk of tomato away from everything else on his plate.

“You don’t like the tomato?” he asked, ignoring Mickey’s exasperated sigh at his interference. “I think they really add something.”

“Love them,” Mickey answered with a forced, toothy smile. “Just saving the best for last.” He stabbed at the tomato with his fork, spearing it, and lifted it to his lips to make a point.

“Yum,” he said around it as he chewed and forced himself to swallow. “See? Delic--”

Then he was up, away from the table, and running to the kitchen sink as it came right back up.

“Mickey, what the fuck?” Ian yelled, his chair sliding back with a screech as he hurried to join Mickey at the counter.

“Sorry,” Mickey managed, head still down, as Ian rubbed his back. “Think something’s wrong with me; didn’t mean to waste it.”

Ian’s hand stilled.

“Waste it?” he asked. “Mickey, what are talking about?”

“The tomatoes, Ian,” Mickey sighed. “I know you’re fuckin’ proud of ‘em or whatever, but I just can’t keep ‘em down.”

“Can’t keep them...” Ian started, then stopped. His hand fell away, only to reappear on the back of Mickey’s neck, forcing his to lift his head and look at him.

“Mickey,” Ian said firmly. “How long has this been going on?”

Mickey didn’t answer. Ian shook him, just lightly, then winced when it set him retching again into the stainless steel sink.

“How long have my tomatoes been making you sick, Mickey?” he asked again, quieter, and Mickey finally gave in.

“Few days,” he muttered, and Ian let go of him completely.

“A few--Mickey, it’s only been a few days. And I’ve been putting them in everything.”

Ian sounded worried, almost distraught, and that was exactly what Mickey had been trying to avoid.

“No, it’s fine,” he insisted, pushing away from the sink. He forced himself to swallow past the burning bile in his throat. “I’m not some fuckin’ pussy-ass kid, Gallagher, I know how to work through a fuckin’ stomach ache.”

If anything, that only made Ian look more concerned.

“I know you do, Mick,” he said. “But why the hell did you think you had to? Terry’s gone, we’re doing good; you know you don’t need to do shit like that anymore.”

Oh.

“You’re not upset?” Mickey asked, just to clarify, and Ian rubbed a hand over his face.

“Of course I’m upset, Mickey,” he sighed. “You lied to me for days because what, you didn’t want to look weak?”

“No,” Mickey said. “Cause I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

Ian took a deep breath.

“Mickey,” he said slowly. “I promise my feelings aren’t hurt just because you can’t stomach tomatoes. It really wouldn’t have been a big deal.”

Mickey shrugged. “I should be able to, though,” he said. “Ketchup, soup, fucking pasta--I eat all that no problem, and we just had extra sauce on our pizza last week. It’s just...”

He hesitated to say it out loud.

“Just my tomatoes,” Ian finished for him. ‘Right.”

Ian took a step forward, and took Mickey’s hand. He guided him back over to the table, sat him down--moving his plate away so he didn’t have to look at it--and joined him there.

“Mickey,” he started. “Maybe it’s not just that.” Mickey bit his lip, figuring that Ian cared more than he let on if he wanted to find some other excuse, but what his husband said next surprised him.

“I mean,” Ian continued, “it’s not like either of us had a lot of fresh ingredients around growing up.”

Well, he was right about that.

“And really fresh stuff, not processed, none of the preservative shit we’ve been eating our whole lives...well, it’s not your fault that your system doesn’t know what to do with it.”

“Still wish I could eat it,” Mickey grumbled, feeling a little better in spite of himself. “It makes you so happy, man, and I had to go and ruin it.”

Ian laughed.

“You didn’t ruin anything, you idiot,” he said fondly. “But next time I want to try something new, maybe we’ll take it a little slower, yeah?”

Mickey nodded.

“And maybe,” Ian added, “You’ll tell me there’s a problem before you puke all over our dishes.”

Mickey looked over to the sink, where sure enough, the majority of their dishes were piles and waiting to be washed, now needing it more than ever.

Oops.

“At least they were already dirty?” he said, and Ian smiled.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “At least there’s that.”

He leaned forward, and pressed a kiss to Mickey’s head. Then he grabbed up Mickey’s unfinished breakfast and a fork.

“Really, Gallagher?” Mickey asked. “You still wanna eat after that?”

“Why not?” Ian answered, mouth already full. “Besides, if you don’t like it,” he added, a stray piece of egg clinging to the side of his mouth, “then all the more for me.”

It was Mickey’s turn to grin, even as he watched the gruesome show that was Ian trying to eat.

Tomatoes or not, table manners or not, he really loved that man.

#daily speedwrite #super rambly #gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #fanfic #tw: food #tw: vomit

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crowsnests · 3 years ago

Text

taste of certainty - part three

Fandom: The Arcana Pairing: Julian Devorak x OC Apprentice (Syran Elkas) Tags: friends to lovers; modern times au; friend group dynamic; slow burn; pining; really just Julian being Julian and Syran being Oblivious Words: 7453 Warnings: mention of anxiety, migraines, insomnia, alcohol

part 1 2 3 4 5

playlist

I see the walls that are torn and bent The tug of war in the now, not yet Holding back what they can contain Can you tell me why I feel this way?

- trust; half-alive

III. sweet hurricane

Wednesdays are chill enough workdays, usually. It’s when Miss Eirsdottir has the least meetings, so Syran gets to calmly sit at her desk, processing new proposals and arranging schedules.

Not this Wednesday, though.

Miss Eirsdottir has Syran basically assist Varya in running all sorts of errands: moving from one side to the building to the other, carrying boxes of products for her to review, making sure the interns get the right coffees for the guests in the meetings, rushing to bring important folders to the PR office, assisting in said meetings. Varya is nice and helps Syran feel more at ease with the amount of workload, but it’s still quite stressful.

Syran forgot the days close to the launch of a new product could get so hectic. Her recurring migraine starts to make itself heard.

In the midst of it all, she gets a moment to catch her breath, during her lunch break. She goes and sits outside, despite the cold, on a bench in the courtyard inside the building. As she unfurls her lunchbox – a chicken sandwich, a carrot, and a bunch of blueberries – Asra and Pasha join her at the bench.

“Well, you look like shit,” Asra says, not even bothering with formalities as he sits down and opens his ricebox. A spiced scent trails out from it.

“Thanks, feel like it, too,” Syran answers, then bites into her carrot. Her head is pounding with pain and the nausea that comes with it doesn’t make her food look all that appealing, but she’s used to it at this point. She vaguely explains the reason for her exhaustion, her two friends nodding in understanding.

“Yeah, this week is tough, huh?” Pasha looks concerned as she takes out her lunch from her bag. A clear box with pasta in it and some orange juice.

“Yeah, pre-release is hell up in management,” Syran sighs.

“Well, at least you get to have fun next weekend! It’s gonna be a blast.” Pasha winks.

Syran looks at her confused, blinks a couple times, her brain slowly moving its gears together.

Asra looks at her pointedly, mouthing something.

Syran can’t decipher it, but a light goes on in her brain nonetheless.

“Oh shit, it’s your birthday! Yeah! Can’t wait for that!”

“You and Nadi always know how to throw a good party, I’m excited,” Asra smiles, bright eyes wrinkled up in joy. He does love partying.

Pasha laughs, then goes on to describe how she’s planned this carefully, how the theme is Vintage Masquerade, or something, and how she can’t wait to see everyone’s costumes. Asra engages with her eagerly, giving advice for decorations and getting excited over the food.

There and then, Syran realises two things.

One: she has no fucking clue what to wear to something like that.

Two: she’s supposed to see Ilya today and get Pasha a present.

As if summoned, her phone goes off. Ilya’s name on the screen makes her insides squirm but she opens the text trying not to arouse suspicion.

dr. hulian - 13:12 Do you think Pasha would like this?

Attached to the message, there’s a picture of a– well, a skull, looking pretty real and being held by what’s clearly Ilya’s hand. Syran finds it a little eerie, but she can’t hold her smile back.

To: dr. hulian - 13:13 Mmmh, maybe if you decorated it a bit?

She starts eating her sandwich, itching to get a reply, but acts as if it’s nothing. She gets back into the conversation with Pasha and Asra, trying to get distracted. Asra is now suggesting he could give tarot readings to the guests for a little bit during the party, Pasha seems elated at the idea.

Then, Syran’s phone vibrates again.

from: dr. hulian - 13:16 - You mean like this? - His name is Ferdinand, by the way

This time, the skull has a thin golden scarf with an intricate flower pattern tied all around, complete with a fancy bow on top. It’s ridiculous and endearing at the same time. Syran tries to stifle a laugh.

To: dr. hulian - 13:18 - hell yeah, ferdinand looks perfect in that, love it - where did he get that, looks extremely fashionable

from: dr. hulian - 13:18 - We stole it from nadia’s bag while she went to the bathroom. I suspect mere seconds before we get punished for our crime. - oh no, she found us

Syran laughs again, this time she can’t hide it as she types a reply.

To: dr. hulian - 13:19 - Just blame it on Ferdinand! i’m sure she’ll understand

“–kay, what’s going on, Syran?”

“Huh?” She blinks up at the two pairs of eyes scrutinising her.

“Who’re you texting?” Asra looks smug, ready to pounce.

“Looks like a pretty nice convo you’re having there.” Pasha adds, leaning forward to rest her chin on her hand.

Syran scrambles for a reply. There’s no way in hell she’s going to be honest with them on this, not today.

Or ever, probably.

“Just– Ran. She was showing me her dogs, back at home,” She smiles at the end, desperately hoping to sell the lie.

Pasha lights up at the word dogs, but Asra doesn’t seem convinced.

“Really? She never mentioned dogs to me,” He narrows his eyes.

“Oh, yeah, she has two mixed breeds and– and a parrot.”

I mean, it’s not as much of a lie as a past truth. Ran used to have two dogs and a parrot in her old home. Now it’s just one of the dogs, who’s gotten pretty old, too.

“That’s cute! Can I see?” Pasha eagerly leans over to glance at Syran’s phone, now sitting face up on the table.

“Uh– I– I guess–” just as Syran tries to make something up, the phone goes off again, this time with a call. Ilya’s name flashes on the display for everyone to see.

Syran just stares at it, startled.

“Well, aren’t you going to answer?” Asra suggests, teasingly.

Syran chuckles nervously, then reaches for the phone.

“Hello?”

From the other side there’s noises and two distinct voices arguing, albeit muffled. None of them talking to her.

“H– hello?” she tries again, this time genuinely confused.

“–ust for a second! Don’t get mad at me, come on–”

“–you should know better than to steal from me, Ilya,”

“Come on, Nadi– ust a joke!”

“–going to have a better excuse– this was a gift!”

Asra and Pasha lean closer to try and hear what’s going on, but Syran swats them away.

“Must be a butt dial or something,” she mutters, just as Ilya keeps talking and exclaims an apology.

Pasha rolls her eyes. “Is it my brother?”

As Nadia seems to reprimand Ilya more, Syran nods, looking confused enough for her friends to frown with her.

“– an excuse to talk!” Ilya’s exclamation gets Syran's attention.

“You’re a lost cause, Devorak,” This time Nadia’s voice is a little more clear.

“I know,” Ilya says.

When they go silent Syran tries again.

“Uhhh, hello?”

More noises. Something scrambling by the mic.

“Oh, shi– goddamn– hello? Syran? That you?”

“Yep,” She deadpans, avoiding Pasha and Asra’s eyes, “In the flesh.”

“Uh– did you– did you call me?”

“I believe you called me, Ilya,” she arches an eyebrow.

On the other side of the table, Pasha is making a kissy face and hugging herself, then mouths the word smooch. Next to her, Asra snickers. Syran rolls her eyes and turns on her seat, her back facing them.

“Ah. Right. Well, that was– not intentional. I was– discussing, with Nadia, you see.” Ilya utters, embarrassed.

“I figured,” Syran laughs, “Pretty important discussion, it seems.”

“Uh– did you hear much of that?”

Syran could barely understand, really. “Nope, mostly that Nadia’s mad about your theft.” She smiles.

“Yes, indeed. But Ferdinand and I will be okay,” He laughs, clearly more relaxed. “We fought hard and we lost our treasure, but we came out of it unscathed.”

“That’s not true–” Nadia chimes in from somewhere next to him.

Syran can’t help but laugh louder at Ilya’s theatrics this time, “Well, I’m glad you’re alive, at least.”

She is also glad that her friends can’t see her face right now, because it would be so, so, incriminating.

“So, uh, well,” Ilya continues, “Since we’re here, I was– I was wondering if you’re still on for later? For the– uh– secret mission?” Syran smirks at the way he whispers it, not subtle at all.

Suddenly aware not only of the pair of devils behind her, but also of the fact her and Ilya’s mission involves a surprise for one of them, Syran tries to not give herself away. She also probably needs to close the call, before she makes things worse for herself.

“Yep, yep, sure.” She says, quickly. “No worries.”

“Oh, great, so I’ll come–” Ilya starts.

“Yeah, work’s definitely busy today!”

“Uhm, okay, so– does that mean–”

“No, it’s fine!” Syran exclaims, trying her best to act convincingly. “Well, good luck with your– things!”

“Okay, bu–”

Syran hangs up before Ilya can finish.

“Wow,” Asra says from behind her.

Syran breathes in and takes a moment to turn back towards them, then hides her face in her sandwich.

“You two were straight-up flirting,” Pasha says, smile on her face.

Syran talks with a bite of sandwich in her mouth. “Do you even know what flirting entails? Because that was not it. That was a normal conversation. If that was flirting, then I’d be flirting with all of you. All the time. That’s not flirting.”

Cool, now she's talking way too much.

“Ah, the sweet taste of denial,” Asra sighs, dramatic and starry-eyed.

“Seriously, you guys are delusional.” Syran gives one last bite to her sandwich. “That was just an accidental dial, nothing more.”

“Yes, but why, oh, why, I wonder, was it to you? Were you so high up in his recent contacts?” Pasha squints at her, sly.

“You’re reaching. We all have a groupchat together, it could have been for any reason. You know how clumsy Ilya can be.” Syran shrugs, praying that they’ll let her live. Seriously, she does not deserve this torture. “Why are you guys so obsessed with this anyway?”

Pasha and Asra exchange a look, then they both lean back, in sync.

“Okay,” Asra states. He narrows his eyes and crosses his fingers on the table like he's a renowned detective, or something. “Let’s assume you’re right.”

“Which I am–”

“Did you mind, though?”

“What?”

“Did you mind that Ilya butt-dialed you?”

“What sort of question is that?” Syran widens her eyes, taken aback. Really, why are they so stubborn.

“Just answer, perp!” Pasha points a finger at her. Now it really feels like Syran is in an interrogation room.

“I have nothing to answer, because that is a stupid question.” She closes her lunch box with finality, looking straight into Pasha’s eyes.

“Admit it!” Asra slams a hand on the table, “You enjoy talking to him!”

Syran groans, exasperated, “Of course I do, he’s my friend! It would be mean if I didn't!”

Pasha and Asra smile at each other, “We got her, chief.” Pasha says.

“You got nothing,” Syran glares at them, “I’m going back to work.”

She gets up and gathers her things, ignoring the chorus of booos coming from her friends.

God, she loves them to bits, but they can be so annoying at times.

🂱

Somehow, she manages to slither away from the others and get back home safe.

After having sent Ilya a few explanatory texts and having agreed to meet at a cafe nearby, she finally takes a look in the mirror.

She really does look tired. Without distractions around her, the migraine is harder to ignore. She takes a relief pill and washes her ruined makeup, her face feeling cleaner. The heaviness of the day is starting to take a toll on her, she can feel it in her muscles.

When she checks the time, she realises that she’s going to be late if she doesn’t hurry up.

Quickly, she reapplies her makeup as best as she can, then throws on some clean and more comfortable clothes.

Persephone meows at her from the foot of her bed; it’s almost as if she’s smirking at her, knowing more than she lets on.

“Oh, not you too,” Syran pleads.

🂱

When she arrives at the cafe, Ilya is waiting by the entrance, casually leaning on the wall behind him. She takes a moment to look at him while he’s distracted by his phone, all perfectly styled auburn hair and dark clothes. She hates how good he looks.

(She doesn’t hate it, really, but she’ll die before she admits it.)

When he meets her eyes, a big smile sparks on his face.

“Hey,” she waves. “Hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

“Hey,” he echoes, “Not at all.”

“Shall we?”

“Ah, yes, uh– should we get some coffee to go, first, since I owe you that?” He smirks, but then his eyes glance down to the side straight away. “That’s if– if you want, of course.”

“Sounds great!” Syran nods, delighted at the thought of a hot beverage in her hands.

The cafe is cozy and warm, most of the tables are filled with people chatting or working on their laptops.

As they wait in line, Ilya and Syran talk a little about their days, how Ilya’s research is driving him insane, how Syran’s boss gave her a hundred errands until late.

“Yikes, that must be tiring,” Ilya says, concerned, as they wait for their drinks.

Ilya has ordered a black coffee with a splash of milk, Syran has opted for a matcha latte. She likes coffee, but on days like this it makes her a little too jittery.

“Yeah, I mean, no more tiring than any other job. Plus, I learn a lot. Miss Eirsdottir is tough, but she’s brilliant.” Syran finds herself fiddling with her hands. “Hopefully one day I get to do more of the parts that I really love, though.”

Ilya smiles down at her, handing her the drink. There’s a glint in his eyes that makes Syran feel light. “I’m sure you will.”

Finding a present for Pasha isn’t as easy as they thought. They scurry through shops, trying things, looking at clothes, bags, books, videogames, jewelry, vinyl records– they contemplate wine at some point but realise Nadia would like that more. Then they go back to books, but nothing seems right.

Syran would lie if she said she isn’t having fun, though. Despite some moments where she really wishes she could hide her blush, she and Ilya fall into a rhythm made of jokes, laughter, chatter, and comfortable silences.

It’s nice. Really nice. It's. You know. Friendship.

Eventually, they walk by a window that’s displaying a various array of scarfs, ranging in colours and materials.

Syran does a double-take and spots a muted orange one that makes her think of Pasha immediately.

“That one!” She exclaims pointing at the glass.

“Huh?” Ilya seems taken aback, interrupted in the middle of his story on how he once got his hand stuck in a vending machine.

“Look at that scarf, isn’t it perfect for Pasha?”

Ilya squints at the glass, trying to figure out what Syran is pointing at. “The orange one?”

“Yep! It looks so pretty!” Syran turns to him, beaming, “We should go see it!”

Ilya nods, smiling back.

The scarf turns out to be even better than they thought. It’s made of soft and light cotton, with a delicate golden pattern woven on the edges. Ilya seems elated, saying that she will love it, right? Will she love it, Syran? I think she will.

Syran smiles at his excitement, glad to see him happy about the choice. The clerk wraps it up in a beautiful gift box, eagerly explaining how the cotton is of a refined but durable quality, it makes for perfect everyday use, but also works really well for more elegant events. Ilya listens intently, as if he’s trying to remember all of it to then tell Pasha.

Ilya has a big smile plastered on his face as they exit the shop, then he turns to Syran and hugs her, all-encompassing. She’s startled, but she gingerly hugs him back.

“Thank you so much, seriously,” He mutters in her hair.

She really really hopes he can’t hear how loud her heart is beating this time.

It’s not a crush.

Is it?

When he pulls back, they’re both a little flustered. “Ehm– I mean, yeah. Thank you.”

Syran is still trying to regain herself from the sudden hug, but something in Ilya’s tone makes her wonder.

“Can I ask you something?”

Ilya seems a little surprised by the question, but nods nonetheless. “Sure.”

“Why were you so worried about this? Besides the regular stuff you told me, like. What are you really worried about?” More than out of curiosity, Syran is asking because she can sense that there’s still something bothering Ilya.

He blinks, eyes wide. Then he looks down, as if caught in the act.

“Well– I– to be honest, it’s been a little tough lately, and the work at the university isn’t helping. So I haven’t been able to be there for Pasha as much as I’d like.” He sighs, but Syran gives him time, sensing that’s not the whole story.

He looks at her, visibly worried now. “And. Well. Pasha and I have– not always been close. Our parents divorced when we were fairly young and we took different paths after I graduated high school. I left, wanting to get away from it all, and she stayed. I made mistakes, resented her for it. We argued a lot, eventually had a big fight, and– didn’t talk for a while after that. It didn’t feel good, but I was reckless and hurt and too prideful.”

He looks so sad Syran can’t help but reach out to hold one of his gloved hands. Then, he smiles, although a little bitterly. Syran thinks she sees tears in her eyes. Her heart drops to her stomach.

Ilya continues, “I mean, we fixed things in the past years and now that we live in the same town it’s great, but– I still feel like there’s an unspoken distance. I fucked up so many times before–” He cuts himself off, like it pains him to go on. “So– yeah, I just want us to get close again– I feel like I need to make it up to her, somehow.”

He blinks the tears away, chuckling nervously. “God, you must think I’m an idiot.”

“What– no!” Syran’s chest is tight. She never imagined Ilya had all of this inside. She knew there was some sort of situation between the two of them, but Pasha never liked talking about it much.

“I–I think you’re very thoughtful. And mature for wanting to own up to things. It’s heartwarming to see how much you care,” She continues under his cautious stare. “Look– I don’t know, maybe it’s not my place, but I don’t think you need to make anything up to her. You’re a wonderful brother and person. Look at how much thought you’re putting into this! Whatever happened, I am– I’m sure she knows how much you love her. I can see how happy she is to have you back in her life, too – well, in between all the bickering.”

Ilya laughs at her last words and she joins, happy to see him smiling again.

Then, her gaze softens. “I think you will be just fine. You are trying really hard, you should give yourself a break.”

Ilya smiles, gentle. Then, he seems more relieved. “Thank you. You’re– uh. Quite good at pep talks.”

She winks, “I know.” She can’t help but squeeze his hand a little. He squeezes back. Syran feels a little dazed and her chest feels a little tight, her and Ilya exchanging a soft gaze.

She’s so fucking gone, it’s no use ignoring it.

It might just be a crush.

Then, Ilya’s eyes widen, and he gasps. “You still need a present!”

“Oh, yeah,” Syran realises, waking up from her thoughts, “We don’t have to get it right now, though, I can always–”

“Nope, you helped me, now it’s your turn! Let’s go!”

He drags her through more streets like he’s a kid on a mission, it makes Syran laugh. They stop at various shops, once again searching for something perfect.

She can’t deny it, though, there’s a newfound feeling between them, maybe one of strengthened trust. They’re both laughing more, feeling more comfortable with each other than before.

Finally, a small antique shop catches Ilya’s eye. Syran walks back to look at the window with him.

It’s filled with various objects, old pocket watches, silver paraphernalia, old vases and pots, ragged dolls. Ilya seems enthralled by an old model ship, perched precariously on a small shelf.

“My grandma used to have one like that in her house,” He smiles, fondly. “I demanded to play with it whenever we visited, but she always told me it was too delicate to even look at, let alone touch.” He laughs. “I’d get all whiny then, but I get it now.” He turns to Syran, almost a little sorrowful.

“Some things are just too delicate to be reckless with.”

Syran blinks at him, ignoring the blood rushing to her ears. She turns to look at the ship again.

“I don’t know,” she says, “It looks pretty sturdy to me. It might not be ruined, but now it’s sitting in a dusty display.” She turns to him and shrugs. “Isn’t it better to enjoy things while they last, instead of holding back? ”

She’s not sure they’re talking about the ship anymore– Ilya’s gaze on her makes her breath hitch in her throat.

She turns to the window again, flustered. As she stares intently, she realises that there is a little jewelry display on the bottom. In the midst of overly ornate rings and delicate pendants, she notices what looks like a brooch.

“Hey, what do you think of that?” She points at it, hoping that Ilya will see it amongst all the things.

He leans over her shoulder– too close to her, it takes all her might not to wince, ignoring the butterflies eating at her stomach. “Which one?”

“The– uh– the little brooch with the flowers?” She looks closer. It seems like real dried flowers encased in resin. They’re small and of a pale yellow, with a few crimson ones, on a white background. A delicate pattern made of golden metal frames it.

Ilya gasps, “That looks wonderful! It might go well with the scarf too!”

Syran agrees, although she hadn’t thought of that. She swallows, then suggests they head into the store.

As she talks to the owner, Ilya looks around the shop, curiously admiring the various displays. The brooch is even more beautiful up close, and the shopkeeper explains to her how this is special and one of a kind. Promises that she will give Syran a good price for it. She thanks the woman, and asks if she can wrap it as a gift.

“No problem, dear,” The lady says, reaching for a little red satin bag. As she fills it with some cotton to shield the brooch, she glances up at Ilya, who’s now looking at a small display of old books.

“Those ones are almost all first editions, you know,” she tells him.

“Oh– really?” Ilya turns, eyes filled with wonder. “They seem well preserved!”

“Of course,” The lady nods, delicately putting the brooch inside the bag, “I only get the best quality things.”

Ilya laughs, then moves onto another window. The lady slowly ties the bag with a textured ribbon, “Your boyfriend’s got a good eye,” she whispers.

Syran’s eyes widen, and she starts to stutter. “Oh– n– he’s not– we’re not together– he’s not my boyfriend.” She matches the shopkeeper’s tone, hoping that Ilya hasn’t heard them. Luckily, he seems too enthralled by the various objects to notice.

The lady throws another look at Ilya, then raises an eyebrow with a sly smile. “Are you sure?”

Syran doesn’t know how to answer for a second. Then she nods, slowly. “Yeah, uh. I am.”

When they leave the shop, Syran sighs in relief. Partly, because she’s got a present she’s really happy with. And also because she’s out of the shopkeeper's enquiring gaze.

“Happy?” Ilya asks her, smiling.

Syran looks up at him, startled. “Ye–yes! Very! I really hope she’ll like it.”

“Oh, she will,” he reassures her.

As they make their way back, Ilya starts wondering about what to wear at the party.

“I mean, I love her, but what sort of theme is Vintage Masquerade? Like, couldn’t she pick something simple? I don’t know, casual party attire?”

Syran laughs, although she agrees. She has no idea what to wear either.

“I mean, you kind of got it easy, you could throw on some slacks, a shirt, and some suspenders or something. Or a vest. Those are vintage.” She shrugs. She doesn’t know much about this stuff, really, but she does like dressing up. That is, when the theme is clear and easy.

“I guess– not even sure I have a vest, though,” Ilya ponders.

“Well, hey, you’re going to have to ditch your bomber jacket anyway.”

He gasps, fake offended. “Excuse me, this is my piece of resistance! Keeps me warm and looks amazing!”

Syran laughs it off, “Sure, but– still doesn’t quite hit the mark, does it?”

Ilya huffs like a pouting child. It’s endearing. “Whatever, I’ll figure something out, I guess.” Then he turns back to Syran.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What are you gonna wear?”

Oh. With all the business of the day, she had forgotten to look for clothes or even think about it. Again.

“Uhmm–” She thinks back to her wardrobe. Mentally scans through her more formal things.

“Dunno– I guess I have a lilac dress I could wear? It’s kind of vintage? It’s the best I can do, honestly.” She huffs a small laugh, but the more she thinks about it the more she thinks the dress will be fine.

It’s made of a light and flowy material, with a high neck that closes with a few small buttons, leaving a drop–like window on the chest. It’s a delicate dress, but the knee-length skirt and cut are vintage-inspired, at least.

“That sounds nice,” Ilya hums. “Now we just gotta find some masks to go with it,” he sighs.

“Oh, well, we have about a week for that, at least.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Ilya frowns as if he’s trying to think where he could possibly find a mask.

“Although I think Pasha said there will be an array of masks to choose from at the party? Nadia knew a place or something, I think it’s to prevent people from showing up without one,” Syran realises with a smile, thinking of Pasha’s resolve and Nadia’s attention to details.

“Well, one less thing to worry about then,” Ilya sighs. “Although I hope to find one that works with my look. I’m a man of fashion, after all.”

“You could always make one,” Syran cackles, playfully hitting his arm. “And you didn’t know what to wear until I told you!”

He laughs back, teasing. “Hey, doesn’t mean I can’t dress at all!”

Syran’s smile only gets wider. It stays like that even after they’ve parted ways.

🂱

Syran doesn’t know how she got roped into this.

It all started with Asra and Nadia inviting her out for a few drinks– sure, it’s a Friday night, what’s a cocktail going to do?

So she got ready, wore one of her favourite outfits just as an incentive to feel more like going out, and met Asra at their usual place.

Except, when she arrived at the Raven, Asra and Nadia weren’t the only ones sitting at the table. A familiar head filled with auburn hair was sitting next to them, too.

Syran joined them, all smiles and greetings, and then dived immediately for the bar– anything to escape Asra’s knowing smile, Nadia’s attentive eyes, and Ilya’s annoyingly pretty face.

The bar isn’t too crowded, but thankfully still enough for her to blend with the people around her. She leans at the counter, waiting for a familiar face to greet her. Tonight Joon is working, which makes her smile. Since she and Asra have been coming here, he’s quickly become friends with them. She orders and idly chats with Joon as he makes her drink.

“Getting the usual?” A deep voice startles her.

Oh, she really can’t escape this shit.

She looks up at Ilya, who’s smirking at her. She does feel more relaxed around him now, but there are still moments like this, where he sneaks up on her and all of her blood rushes to her cheeks. To add insult to injury, Syran’s eyes can’t help but trail to Ilya’s outfit. He’s wearing a sleek black turtleneck that fits him like a glove. She doesn’t know if she hates this more or the shirts with the unbuttoned tops.

She turns back towards the bar, “Yep. Oaxaca old-fashioned all the way, baby.”

She taps her fingers on the wood and leans a little forward to look behind the counter, where Joon is just about to hand her the glass.

She grabs it with a smile, carefully taking the first sip. “Ah– you’re the best, Joon. Thank you.”

“Anytime, dear,” Joon winks at her. She loves him, honestly, and not only because he’s nice and handsome. He genuinely makes her laugh and has helped her more than a few times when unpleasant patrons have bothered her.

“Well, good, because I’ll definitely be back for another one,” she smirks and winks back.

Joon laughs, then turns to Ilya, “what can I get you?”

When Syran looks up at Ilya as she takes another sip from her glass, she notices the weird expression on his face. He’s almost frowning at Joon, but she brushes it down to his bushy eyebrows. He can unintentionally look like he’s glaring at people, when the light is right.

Then, he turns to Syran with a sly smile, “You know, I’ve never had an Oaxaca old-fashioned.”

She swallows, then puts the glass down, “You should! The ones Joon makes are god-tier.” Syran suggests excitedly.

Ilya seems to ponder on it for a second, “Mhh– but what if I don’t like it?”

Ilya’s never struck Syran for the indecisive type. But then again, maybe he just really wants to get a good drink right now. He seems to come to a realisation, just then.

“Ah– what if I tried yours?” He asks, genuine, but with a weird glint in his eyes. Syran did not expect the question, it leaves her a little dumbfounded.

“S–sure, why not–” She hands him the glass, and he grabs it, eagerly.

“Thank you,” Ilya proceeds to take a small sip from the glass, and Syran can’t help but notice that’s almost where she drank from, his lips dangerously close to the subtle stain of her lipstick.

Syran throws a glance at Joon, who’s patiently waiting for them. He shoots her a questioning look, raising an eyebrow. She just kinda shrugs.

Ilya puts the glass back on the counter, “That’s actually really really good.” He looks at it like he’s surprised.

“Told ya’,” Syran smirks.

When they get back to their table, equal drinks in their hands, Nadia and Asra are animatedly engaged in conversation. They kinda stop when Syran and Ilya arrive, turning to them with coy smiles.

Asra notices the drink in Ilya’s hand and then gasps, “Wow, she convinced you? She’s been trying to get me to drink that since forever.”

Syran rolls her eyes, “I gave up, you clearly only like extremely sweet shit–”

“And happily so,” Asra mocks her, then turns to Ilya again. “You actually like it?”

Ilya nods as if he doesn’t see what the fuss is all about, “Yeah, it’s really good.”

“It’s not as bad as you make it to be, Asra,” Nadia chimes in.

Ilya shrugs, then takes another sip. Syran can’t help but smile proudly at Asra, like she’s won an ongoing battle between the two of them.

“Well, it’s good to see you both have clearly similar tastes,” Asra says, before carefully drinking from the straw in his tall glass, filled with a bright pink cocktail. Both Ilya and Syran widen their eyes.

“Ah– guess so,” Ilya chuckles.

“Yeah,” Syran mutters, glaring at Asra. “Anyway, you guys noticed how they changed the backlight of the sign behind the bar? I actually like it better now,” Syran starts, trying to sway the conversation.

Maybe it’s not as graceful as she’d like, but it works. They all start talking about the bar and its decor, how they’ve always loved this place; time passes by and soon they’re all a little flushed and tipsy, except Nadia, who’s the designated driver for the night.

Then, at one point, Asra’s eyes trail behind Syran, and they widen in shock.

“Oh shit,” He says, crouching down as if to hide behind his drink. Nadia puts a hand on Asra’s back, concerned.

“What?” Both Syran and Ilya turn towards where Asra looked, trying to figure out what happened.

“Don’t look, you idiots!” Asra whispers, angry. “Valerius is here! Shit!”

Syran then realises, “Oh, fuck, really? I thought he didn’t come here anymore!”

“Yeah, well, he’s by the counter. Shit, fuck!”

“Who’s– uh– who’s Valerius?” Ilya asks, clearly confused.

“Asra’s awful ex,” Nadia explains, “he was an asshole and we all hate him, viciously.” She’s got fire in her eyes, and Syran knows she is mirroring it herself.

“He fucking– he cheated on me and then said it was my fault. It was– it was fucking awful.” Asra looks like he’s about to cry. Syran wants to reach for him and hug him. She knows Asra’s wound is still fresh and knows how hard it was for him to move on from the hurt.

Ilya sneers, “That’s disgusting.”

“Damn right,” Nadia adds, glaring towards where Valerius is.

“Hey, it’s okay, we can leave if you want,” Syran reaches out for Asra’s hand, trying to reassure him.

He shakes his head, sneaking another glance, “Then he will have won. Again.”

“No, he will not,” Nadia declares, “If he says anything we’ll beat the shit out of him. Fuck, even Joon will be on our side on this.”

“Nadia’s right,” Ilya adds, “Plus, I’ve dabbled in bar brawling before.”

It makes the table laugh, if a little, but it lightens the mood. It doesn’t last long, though.

“Shit– is that? Is that Lucio? Are you fucking kidding me?” Asra says, now even angrier than before.

“Oh, hell no–” Nadia goes to get up, but Asra holds her down.

“Nadi no, I just– I don’t want to see them.”

“Do you want me to drive you home?” Nadia asks. Asra nods, gingerly.

“That’s cool, Asra, we can go–” Syran starts.

“Not all at once, though–” He says, resolute. “I don’t want to draw attention.”

There’s a joke Syran could make there about how Asra doesn’t exactly blend in the crowd, with his flashy fashion and white hair, but she knows that wouldn’t make him laugh right now– clearly, all he wants to do is disappear.

“How about this,” Nadia says, turning towards Syran and Ilya, hand still on Asra’s back, “I’ll take him home and you guys enjoy the rest of your drinks. You’ve barely started these glasses, while we’re almost done. You call me when you’re finished and I’ll come back to pick you up, okay?”

“Nadi, you don’t have to–” Ilya starts, but she waves a hand to interrupt him.

“It’s no problem, really,” she smiles kindly, “You guys just enjoy the night, yeah?”

Syran looks at Asra, now clearly on the verge of tears. Whether they’re from hurt or anger, she can’t tell. Probably a mix of both. But he knows what she’s about to say nonetheless.

“Don’t worry, S,– I’ll be okay, yeah? I asked you to come out, it’s just fair that you enjoy your time. Seriously.”

Syran nods, resigned, knowing how stubborn Asra can get. “Okay but–”

“I’ll call you later, promise.”

“Promise,” Syran retaliates. A concerned frown doesn’t leave her face, even as Asra and Nadia carefully slip out the table, then towards the end of the counter, well hidden from Valerius’ attention. Syran spots Nadia talking to Joon, probably asking him to let them out through the back.

And just like that, Syran is left at the table alone with Ilya, both of them in awkward silence, staring at their drinks. Finally, Ilya speaks.

“I’ve never– I’ve never seen Asra like that.”

Syran looks at him, notices the worry in his features as he twirls the glass in his hands.

“Yeah, he tries to hide his feelings, when he can, the idiot,” she smiles bitterly; stars know how many times she’s tried to tell Asra that bottling it all up doesn’t help anyone.

“I can understand that,” Ilya looks up at her. “I hate to pry but– who’s–”

“Lucio? The guy Valerius cheated with. Also, Nadia’s ex of like–” She tries to do mental math. “Four? Years ago?”

“Yikes,” Ilya just says, taking a big sip of his drink.

“Yep– it’s– a lot.” Syran sighs, “We thought he was going to be out of our life after Nadia broke up with his ass, but– guess not.”

She inhales, exhausted only at the thought of all that happened in the past. Things were definitely messier than now. She takes another swig of her drink.

“Well–” Ilya smiles, putting his glass down, “what if we did something about that?”

The glint in his eyes is mischievous, and Syran raises an eyebrow from behind her drink.

“What do you have in mind?”

🂱

Pranks have never been something Syran thought about. Never felt the need to fill someone’s shoes with toothpaste, or hide a fake spider in the bathroom, or whatever it is that the kids do these days. She always felt bad for those people in prank videos that get visibly hurt.

But this– she didn’t mind this one bit.

She and Ilya are running out of the bar, lungs filled with laughter, as Lucio and Valerius’ screams fade behind them. They run long enough until their legs give up, and even then, they find it in themselves to keep laughing.

“Jesus– their face– priceless!” Syran heaves out.

“I told you–” Ilya adds, big smile not leaving his face, eyes all crinkled up and blush on his cheeks. “Cranberry juice always works–”

They haven’t done anything that spectacular, really, but Syran will realise this later, when the adrenaline has rushed out of her. Right now, spilling juice on those two idiots’ white clothes and making Lucio trip on his ass was enough to make her night.

“Didn’t expect you to punch Valerius, though,” Ilya grins at her, as if impressed.

Yeah, and that too.

“Me neither– I don’t condone violence, but–” Syran finally feels her breath coming back to her, “–but, god, he deserved it.”

“Sure did–” Ilya laughs with her, adjusting his coat.

They stare at each other for a few seconds, all smiles and excitement, rush of electricity that Syran hadn’t felt in a while. Not like this.

“Well–” Ilya starts, “Maybe we should– uh. Go?”

“Yeah– I could call an uber?” Syran suggests.

“Actually, I was more thinking, like– I can walk you home, maybe?” He seems almost scared to ask for a second, but then his features relax. “Honestly, I feel bad calling Nadia now and it might be good to shake the alcohol off.” He looks up at the clear sky. “It’s a nice night, anyway.”

He’s right. It’s hard to see stars from the city, but the moon is bright and beautiful.

Syran doesn’t quite know what to say, though she agrees with not bothering Nadia. She is probably busy taking care of Asra right now, and that reassures her a lot. But Syran’s house is a good thirty minutes walk away, not to mention that Ilya would have to walk back through the city for more than that.

“I– I don’t know. It’s a long way for you– and it’s late–”

“Syran, I assure you that I’ll be fine, I like walking.” He chuckles, “If anything, I know you will punch whoever gets in our way.”

Syran laughs, although a little flustered under Ilya’s endeared stare. “Yeah, I’m basically a pro wrestler now.”

They end up chatting along the way, although the cold winter wind catches up on them, but they don’t mind that much. They’re too distracted by their conversation to think about that.

Getting to know each other like this, casually, with no pressure, without inhibitions, has become natural to them. They get to talk about things that they never addressed, make jokes that seem so dumb and niche they are surprised when the other laughs.

Ilya was the last one to join their group of friends, so she can imagine he felt a little distant from everyone else at first. But it’s been over a year now, and the group feels really solid, like pieces of a puzzle fitting together with harmony.

Still, Syran always felt like her and Ilya never really got to talk much like this, just the two of them. And maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the way Ilya makes her feel at ease, but she doesn’t feel as skittish around him anymore.

Sure, her heart still jumps when he laughs, and any little brush of their arms makes her breath hitch, but– but– there’s not much of an excuse for that, other than she’s clearly got feelings for him.

It is a crush. A heavy one at that.

But she can live with it, she can just enjoy their friendship and not act on them.

They are close to her building when they are laughing at a story Syran is telling, of one time where she and Asra got lost in a park and thought a ghost was haunting them.

“I swear, Asra tried to act all brave, but–” in the middle of the phrase, a strong fit of pain hits the side of her head. She had managed to ignore the creeping migraine until then, but suddenly, it feels like her brain is about to explode. She holds a hand to where the pain is, eyes shut and slightly crouching forward.

“Syran? You okay?” Ilya reaches a hand to her shoulder, tone immediately shifting to heavy concern.

“Yeah– just– I get migraines– sometimes,” she mutters through the pain.

“That’s not good,” Ilya says. “We’re almost to your place, you think you can make it?”

“Ye–yeah– sorry–”

“Why are you apologising? Had I known, I–”

“Don’t want you to worry,” she utters, finally feeling like she can open her eyes a little, “I’m used to it.”

It does nothing to ease Ilya’s concern though. If anything, he seems to worry more, reaching to fully encase Syran in his arm, supporting her as they walk.

“Really, I’ll be okay,” she says.

“Yeah, I’ll believe that when you’re home and feeling better,” He scoffs, his hand rubbing up and down Syran’s arm. “Don’t forget I’m basically a doctor.”

It makes Syran laugh a little, “Right, Doctor Devorak, ready to help.”

“Is that a mocking tone I’m sensing, Miss Elkas?”

“No–” Syran says, teasing, although through the pain, “I wouldn’t dare.”

Ilya laughs, then seems to hold her tighter. “Almost there.”

They finally reach her building, and she gingerly gets out her keys to open the door.

“Thank you,” she turns to say goodbye to him, “Get home safe.”

But he just stares at her. “Didn’t I say I’ll stop worrying until you’re home?”

Syran chuckles, “But I am–”

“Yeah, I meant home home. I’ll take you up–” then he widens his eyes, catching himself. “That’s if– if you’re okay with that, of course.”

Syran thinks about it for a second, but the pain is too strong to argue right now. She just nods and mutters a okay, and goes to let Ilya through before her.

Sometimes things just don’t go as planned, though.

As she’s about to follow behind him, something hits her shoulder, and hard. She turns just in time to see someone running past her, then she loses her balance and hits the floor.

The last thing Syran sees before passing out is Ilya’s hands reaching for her.

#an writes #fic writing #julianxapprentice #julianxsyran #julian devorak #portia devorak #ilya devorak #pasha devorak #nadia satrinava #lucio morgasson #asra alnazar #muriel #the arcana fic #the arcana #part 3

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mind-of-a-hardstan · 5 years ago

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Apple Pie

Pairing: Hoseok x reader

Genre: angst, post-breakup au

Warnings: cursing

Summary: It’s been months since you broke up with Hoseok, and Jimin finally convinces you to go out with the gang again. It doesn’t turn out exactly as he said it would, though, and things go downhill rather quickly.

Word count: 1.8k

A/N: A little post Christmas angst. This is rather short, but I’m actually quite fond of this piece. Please let me know if you liked it, I live on attention :)

“My mom asks about you, you know.”

The words didn’t surprise you. Hoseok’s mother always liked you. Liked that you baked good apple pie, liked that you knew how to sew, liked that you genuinely loved her son.

So the words didn’t surprise you. What surprised you, however, was that Hoseok said those words to you in the first place.

You looked at him. His face was passive, but his lips were slightly pressed together. It almost made you smile. Not the hurt that was hidden there, but the fact that you could still pick up on it even months later.

It would have really made you smile if it didn’t hurt so damn much.

“Oh… I’m sorry,” was all you could say. What else was there to say? Nothing. There was nothing to say to make this any better. So you looked away instead and focused on the shitty food of the shitty restaurant that Jimin dragged you to.

And you cursed him for it. The conversation still rang in your head, clear as a bell.

“You need to come out with us again. We all miss you.”

“I know but… Hoseok will be there and I just – I don’t want to make things awkward, you know?”

“You won’t! We’ll just seat you two far away from each other and you know the conversation goes in fifty directions anyway. You don’t have to talk to him.”

“Jimin… I don’t know about this. I don’t want to see him. Not… it hasn’t been long enough.”

“It’s been two months –” you went to interrupt him, but he held up his hand to silence you “– and I know it’s been hard. But we’re your friends too, and we miss having you there.”

And then he pouted, and you’d already lost.

Obviously, as there was always chaos in this ungodly, perfect friend group, things didn’t work out as everyone planned, and you ended up sitting right next to Hoseok. And no one noticed until everyone was settled in, so you couldn’t move without making things awkward.

And now things were awkward. And things hurt. And you really hated Jimin. And you couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that Hoseok’s mother misses you and that he brought it up in the smallest voice you’d ever heard him use.

And it fucking hurt.

“Why are you sorry?” Hoseok asked. There was kindness tucked into the words, a small smile came with it. But the small smile almost unsettled you because whenever he smiled, he smiled big and lit up the whole room like sunshine. It was never small and it was never sad. He wasn’t supposed to be sad. He didn’t deserve to be sad.

God it fucking hurt.

“Because,” you said and picked at your food, “your mom still asks about me. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to linger in your life like that.” Because you don’t deserve the hurt that lingers with me.

“Nah, it’s okay. Honestly! I’m sort of… letting you linger, if that makes sense? And my mom just wants you back because you never did give her that pie recipe.”

You softly giggled and picked at your food some more. You didn’t feel like eating. The pasta was too salty and the sauce was too runny and maybe it had something to do with the fact that you just didn’t want to be here.

“I might email it to you. But make sure to tell her that she better not do a better job than I did. That’s my spotlight,” you said, trying to lighten the conversation.

The others were talking merrily, oblivious to the fact that you wished you were that piece of spaghetti swimming in what was supposed to be a bolognaise sauce.

Jimin eyed you every now and then, but he was sat across the table so there wasn’t much he could do right now except for giving you a sorry pout. You kept your eyes away from him, avoiding that look at all cost, knowing that you’d fall for it and that you loved him too much to stay mad at him. But you wanted to stay mad. So you looked away and pointedly ignored him.

Hoseok chuckled and shook his head, looking down at his food also. “I don’t think she could, even – even if she tried.”

You swallowed heavily and looked down again, unable to face him. He always said that you made the best apple pie. You literally had to get creative in hiding it after you baked it to make sure he didn’t find and eat the damn thing in one sitting.

You learnt your lesson after the first time. You found him at two in the morning on the kitchen floor in his underwear with a fork hanging from his mouth and the wide, guilty eyes of a kid who got caught stealing cookies out of the cookie jar.

“Hoseok!”

“I’m sorry! I couldn’t help it, it was taunting me, I swear!”

You were livid that night, but he made it up to you and now memory made you smile.

“She’ll manage. The recipe is easy,” you said more to your pasta than to him.

“I know. But it wouldn’t be you who baked it,” he replied softly.

That shut you right up. Because yes, it wouldn’t taste the same because it wasn’t you who baked it. Just like how hot chocolate tastes watery now, no matter how much milk or cocoa or sugar you put in there. And just like how you can’t stand olives on pizza now, because even though you always disliked them, Hoseok used to eat them off for you. And just like how the bed sheets smell like nothing now, completely empty, even though they used to bear Hoseok’s musky scent.

So yes. Of course the fucking apple pie wouldn’t taste the same, because there’s no one to hide it from him, there’s no one to catch him eat it, there’s no one to dish him a double serving with more ice cream.

Did he cry over store bought apple pie like you cried over hot chocolate from the coffee shop?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Hoseok said and snapped you out of your downward spiral. You would have bet anything that he knew exactly what was going on in your head. You smiled at him, as genuine as you could manage, and he mirrored it.

“No, not at all. Honestly. I like – I like talking to you.”

Not a lie, not the truth.

“Hey, Y/n, how’s the spaghetti?” Taehyung yelled from across the table – bless him – effectively grabbing your attention.

“Watery and salty, why?” you said back with a smile.

“Because I’m still hungry.”

“You just had a whole steak, Tae. With chips and onion rings. There’s no damn way you’re still hungry!” Seokjin said, wildly throwing his hands in the air.

“I’m a growing boy and I need my nutrition, damn it!”

“You stopped growing two years ago!” you laughed.

“You’re being a pig, Tae!” Jeongguk chimed in from next to you.

“Yah, I’m still older than you. Use your honorifics!” Taehyung scolded, waving a fork at the boy. You laughed when Jeongguk chucked a rib bone at Taehyung and Tae reached to grab something off of his own plate, only to find it empty.

The pout that formed on the boy’s lips made you throw your head back in laughter.

“I’ll get you back for that, brat.”

“Oh, yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?”

“God, I missed you.”

Hoseok.

Hoseok said that.

Hoseok said that to you.

“What?”

Those infernal words that you feel in your very fucking soul but refrained from saying because it’s supposed to be wrong. You’re not supposed to say them out loud because they hurt. And that hurt goes both ways.

But there was a smile on his lips. Not a small one, not a fake one. A real, genuine smile.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s a shitty time to say it. I know it’s probably shitty to say it to you either way. And I don’t mean anything by it. I’m not expecting anything because of it. I just – I did. I missed you. It’s just a truth that I’m telling you. I missed you. So goddamn much. Every goddamn day. And seeing you laugh just now made my heart all warm inside. And I want to see you more. And I understand that we can’t be in a relationship, no matter how much I want it. But maybe we can be friends? I just want to see you. I’m not ready to fully say goodbye to you and being friends with you is already more than enough. More than I deserve. I understand if you say no. Just… can we consider it?”

Everything inside of you froze. The world outside continued on. The boys created chaos, as they do. The restaurant was bustling. The street was crawling with people trying to get home as fast as possible. The world just kept on turning. And your heart stopped cold in your chest.

But you looked at him, locked eyes with him, and saw the shitstorm brewing in his own head. And you smiled. Not the smile that you’ve been plastering over your lips for the past few minutes. A real smile, but not the smile he gave you. You smiled a bitter smile that displayed hurt so openly that Hoseok visibly flinched.

“I missed you too.” There. The words burnt your throat like acid, but they were out. “But I don’t think we could ever be friends, Seokie. I love you too much for that.”

Hoseok’s face didn’t fall. The words didn’t make him flinch. He already knew that, you realised. He wasn’t surprised, because he already knew that it was true, he just needed to hear it to be sure. He needed you to say those words so he could stop hoping.

“I’m sorry, I need to go. I can’t… I need to go.”

You didn’t say goodbye to Jimin on your way out.

Two days later.

22:46 You: flour, brown sugar, white sugar, cinnamon, butter, 8 apples, lemon juice, nutmeg.

22:54 Seokie: Where’s the rest of the recipe?

22:56 You: You don’t need it. Just have those ready for me on Saturday at your place.

22:56 Seokie: What happened to ‘we can’t be friends’?

22:57 You: I don’t intend on being your friend. We can talk about it over apple pie and hot chocolate on Saturday? You: If I’m not too late?

22:58 Seokie: Yes. God yes. You’re not too late. Seokie: Saturday at 9am?

22:58 You: See you then, Seokie. Good night.

22:59 Seokie: Good night, Y/n Seokie: I can’t wait.

23:00 You: Neither can I.

#bangtanhq #jhope #jhope angst #hoseok #jung hoseok #hoseok angst #jhope fanfic #hoseok fanfic #jhope fanfiction #hoseok fanfiction #bts #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts fiction #bangtan

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cassiopeiassky · 5 years ago

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When Everything’s Made to be Broken (I Just Want You to Know Who I Am) Part 52

You guys are the absolute best, most patient readers ever. Thank you so, so, so much for waiting on this, and like every other slow update over the past year and a half that my life has been a raging dumpster fire. I love you all.

Also I am a needy carrot that needs love and affirmation please send love and affirmation

Plot: When you inadvertently become a witness to a murder and are suddenly a target for death, it takes a specially skilled soldier and his team to keep you and your family safe.

This will eventually be a is a reader x Bucky fic. The reader, by the way, is a civilian. No super powers, no fighting skills, and by no means perfect.

Word count: 2431

Warnings:

For the entire work: Language (I have a potty mouth), violence, and angst. This will probably get pretty dark later on, and there will be smut. If that’s not your thing, you may want to avoid this story.

Additional warnings specific to this part: Tooth rotting domestic fluff, some angst if you squint. PTSD mentions/symptom descriptions.

***I do not own any of the lyrics/music in this story, so please don’t sue me for using them***

Tags moved to the end.

WEMtbB Masterlist

Previously on WEMtbB:

Bucky joins you in the bathroom a few minutes later with a pile of clothes for you both. “Take as long as you need, Sweetheart,” he presses a kiss to the back of your neck as he wraps his arms around you. “Just keep in mind that every time your stomach growls, I’m gonna think you’re ready to pass out. You’ve had IV fluids but haven’t eaten since we were on the jet.”

You smile at his reflection in the mirror as you lean into him, intensely grateful for how much he cares for you and for getting back these little moments with him. “I won’t take too long, I promise. I just want to get comfortable.”

Eyes soft, he nods.

You both exhale.

Fingers entwined, Bucky leads you out of the bedroom exactly 18 minutes later. The gently lit hall leads to an elevator and one other door.

“There are two of us to a floor,” Bucky murmurs into the quiet as he gestures with a nod, “That’s Steve’s room.” He pushes a button and the doors silently slide open. “The kitchen and common area are a few floors down.”

You follow him into the elevator, doing your best to ignore the feeling of claustrophobia that sneaks up on you. This is new; tight spaces were never a problem for you before. Goddamn it. You suppose you should get used to it, at least for now. “Where are we exactly?” They’d mentioned it earlier, but you can’t remember all the details.

His gaze cuts to you but he doesn’t say anything about the sudden tightness in your voice. “Upstate New York, just off the Hudson.” When you nod without replying, Bucky pulls you into a tight hug and firmly rubs your back. “You’re safe here, Sweetheart. I promise. We moved you here because it’s quieter than the tower and there are a lot less people. No one here can or will hurt you.”

You nod into his soft t-shirt and breathe. Of course you’re safe here. Goddamn PTSD. The elevator door opens and the ominous feeling disappears. Mostly. “Whew, that sucked,” you mutter as you pull away.

Bucky nods with a half-hearted smile. He understands. “It’ll get better, Sweetheart.” He wraps his arm around your waist and leads you forward into another hall. “The kitchen is just around the corner. If you want I can make you something while you rest on one of the chairs,” he gestures to the breakfast bar as you enter the area.

“Um,” your eyes dart around the room, taking in the generous space, “would it be okay if I did the cooking? I just, I kinda –“

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. Just make sure you take a break if your leg starts to bother you.”

It was the answer you’d expected, but now you feel like you don’t know what to do or even where to start. Oh for fuck’s sake, you know how to cook, you chastise yourself. “Can…are there certain things I can use? Or –“

“You are free to use whatever you’d like, Miss Kiddo,” FRIDAY suddenly offers. “The pantries were freshly stocked in anticipation of your arrival, and Mr. Stark has asked me to inform you that you are to make yourself at home. In fact, the kitchen has been rearranged to match your home as closely as possible, so you should be able to find what you need without too much hassle.”

The gently accented voice startles you and you struggle to digest the unexpected information. “Miss Kiddo?” you blurt as Bucky ducks his head to hide a smile.

“Isn’t that your name?” It’s almost comical how the AI sounds confused.

“Kiddo - it’s what Stark calls you,” Bucky gently reminds you with a soft chuckle. “You’re free to correct her, if you’d like.”

Your mouth opens, closes, and opens again before you finally answer. “Well, yes. Yes he does.” It’s strangely comforting to hear, and after what you just went through it’s exhilarating that you have a choice in the matter. “Yeah, FRIDAY, that’s fine.”

It’s silent again as Bucky waits on you to start moving…and then your stomach growls again. Right. Food.

Finally stepping into action, you open the fridge to see what’s available and then quickly assess the pantry. Damn – it’s like an entire grocery store is at your fingertips. Okay, so you can make pretty much whatever you want, but you haven’t had chance to make such a simple decision in so long that it’s a little overwhelming; you have to make a conscious effort to slow your racing thoughts. It’s just food, you remind yourself, and you can have whatever you want. So, what do you want? Something simple and quick. Absolutely no potatoes. Your stomach growls again, protesting at still being empty. You definitely want something satisfying.

Mind finally made up, you set some water to boil in a large, deep frying pan as you pull out some pasta, butter, cream, garlic, a few seasonings, and a package of chicken breasts that looks like it’s already been grilled.

“You can thank Barton for that,” Bucky chuckles from the breakfast bar as he watches you, chin in hand. “He offered to make supper for the team after a mission, and everyone got food poisoning because he was in a hurry and undercooked the chicken. Stark has made a point of having ready to eat protein available since then. If you want, there’s usually fresh stuff on the shelf below, toward the back.”

“No,” you murmur, “this is fine.” It’s more than fine – grilled chicken would be ideal for your pan alfredo, and as happy as you are to be in a kitchen again, you’re also grateful for the shortcut.

Your mind quiets as you settle into a rhythm. Salt the boiling water and add the pasta. Cut the chicken into strips, set aside to mince the garlic. Grate the cheese. Drain the pasta into a strainer and return the pan to the stove. Throw in some butter and sauté the garlic, then toss in the chicken and pasta. Add a few generous splashes of cream followed by the parmesan. Just a few turns with the pepper grinder, a few sprinkles of parsley, toss everything together until the cheese is melted and…done.

Damn that felt good.

When you turn around you see that Bucky has set out two plates at the breakfast bar, a loaf of crusty French bread, and olive oil along with a jar of dried spices for the oil. “You’re perfect, you know that?” you smile as you dish out the alfredo. You feel relaxed. Peaceful.

He shakes his head with a soft smile as you finally take the seat next to him. “Nah, but I love that you think so.”

Sitting as close as possible, the two of you eat in silence. The familiarity wraps you in warmth and although it takes a few minutes, you recognize the feeling as contentment. Yes. This is good.

A yawn creeps up on you. “Hey, what time is it, Love?”

He finishes chewing before answering. “A little after one a.m.”

Ugh. It feels later…or maybe earlier? You don’t know. Jetlag, surgery, and a massively fucked up sleep schedule before that is making you feel like time is just an illusion. Then again, maybe that’s the exhaustion. “So dishes and back to bed?”

Bucky plants a kiss on your forehead as he stands. “I’ll get the dishes later, Doll. But first, dessert if you have room.”

“Bucky, I feel like a bottomless pit right now,” you admit as you ruefully eyeball your empty plate. You thought you’d made more than enough pasta, but Bucky clearly has his appetite back and you feel like your body is trying to make up for lost time.

He doesn’t bother with plates as he slides a pie onto the counter and cuts into it with his fork. Not wasting any time, you do the same. “God, I love you.”

His fork pauses midair as he watches you from across the counter. “Are you talking to me or the pie?”

“Yes,” you manage around a mouthful of flakey, buttery crust and perfectly baked apples. When he nods and chuckles, you take another bite with an appreciative hum. It’s not just that it tastes good – it’s delicious and is clearly from a bakery that knows what they’re doing – it also brings an immeasurable amount of comfort. The filling tastes like your mom’s; if you had to guess you’d say that these are probably Haralson apples like the ones she grows in her back yard. The best pie apples in your humble opinion. The sweet-tart bite that hits the back of your cheeks brings you back to the crisp October days of your childhood and you can almost feel the golden autumn sun and smell the fallen leaves. That’s where the resemblance ends, though. She can’t make a decent homemade pie crust to save her life.

You can’t believe how much you miss her, but you’ll get to talk with her in a few hours. And your babies. Finally.

“Hey, I have a question for you.” Bucky has stopped eating and is watching you intently.

“Okay.” You nod for him to continue as you take another bite – just because he stopped doesn’t mean you want to.

He looks down, hooks his hair behind his ears, then stands up straight. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was nervous.

“Well…”

Scratch that. He is nervous. That makes you nervous and sets you on edge, so you put down your fork and hold your breath. “Buck, what is it?”

Bucky takes a deep breath, but can’t shake the hesitancy in his voice, “Well, I know we have a lot going on, and I know that our relationship hasn’t exactly been conventional.”

“Okay…” The food you just ate starts to feel like a lead ball in the pit of your stomach as contentment gives way to concern and your insecurities rear their ugly heads.

He’s quiet for what feels like forever before he blurting out, “Can…can I start courting you? Take you out on real dates, like a normal guy would do for a girl he’s sweet on? I know it’s kinda backwards and all but I really wanna do right by you.”

Well, that wasn’t at all what you were expecting. Taken by surprise, you blink before you answer, “Yeah. I’d like that.” You both give each other dopey smiles as you continue, “I’d like that a lot.”

He takes both of your hands in his as his grin fades to earnestness. “I want you to know I’m serious about you. About us. That I meant everything I said at the safehouse, and since I got you back – every damn word. But I also know that we’ve been through a lot and things might get tough, so I thought that dating – real dates – might help with the transition.”

Nodding, you continue what you now understand to be his train of thought. “You and I – we are incredibly fucked up right now. Like, massively, absurdly, almost can’t believe our brains even function levels of fucked up. And it would be incredibly naïve for us to just assume that we could fly back home in a week or two and just go back to the way things were. It’s not going to be that simple.” You hesitate as an uneasy thought occurs to you. “You are coming home with me, right? You don’t have any, um, avenging to do?”

His nod immediately puts you at ease. “Yeah, Sweetheart – as long as you’ll have me, my place is with you. You are – we are – my priority. I’m taking an extended leave of absence from work so I can put my entire focus on us and getting better.”

You had hoped you would have some time with him, but you also realize that he does have a job, even if that job is nothing short of extraordinary. “Really?”

“Really. And Sweetheart, it might not be simple, but it’s not gonna be impossible, either. Maybe just a little complicated for a while till we get our heads sorted out. Being with you has been the easiest thing I’ve done in my life.”

You can’t help but nod along with his words – it’s the truth. And in realizing that, a small piece of your broken psyche glues itself back together.

“So…” Bucky is almost bashful as he releases one of your hands to take another forkful of pie, “I know it doesn’t give you much time, but what do you say to dinner and a show tomorrow night?”

It makes no sense at all that you have butterflies in your stomach, but you do. “I’d really like that.”

Bucky exhales as if he’s relieved. “Great! Great.” He flashes an almost impossibly bright smile. “I’ll pick you up at 5:00.”

Did you miss something? Aren’t you sharing a room with him? “You’ll what?”

He winks at you, causing those butterflies to take flight yet again. “It’s a date, Doll. I’m gonna give you the space to get ready – I’ll get ready in Steve’s room – and then I’ll pick you up at 5:00.”

“I…okay,” you laugh as you squeeze his hand, loving how light you feel.

“Speaking of getting ready, it it’s alright with you, Nat will come by tomorrow morning and pick you up to take you shopping.”

“Shopping?”

Bucky smiles so broadly his face could split in two, “I’m taking you out on a date tomorrow night. Finally. This is something I’ve wanted to do for months, and all I could manage was that night at the barn. But now? Doll, we’re on my turf, and you’re both safe and free. I’m going to take you on the first date you deserve, the one I would have taken you on if I had met you under different circumstances. So,” Bucky lifts your hand to his lips, “you’re gonna need a dress,” he kisses your knuckles, “and whatever else you would want to get ready that you don’t already have here. I want my girl to have everything she needs or wants to be comfortable. Besides, if things go the way I expect they will, the way I pray they will, you’re gonna need a drawer of your stuff here anyway so you don’t have to pack as much when we spend time in New York.”

You’d be lying if you said that last sentence didn’t make your heart skip a beat. “Okay.” You don’t bother elaborating – he knows that you’re agreeing to more than just a date or shopping.

“Yeah?” The happiness in his eyes is enough to make your breath catch.

“Yeah.” You take another bite of pie as you smirk. “You know, it’s going to be hard to top our first first date. That was pretty fantastic.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Nope, just a fact. That was seriously the sweetest, most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me.”

He smirks, eyes smoldering. “Doll, you’re gonna get the full Bucky Barnes treatment – the barn date was me with one hand tied behind my back. I’m gonna knock your socks off tomorrow.”

Anticipation spikes your blood – somehow, you believe him, but you can’t miss the chance to gently tease, “We’ll see.”

Tags:

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfic #my work #when everythings made to be broken (i just want you to know who i am)#part 52 #wemtbb

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vands38 · 4 years ago

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things i wish someone told me about coeliac disease (UK edition)

apparently some doctors are still not telling coeliacs what they actually need to know so here’s some fun facts --

*coeliac disease is likely to go undiagnosed if you don’t have digestive symptoms. for a lot of folks, their first symptoms are odd things like weight loss, bloating, mouth ulcers etc that take ages for doctors to correctly diagnose as coeliac disease. I know someone whose only sign was tingling in her fingers (nerve problems are a Thing sometimes). I don’t wanna freak folks out but check this list of symptoms and if you’re worried, ask your doc for a blood test to check for coeliac disease. I went in and out of my docs for years with various symptoms (mostly from the anaemia) and no one caught it until I was finally having noticeable digestive trouble.

* coeliac disease an autoimmune disease. not an allergy. not an intolerance. when you eat gluten, your gut just screams NOPE and throws everything out of there.

* this means if you keep eating gluten you will have serious long-term health problems because your gut can't absorb shit

* as I mentioned, anaemia is one of these associated health problems. a lot of people have this at diagnosis b/c your gut hasn’t been absorbing the nutrients it needs. it leaves you very weak and tired, and the longer it goes on, the worse it gets.

* long-term anaemia / malnutrition causes so many fucking health problems I can't list them all. basically, if your body sucks, there's a good chance it's a side-effect of your coeliac disease going undiagnosed. I got shitty joints and a shitty heart and shitty bones and godknowswhatelse and every time my doc is like "hey, guess what? it’s coeliac disease!"

* you know what a common side effect is? LACTOSE INTOLERANCE. this is because, once again, your gut hates you from all that gluten you've been killing it with, so it starts to muck around and kick out other things too. but good news! most of the time this is reversible!!! lay off any lactose for a couple of months, reintroduce it to your diet slowly, and you -- like me -- might be a-ok

*some folks with coeliac disease can’t digest oats either as they contain a similar protein. I found that I was kinda squiffy with them at first but as soon as my gut had calmed down I was a-ok with GF oats (this is good b/c 99% of good GF biscuits are made with oat flour, RIP to everyone that can’t eat them)

* so... your bones are probably fucked. if you were diagnosed early and your doctors are on it, you might be okay but for a lot of people it means osteopenia, and further down the line, osteoporosis (meaning it's v easy to break bones). you need to be eating, like, double the regular amount of calcium every day. most people are put on calcium tablets with combined vitamin D (to help absorb the calcium) but even on top of that, you need to be getting a lot in your diet. If you're still lactose intolerant then switch to lacto-free versions of dairy products or eat tofu like there's no tomorrow. It's super important that you get enough.

* relatedly, bone health!!! You should be doing MODERATE impact exercises like jogging to strengthen the bones but nothing high-impact like tennis. load-bearing exercises are good too. here’s some examples (in detail) given to me by the rheumatology dept

* people have different sensitivity levels. in the UK, certified gluten-free products have to be 20 parts per million or less, but in the US this is 100! marmite lives somewhere between these two and can cause some coeliacs to have a reaction. please be aware when you eat international gluten-free foods that they might have more parts per million than your body is used to

* because you're super sensitive to gluten, not only do you need to check the bold allergens on the ingredients, but the small print too. it might say "made in a factory that handles gluten" or "may contain traces of gluten" and that’s a no-go

* similarly, be careful in restaurants. Apparently it's still perfectly legal for restaurants to say a dish is "gluten free" and then put your nice GF bread in the same fucking toaster as regular bread and have you shitting your pants for days. Just because the ingredients are GF doesn't mean they're cooking it in an allergen-conscious manner. If its not a Coeliac UK certified restaurant, always ask about their methods. Is that milkshake made in a GF blender? Is your fry-up cooked in a separate pan? The first time I got glutened after my diagnosis it was because my GF naan bread shared a tray with a regular one. A lot of places won't even fucking think about this stuff.

* if you're in a gluten-eating household, you've got a big expense coming up. you need to buy a GF toaster at the very least and I would recommend also a separate baking tray (because pizzas, garlic breads etc stick to that shit like no tomorrow) and a saucepan (or anything else that regularly contains pasta/noodles/etc). You'll also need a separate bread knife and board. Separate butter. Separate strainer if you're the type to drain your pasta. Line anything suspicious (e.g.your sandwich toaster, a communal baking tray) with baking parchment. Don’t use bare rungs in your oven or hob. And buy separate spreads and condiments, unless your household is very well trained in not dipping their crumb-covered knives into those things. I've even got separate plates, kitchen utensils, and cutlery. It seems extreme but I haven't had a cross-contamination incident since. Just think: has gluten touched this? And if so, do your best to minimise the risk.

* living GF is expensive long-term too. GF bread costs twice as much as regular bread. Restaurants often charge extra for GF alternatives. I had to switch from having toast in the morning to cereal because it's much more reasonably priced. I eat more fruit than I ever have before just because GF snacks cost so much. I used to have breakfast bars lol say goodbye to that shit unless you wanna be broke

* things I didn't realise I couldn't eat: crisps (a lot of your standard crisps are made with ??? production methods), candied nuts (most of these are made in factories that handle gluten), soy sauce, strawberry laces and a whole bunch of fave sweets (contain wheat starch to bind them - check this list for safe sweets), marmite (you can buy a GF yeast extract that is only 50% worse than the original)

*good food you actually can eat: most cadburys but not most nestle, GF beer which tastes exactly the same, schar pretzels are actually the shit, so are their BBQ pringles and those little chocolate bars with hazelnuts, Morrisons free from frozen mini hash browns will cure your depression, M&S do these bacon tortilla rolls which... OH BOY. Quiche alternatives are pretty damn good but I've yet to find a pizza that doesn't make me want to cry.

*speaking of supermarkets... Morrisons stock a good range of stuff and tend to have everything in one aisle, M&S have many yummy (and expensive) treats, Sainsbury's has good own brand things including bread, Tesco's are fairly decent and stock a lot of baking things, ASDA are the king of GF cake, if you're still lacto-free then Waitrose sell LF cheese including halloumi, and check your your local hippy food store because I found the best goddamn bread in mine (Incredible Bakery Company - you are £4.50 a loaf but I have no regrets)

*party risks: if there's a BBQ, insist that your things go first or have a separate BBQ, or, if worse comes to worse, just eat cold snacks. (Beware of sausages! Many aren't GF!) If its a chip and dip situation, either everything has to be GF (easily done) or have your own dip. BUFFETS ARE LITERALLY OUR WORST NIGHTMARE. the amount of coeliacs I know that have been glutened at one are INSANE. even if those tasty treats are labelled 'gluten free' they've probably be contaminated. everything at a goddamn buffet is contaminated. Dinner party? Well meaning friends will want to cook for you but unless their kitchen is set up as above, it's safer to bring your own food -- if you're very lucky, you will have friends who take the time to learn about allergens and will clean every item in their kitchen before cooking and serving an entire GF meal. these friends are to be treasured -- nay, worshipped.

*fast food. there’s no good way to put this but you’re never having that guilty pleasure 2am burger again. mcdonalds fries are miraculously GF though. (a lot of takeaways recycle oil so even if the ingredients are GF it’s often not safe but mcdonalds always use a separate fryer for chips). indian takeaway is great as most dishes don’t contain gluten. on the flip side, you’ll only be able to have about 5 items on the chinese menu (soy sauce is in everything, yo) so be prepared to learn those 5 items by heart. dominoes do Coeliac UK certified GF pizza!!! (buuuuut not during covid). chains like pizza express have got our back and will even serve you GF doughballs

*coeliac UK are your best friend! most of the things I’ve mentioned are described in detail on their website. they also have a barcode scanner app that will tell you if foods are safe, and they have a restaurant guide, and useful things like translation guides for when you go abroad.

That's all I've got right now but hmu with any questions or corrections. Take care of yourself, folks. <3

#coeliac disease #celiac disease #gluten free #info post #allergens #i just could not see another incorrect comment on the coeliac uk facebook page without doing something #i'm sorry #i'm well aware this is of interest to approx three followers #but #someone might need to hear all this #because my god i definitely did when i got diagnosed #long post

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berlinaura · 5 years ago

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The trip to Poland was legendary. We had no expectations and no prior information of the whole city before we went so it truly was an adventure. Our first impression was that Szczecin smells like chocolate. Apparently there is a chocolate factory there! The buses reminded me so much of the bus in Harry Potter and he prisoner of Azkaban. I flew towards this elderly lady and judging by the look on her face she said something like “watch out, idiot!”. As I couldn’t say anything other than “sorry!” I said to my friend “we really need to learn some basic polish vocabulary” to which a random passenger offered to teach us “hi” (pronounced: “djen dobre”), “thank you” (pronounced: ”djen kujä”) and “sorry” which ironically I cannot remember how to pronounce.

All of the buses didn’t have a screen which show the next stop and because it was dark, guessing by the surroundings was hard too. We mostly used google maps and tried to guess when is the right time to press stop. We also tried to pay a ticket to the bus driver who then guided us with a “no! machine” to a ticket machine on the back of the bus that only accepted coins (which we did not have). The bus system wasn’t bad though, it was just interesting. Google maps evaluated that he distance of one bus stop we took every day (with a 3,8 km distance!) would take us 6 minutes with a bus. We were there in a minute. Also, the buses ALWAYS came on time to the minute. Szczecin bus drivers are hardcore!

At night we went to a restaurant with good ratings. It took as about an hour to walk there because there seemed to be some kind of obstacle between our hostel and our destination. It was already dark so we had no idea what mine field there is against us so we decided to trust google’s instructions:

At midnight as the restaurant closed and we had completed some intensive drinking we of course forgot about this situation and just started to follow our “gut feeling” of where the hostel is. At first we circulated some company’s yard by walking next to some fence and then ran across railway tracks. Suddenly we realized we are now at some field surrounded by hay that’s taller than us. “Let’s go deeper” we thought and the hay field slowly turned into a forest. My friend started to panic because she felt like we were in a horror movie scene. I tried to think logically “just imagine there’s light here. If this all was happening during daylight, this would be so ridiculous! There’s nothing to worry about!”. A second later I heard noises in the bushes and was SURE there was something in there. A human, a deer, a rat. Suddenly I wanted to get out ASAP.

We started half-running along our path but it turned out to be a dead end. The road led us to an abandoned cottage. Then we saw what had been making noise in the bushes. FREAKING CATS. Their eyes just reflected the light I projected towards them from my almost dying phone. We decided to follow them. They took turns leading us. One cat started jogging along the path, checking every once in a while if we were still following it like some shepherd dog leading its sheep. Then it stood by the road and another cat appeared from the bushes and jogged in front of us. After a while we started hearing car noises and THIS is the moment we realized we were in the area all along that we avoided going to on our way to the restaurant. As we go to the hostel room we laughed our asses off.

The next day we went out for breakfast and I had the best brownie I have ever tasted. We were told that Berliners often go to Szczecin for shopping because the prices are lower than in Germany. To be honest, I noticed the cheap prices only at restaurants, cafes and bars. We went to two shopping centres and he price range was quite usual in my opinion. Mid-shopping we wanted to moist our throats (this does NOT translate well to English but I am using it anyways) so we visited cafe22, a restaurant/bar in the 22nd floor of some fancy building. We were expecting high prices but actually the price range was the same there despite the view. The view wasn’t that nice to be honest. I looked at he city and thought to myself “This is exactly what I thought Poland would look like”. Everything was grey, made out of concrete and/or dilapidated. Cloudy November afternoon sure didn’t do any favors to the view. Nevertheless, it was a place worth going. Fancy atmosphere, strong drinks and cheap prices.

We obviously had to check out Waly Chobergo, a building complex which is probably the most popular attraction in Szczecin. We even saw around 5 tourists there! In the evening we went to a restaurant which served one of the best meals I have ever had. They put seeds an cherry tomatoes into my pasta and it was so delicious I had to buy them and try imitating that dish when I got back to Berlin. After this we started our pub crawl that we ended around 2 in a “film bar”. We realized we have to wait for the bus for 50 minutes so we decided to go to a bar nearby and it turned out to be so cozy! They had this movie theme there, so the lighting was dim like in movie theaters and the seats where old red movie theatre seats. There was a big screen where Kill Bill was playing (without sound but with subtitles). Some people were focusing on the movie while some people just hung out as in a normal bar. I thought that this would be the best place to have a first date in: if you run out things to say, you just look at at the movie and you can even talk while the scene is on! But if you feel like talking and getting to now the person, you can do that without others expecting you to shut up. Such a cute concept. With a good luck, there might even be those in Berlin...

On our last day we went to out for a breakfast again (I was living my best life with my omelette and pancakes!). Quite extempore, we decided to go on a tour to an underground museum afterwards. I had no idea what the tour was about but turned out it was a bomb shelter in the WWII time in Szczecin. It was mind blowing to think that people actually stood where I was standing. The signs on the walls were still there. One of the signs for example forbid gossiping in the bomb shelter. Talking about Hitler’s decisions, about how Germany is doing in the war and/or causing mass hysteria used to be forbidden there and could be punished by even death.

The tour was incredibly interesting! Szczecin used to be a part of Germany that time, and a huge industrial city. The world’s fastest ship of that time for example was manufactured in Szczecin. The city was bombed into ruins during WWII. Being such a industrial city was a big reason why the Allies were interested in attacking it. We had just been spending two days there knowing nothing about the place and its history so after the tour I felt such a Kulturbanause (= someone who just goes to cultural places without wanting to really get to know the place and its culture, only where the mall and bars are). We should have went there on the first day I think. Afterwards we headed back to Berlin, completely drained.

A few weeks later I met a Polish girl here in Berlin and asked her where she was from. When she said she’s from Szczecin and I told her I visited it, her response was “WHY THE HELL”. I don’t know. My question is: why the hell not.

Soon was the time for the first christmas market of the year: Gendanmenmarkt. Me and two friends went there after a Tuesday. I remember studying in the library, almost deciding not to go but went anyways. 1 hour later I was chilling there in the middle of christmas lights, glühwein in my hand (and all over my scarf ahem), dancing to live music that the most random band ever played. I swear they were all high! In this christmas market we started our PICKLE HUNT that lasted almost a month. I visited around 10 different christmas markets this year and at every christmas market the mission was, in addition to chugging glühwein, checking the price of the pickle decorations. We, the pickle bandites, soon noticed that there is no logic in the way Germans price their pickle decorations. Some of them were 3,50€, some 9€. A few days before leaving to Finland for christmas, me and a friend went to the Alexanderplatz christmas market again and finally got our pickles. I already know this will be one of my most valued possessions after coming back.

The chrismas markets also varied in the way people behaved there. We noticed that in the christmas market in Zoologischer garten people were super aggressive and it was guaranteed that someone would bump into you and spill your glühwein all over. The one at Potsdamer platz was not one of the best but that evening escalated to cocktails at Que Pasa. We were originally supposed to just search a bathroom before going home but it just so happened that this goddamn restaurant with its cheap cocktails was the nearest one so of course we had to stay for cocktails. A similar thing happened with Alexanderplatz christmas market (the first time). We decided to go to a “pub” which turned out to be this huge German oktoberfest-like room where people danced on tables and sang Schlagers. My favorite christmas market however was either the first one we visited (Gendanmenmarkt) or the one in Quedlinburg.

In the beginning of December I attended another organized trip like the Dresden one. This time we traveled to Quedlinburg which is a cozy old town in Saxony-Anhalt. The buildings in this city are medieval and therefore the old town is on the UNESCO world heritage list. We had so much fun on this trip with our Wanderlust-squad! We played car games in the bus, shared life trauma and basically made the rest of the bus hate us. In the evening we also visited Magdeburg which was a city that I for a second considered to be my exchange city. I can’t stress enough how grateful I am I did not went there. I mean, the there was nothing wrong with the place. After Berlin it just feels incredibly small.

We decided to go clubbing with the Wanderlust-squad. I am so looking forward to this!

Around this time I also said “fuck it” to school work, downloaded Tinder and started living my best life on tinder dates. I guess I need to censor my text a bit so let’s keep these adventures mysterious.

12.12. there was an international dinner organized by my university. Everybody was supposed to bring traditional food from their home countries and enjoy the christmas feeling with other international students of TU. Me and my swedish friend and her swedish friend who was visiting made potatoes and meatballs. They were super good! But so were the food of the others, I gotta say. This event exceeded my expectations. There was free glühwein, people sang. It was almost like a sittning but at the same time nothing like it. I tasted a Turkish food which was spicy af but I tried my best to keep a straight face. Gotta say that some Swiss chocolate cake was the one that stole my heart.

After this, we decided to continue the evening to a pub. At this point we were at our campus which is in west Berlin (Charlottenburg) so the choice of pubs was quite narrow. We heard a tip from a local though of a bar called “Klo” (=“toilet”) and it sounded so interesting that we just had to check it out. It was one of the weirdest bars I have ever been to! It was like a horror house at an amusement park mixed with humor, toilets and drinks. The wall decorations just started talking out of nowhere. The staff made announcements and sometimes just turned off the lights. At one point our table started going up and down... The list just goes on. I ordered a shot of Cointreau because I remember it being good when I chugged a whole bottle of it on a cruise in August. The bartender asked me if I wanted to have it with ice and I had no idea how people normally drink it (probably not straight from the bottle, the whole bottle in one evening) so I just went with the flow and said yes. “What the actual fuck! Nobody drinks it with ice! What’s wrong with you!” was the answer from the bartender. Mission FAILED. I then asked why they offer ice with it if it is unnatural. “I have to say it. It’s my job. It hurts my soul to ask it”. “Okay, no ice then” I said. The bartender came back with my Cointreau shot and... ONE ICE CUBE. This place was so confusing that it is hard to find words how to describe it. Anyways, the evening was super nice once again and now I feel like I am one experience richer.

Two days later the buddies organized a pub crawl. Me and a friend already had a few glühweins beforehand because we wanted to check out a cozy Markthalle in Kreuzberg (Markthalle Neun) and I have to say that their bio-glühwein is the best glühwein I have tasted so far. It was SWEET AND DELICIOUS. Hopefully Markthalle neun is open in January (and still have glühwein) because I really need to go back there.

When the pub crawl started, the buddies asked ME to lead us to the best pubs. We were at Warschauer Strasse and even though I have heard it is the best place for partying, I had never went out there. We just walked to some direction, a bit away from the main street to find cheaper prices and went into the first pub we found. After drinking a few beers there, we decided to get some wine from Späti and go to a dorm party at Sigmundshof. It is on the other side of Berlin so naturally we had to use the S-bahn trip as efficiently as possible.

On the last week before Christmas I went to Sido’s christmas show in Columbiahalle. I still have no idea how I managed to get this ticket. The show was amazing! He picked up people from the audience to the stage and asked them to sing christmas songs, gave presents to audience, picked people from front row to get drinks from the minibar... There were Casper and SPD as surprise guests. I suprised myself that I still knew the lyrics for “Ne Leiche” even though I listened to it like 4 years ago. I know I hype things so much that it starts to lose meaning but I think this show goes to at least the top 5 things I experienced during this exchange.

My exchange ends 31.3. In 2 days I have spend half of it. For the past few days this has been making me extremely sad. At the same time I want to just make the most of the time I have left but at the same time I really want to do something in order to stay longer. At first I thought about applying for an extent but I really don’t think it is a good idea to study nonstop from October 2019 to May 2021. One of the downsides of doing an exchange study as a master student is that there is really a pressure of graduating and I really worry about getting work experience before I graduate. This is why I now start looking for a job, not extremely efficiently but still applying for even a few jobs here and see if it is possible to spend the spring and summer working here in Berlin. If it doesn’t work out, I will return to Finland to work, cherish the half year I spend here and be forever grateful I ever left.

#berlin #erasmus #exchange

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wrathofthestag · 6 years ago

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My Darling, My Sandwich

Summary: When you don't know how to say hi to the cutie you see on campus, sometimes you just do kooky things to get their attention. A Zimbits AU meet cute. For @devereauxsdisease. Also on AO3...

ERIC

“I think it needs some more parmesan,” Eric said as he tasted his pesto.

“Dude, it looks so good. Can I have some?” Larissa asked as she stared down Eric’s pesto.

“Back, you fiend,” he said with a laugh and put the cover on the food processor. He pulsed it as he added more cheese and olive oil.

Larissa leaned against the counter and waited for Eric’s final verdict. He dipped his spoon and tasted. He offered her a taste and both nodded in agreement.

“Perfecto!” Eric said.

Larissa added a healthy dollop onto her bowl of plain pasta.

“Thanks, man. Lunch is served,” she said as she hopped onto the counter and began to dig in.

“You’re lucky I love you as much as I do, you mooch,” Eric said with a smile.

He spread the pesto on his homemade ciabatta, added the buffalo mozzarella, slices of heirloom tomato, and gave a quick glug of olive oil. He took the prosciutto out of the toaster oven and put it on top of the tomato, then added the other slice of bread, and plated the sandwich.

“You gonna take a picture?”

“Totally on it. Behold the world’s most perfect sandwich,” Eric said as he took several photos with his camera.

“Now all I have to do is take this over to Professor Atley and sweet talk my way into her Women, Food and American Culture class.”

“Dude, it’s kinda scary that you managed to find out what her favorite sandwich is,” Lardo said.

“I have my ways,” Eric said as he wagged his eyebrows.

He wiped his hands and took the plate. Eric loved cooking in the student kitchens. He loved everything about Samwell, actually. He loved the diversity, the inclusivity, the fact that it was a traditional four-year college, and he could major in culinary arts. Because of that, he had friends that were econ majors (like Adam), bio (like Justin). There was Chris who was a computer science major, and of course, Larissa, who was his best friend and one of the best artists on campus. He loved his school and would love it even more if he managed to get into Professor Atley’s class.

“Wish me luck,” Eric said as he walked out with plate in hand.

Eric whistled as he made his way out the student kitchens, through Building C---which was a handy-dandy shortcut to the Culinary Arts Building---and through the block of student dorms. Just as he passed by dorm 115, the door opened and out popped one of the most gorgeous guys Eric had ever seen; tall, icy blue eyes, dark hair, and muscles for days.

The two froze in place, and Eric saw the guy’s eyes grow wide.

“Oh, good! You’re here with my sandwich,” he said as he grabbed the sandwich from Bitty’s plate, took a bite and walked down the hallway.

Eric stood flabbergasted.

“Hey! HEY!” He yelled as he chased the guy down the hallway.

He turned around and had the nerve to have some pesto smeared on his cheek. The utter nerve!

“That’s my goddamn sandwich,” Eric said as he marched right up to the guy, plate still in hand.

The guy smiled. “It’s really good. Thanks!”

He turned again and kept going down the hall until Eric saw him knock on another dorm room door and walk right on in.

JACK

Now Jack could admit that he wasn’t the smoothest, not by a long shot, but even this was lame for him.

“Shits, I’m such an idiot,” Jack groaned as he plopped himself onto Shitty’s bed. The sandwich sat on Jack’s abdomen, staining his Habs t-shirt with grease.

“Whatchu do now? And why do you have a sandwich on you?” Shitty asked as he closed the door behind him.

“I finally talked to him,” Jack said, still on the bed, as he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“The tiny blond? The chef kid?!” Shitty asked with glee. “Out-fucking-standing!”

Jack propped himself up in his elbows. “Not really…”

Shitty sat next to Jack, picked up the sandwich and took a bite.

“Kermit, Piggy, and Gonzo! This is a good sandwich,” Shitty said.

“It’s his. His sandwich. I just stole it, off a plate he was carrying,” Jack said and then groaned.

Shitty looked at him then began to cackle. “What?! Jack, what did you do, you goon?”

Jack first noticed Eric last semester. He was arriving at Faber for team practice (his usual one hour earlier than the rest of the team) and noticed there was someone on the ice. Once a month, Faber hosted an open skate; that’s when he saw him. He was the only person still there. He skated gracefully, fluidly, with a strength and ease Jack had never seen.

Jack stood there mesmerized and watched as Eric began a complicated jump. Jack hadn’t even realized he was holding his breath until Eric landed his jump.

Eric huffed and puffed, and smiled to himself as he skated off the rink.

Jack didn’t know what to do and wanted to meet the mystery skater, so he did the only thing he could think of. He ran into the locker room.

Jack would see Eric around campus. He knew Eric was a culinary arts major, was from Georgia, and he baked a lot of pies. The Baking Club had regular sales, and while Jack never got the nerve to buy anything in person, he’d send Johnson in his place. He would sit with Shitty and eat Eric’s baked goods.

“You could just introduce yourself,” Shitty suggested one day as he took a bite of chocolate pecan pie.

“How? When? Where?” Jack helplessly shrugged.

“And sometimes why?” Shitty laughed. “Jack, you’re a gorgeous hunk of hot maple candy. The next time you see him around, just introduce yourself. Just say, ‘Hello, I’m Jack Zimmermann and I love you.’”

Jack frowned. “You know I’m not good with…” he began and waved his arms.

“Words?”

Jack nodded.

And so, he admired and pined for Eric from afar, just as nature intended. That was until he now found himself sitting on Shitty’s bed as his own personal human buffet. It happened so fast, he hadn’t even realized what he had done until after he did it.

Jack walked out of his dorm room and found himself face to face with Eric. He could have said hello, he could have introduced himself, he could have invited him to coffee. No. Instead, he panicked and stole Eric’s sandwich, took a bite and ran off---like a complete loon.

“So you didn’t say anything?” Shitty asked as he cuddled up next to Jack, sandwich still in hand.

“I said it was a really good sandwich. And then I said thanks.”

“Well, at least you were polite. Brah, you are hopeless. Oh, and you have pesto on your face, by the by.”

“Great, just great,” Jack said and sat up.

“Why don’t you just go look for him and say, 'Sorry I stole your sandwich'?”

“I don’t think I can do that,” Jack said as he took the sandwich back from Shitty and took another bite. “It really is a good sandwich.”

Shitty nodded as they passed the sandwich back and forth.

ERIC

“Of all the nerve,” Eric said as he marched back into the student kitchen.

“What happened? Atley turn you down?” Larissa asked still sitting on the counter where Eric left her.

“No, I didn’t even make it there. Some person---some rapscallion---took the sandwich. My sandwich!” Eric said as he slammed the plate onto the counter.

Larissa smirked. “Rapscallion?”

“It’s not funny, Lar. I was walking through the dorms and this sandwich thief, a very hot sandwich thief---totally not the point, but still---walked out of his room, said thanks and took my sandwich. Damn hot sandwich thief.”

“Okay, but that’s kinda funny… especially since you mentioned he was hot, like twice.”

“If I ever see him again, he’ll rue the day,” Eric said.

“As God is your witness?”

“Oh, hush!” Eric replied as he took out more sandwich fixins’ from one of the fridges.

Three weeks later, Eric had yet to see Mr. Hot Sandwich Thief, and he still had the mind to go right on up to his dorm room and demand an apology.

Still, he felt silly holding on to a grudge this long, especially for a harmless prank. But, still, still! If he ever just bumped into Mr. Hot Sandwich Thief serendipitously, he’d give him a piece of his mind.

Eric walked into classroom 329, and frowned when he noticed most of the seats were taken. There was one in the middle of the room, which wasn’t too bad. He hated sitting far back in a classroom. And, he really couldn’t complain. He was just thankful that Professor Atley took the bribe---nay, the persuasion---and let Eric join the Women, Food and American Culture class.

He happily walked over toward the empty seat and asked the person next to the chair, “Is anyone sitting here?”

“No. No one is sitting here.”

When the person looked up at Eric, they both froze.

“Well, well, well,” Eric said as stunned blue eyes gazed at him. “If it isn’t Mr. Ho---Mr. Sandwich Thief himself.”

The guy fidgeted in his seat as Eric sat down.

“I’m really sorry about that.”

“What do you have to say for yourself? Defiling a perfectly innocent sandwich in that way?” Eric asked as he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“It was really good?”

“Yeah, you said that.”

“And I have no excuse…”

“And?” Eric demanded.

“And I… just really wanted to talk to you but didn’t know how. So I panicked. I’m sorry I stole your sandwich.”

“Oh,” Eric said dumbfounded. “Oh.”

“Um… hi. I’m Jack, by the way. Jack Zimmermann.”

He looked over at Jack and how awkward and sweet he looked. Eric couldn’t help but smile.

“Oh boy, you are going to be trouble, aren’t you? You charmer.”

ERIC + JACK

“So how did you two meet?” George asked Eric at the Falconers’ monthly family skate. “College, right?”

A line of children zipped past them as they laughed. Eric and Jack waved at one extra enthusiastic tiny skater who smiled brightly at them.

Jack put his arm around Eric. “Go ahead, you tell it. You tell it better than I do.”

“Jack stole my sandwich,” Eric replied as he wrapped his arms around Jack’s waist.

George laughed. “He what?”

“Jack stole my sandwich,” Eric said again as Jack nodded.

“It’s true, I stole his sandwich.”

“This one was so shy. He had a crush on me and didn’t know how to talk to me, so one day I was walking through his dorm building just as he was walking out of his room, and I had a sandwich on a plate---”

“He was going to bribe a professor,” Jack added.

Eric waved him off. “And this man took my sandwich.”

George laughed again. “Jack, no!”

“Right?” Eric said as he beamed at his goofy husband.

Jack leaned in to press a kiss onto Eric’s temple, as Eric smiled and squeezed Jack tighter.

#zimbits #zimbits fic #zimbits au #fluff #zimbits fluff #my FF #for devereauxsdisease #jack zimmermann #eric bittle #this is the way my niece and her husband met #HE STOLE HER SANDWICH #as she walked through the dorms #true story #not beta'd #totally just wrote this

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lilbabychilton · 6 years ago

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Imagine Me and You (Part 3)

FakeMarried!AU

Carisi x Reader

A game of never have I ever gets a little too personal. You can find all parts of this AU by clicking here.

Based off these two lovely anons! Thank you for the prompts! [Anon 1], [Anon 2]

You and Sonny spent the next few hours working quietly in separate corners of the living room. Filling out paperwork detailing the encounter, possible next steps, and reading over the profiles on your personas. You knew yours inside and out, but you still wanted to be sure of every single detail.

Your stomach growled, shaking you from your obsessive revisions. Sonny looked up from his laptop and grinned at you.

“Hungry?” He asked stretching a little as he sat up.

“We should probably pick up some food.” You replied, looking down at your grumbling stomach. You’d been so anxious to get the day started you didn’t eat anything for breakfast. Opting to just have coffee at the station, which was a mistake. It tasted terrible and you barely finished it.

“Let’s go to the grocery store” Sonny suggested as he stood up and grabbed the keys off the ring near the door. “I’ll make us dinner.”

“Sounds good to me” you replied, trailing close behind him. He mentioned something about being a good cook during one of the stake outs. You’d been eating some garbage take out food and he promised that he would ‘make you a real meal sometime.’ You were eager to take him up on that offer.

You wandered up and down the isles at the grocery store together. Sonny had gotten just about everything he needed, and then some when you spotted the liquor aisle. You disappeared while Sonny had his back turned and returned with two bottles of moderately expensive wine.

“Where did ya get those?” Sonny asked with a light chuckle when he turned around and found you holding the bottles.

“Other aisle” you replied simply, a smile growing on your face. “Do you like these?”

Sonny studied the bottles for a moment, squinting a little as he read the label. Then happily handed them back to you, “yeah they’ll pair really well with dessert.”

“Sweet!” You cheered, placing the wine into the cart before stepping onto the front of the carriage so Sonny could push you to the check out. He laughed, his ocean blue eyes sparkling in the fluorescent lights above.

Sonny got to work on dinner as soon as you got back. You offered to help, but he declined. Telling you to go relax, and that he would handle it. So you made yourself at home on the kitchen counter and watched as he worked. He was humming as he chopped the vegetables, and you weren’t sure he was fully aware that he was doing it.

“Just about finished” he said, holding a spoonful of pasta out to you with a confident smile. “Here try it.”

“That’s the best goddamn thing I’ve ever tasted.” You replied, moaning a little at the taste. Sonny raised his eyebrows in surprise and laughed at your over the top reaction.

“That good?” he asked as he started to plate the food.

“I haven’t had a home cooked meal in,” you trailed off for a moment, thinking as you poured the wine, “probably over a year.”

“I get it.” Sonny replied, sitting across from you at the table, “with jobs like ours it’s hard to find the time.”

“That and I don’t know how to cook” you added with a slightly self deprecating laugh.

“Maybe I can teach you some time” Sonny offered, smiling at you warmly before taking a sip of his wine.

“I’d like that” you replied, feeling a slight warmth in your chest. You took a sip of your wine to try and drown out the feeling; and suddenly wondered if that’s what Sonny was doing too.

Dinner went by pretty quietly, and the two of you had moved to the couch; both too full for dessert. You were sprawled out on your side of the sectional studying Sonny’s face as he watched TV. With one glass of wine in you already you could feel your inhibitions slowly slipping away.

“Want to play a game?” You asked, sitting up and refilling both of your glasses.

“Sure” Sonny responded, turning his attention to you with an interested expression, “what game?”

“How about, never have I ever?” You suggested, figuring it would be the best way to get to know each other better and stave off boredom.

“Aren’t we a little old for that?” Sonny asked with an amused grin. You shook your head no vigorously.

“It’s a great way to get to know each other better” you explained, “plus it gives us something to do.”

“Alright” Sonny resigned with a shrug, that explanation was good enough for him. Truth be told he wasn’t going to turn down an opportunity to get to know you better. So he raised his glass and said, “you start.”

The questions started out simple. Basic stuff about your teenage years and childhoods. The two of you were laughing over a story Sonny was telling about how he caught his sister making out with her high school boyfriend once.

“She threw a shoe at me, it me right in the nose. Blood was everywhere.” He said between laughs, “Ma came home and we had to come up with some crazy story.”

“What did you tell her?” You asked, captivated by the Carisi family dynamic.

“She said there was a bug on my face, and that was the only way she could kill it.” Sonny explained as he wiped a joyful tear from his eye.

You laughed along with him, gently placing a hand on his upper arm to keep yourself from doubling over, “and did she buy it?”

“Not even for a second.” He said shaking his head, “we refused to tell her what happened so we all got grounded for a week.”

“You sound like a good brother” you said, rubbing at your cheek. It was starting to hurt from smiling so much.

“Thanks.” He replied bashfully, his eyes lighting up with pride. Then he cleared his throat and said “I think it’s your turn.”

“Alright” you started, tapping your finger against your chin as you thought for a moment. You were buzzed and there was no denying that, if you weren’t you probably wouldn’t have asked your next question. “Never have I ever had sex in public.”

You took a drink but Sonny stayed still, watching you with his eyebrows raised before asking “where?”

“Which time?” You asked coquettishly, grinning behind your wine glass as you slowly took another sip. Sonny’s cheeks reddened and he avoided eye contact, he was about to stutter out a response when you started talking again.

“It was mostly in college, I had an annoying roommate I liked to avoid. She had a real problem with knocking.” You explained dryly, thinking back to the time Samantha had walked in while a date was going down on you and just stared until you noticed her there. “Once in a alleyway behind a bar, once in a pool, and quite a few times in a car.”

“My turn?” Sonny asked, his face still red. You nodded, signaling for him to continue. “Never have I ever sexted.”

The both of you took a drink and now it was your turn for your eyes to go wide. You put your drink down and looked at him for a moment.

“So is this whole innocent catholic boy thing an act?” you asked with a light laugh. Sonny shook his head and raised his hands in defense.

“It was just the one time. I was drunk and the girl sent me something first.” He explained, embarrassment coloring his tone.

“What about you, you drank too!” he exclaimed as he motioned towards you with his drink.

“I have a nice rack” you said simply, “excuse me for wanting to share it with the world.”

Sonny laughed at that and rolled his eyes, you looked at him, blinking a few times in mock offense, “are you saying that I don’t Detective Carisi?”

“I wasn’t, you have- uh, shit.” he stuttered as he squirmed under your gaze.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” You laughed, admiring how adorable he looked when he got flustered.

“My turn!” you announced, making Sonny sigh. No doubt relieved you were moving on, “never have I ever, kissed a member of the same sex.”

You drank, and Sonny hesitated, brought the cup to his lips, then lowered it without drinking. He stared into the cup for a minute, swishing around the deep red liquid.

“What’s up, Sonshine?” you asked, scooting closer to him and placing a hand on his back.

“I never have, but I’ve thought about it.” He said quietly, like it was the first time he’d ever said the words out loud. He sounded almost ashamed and that didn’t sit well with you.

“That’s okay” you said, rubbing his back in soothing circles. “It’s perfectly natural, sexuality is grey, and not something you’ve got to figure out all in one go. You’re all good.”

He looked up at you and smiled, then took your hand in his and squeezed it as a silent thank you.

“Never have I ever,” he trailed off for a moment like he was trying to figure out whether he wanted to ask the question or not, “slept with a coworker.”

You drank, Sonny didn’t. He looked at you softly, and if you didn’t know any better you’d say you saw some sadness in his eyes.

“Was it Levi?” He asked, averting his eyes to the cup in his hands.

“Yes.” You answered plainly, maybe it was the wine but you could have sworn he seemed disappointed.

“Are you together?” he questioned, nervously thumbing the rim of his glass.

“No” you responded quickly and he seemed to perk up, so you kept going. “We tried dating, back in the academy, it worked for awhile. Then it didn’t. We spent waaaay too much time together. Friendship is better suited for us.”

“Good” he said happily, then covered his mouth. Eyes widening as if he hadn’t planned on saying the word out loud.

“What was that?” You asked, figuring you would save him he embarrassment of knowing you’d heard him.

“Nothing” he replied quickly, downing the rest of his wine and getting up from the couch. “I’m tired, I think I’ll turn in for the night.”

You quickly said goodnight and he rushed off to his bedroom, the guest room. You sat back on the couch and thought for a minute about Sonny having a crush on you. Your heart beat faster and you wondered if you had a crush on him too.

Then you thought about Levi and rolled your eyes. He would have had a field day if he’d heard this conversation. If anything became of this you’d never hear the end of it. After he’d watch you and Sonny have coffee together he looked at you with a shit eating grin and said “you two are going to fall in love.”

You punched him lightly in the arm and told him to be professional for once. He simply smiled at you in return, and sang “I’m always right.”

If you liked this please consider supporting me on Ko-Fi ☕💙

#Carisi x Reader #FakeMarried!AU #Sonny Carisi x Reader #Carisi Imagine #Sonny Carisi Imagine #Sonny Carisi #law and order svu imagine #law and order svu #Levi Wayland

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oolathurman · 6 years ago

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@notactuallyherenotreally @motheatenscarf EVERY DAY I AM THANKFUL FOR LIVING AT HOME WITH MY MOM’S HUGE-ASS STOVETOP.

six gas burners and the industrial oven to match? I honestly do it unjustice by making instant ramen 90% of the time 😂 hopefully this makes up for it a little lol.

Anyway so like I had said, sib #1 had started defrosting a shitton of chicken wings cuz they had expected to need to defrost chicken for two, which then turned to one person because sib #2 was going out for dinner and sib #1 calls their girlfriend in the evenings and it’s hella cute and gay af and I’m so proud of my sib. And so I stood in the kitchen, staring at the twenty or so defrosting chicken wings, and had to come up with SOMETHING to do.

Mind you, it was like, 6.45pm by then, which meant that anything I did should be done quickly if I wanted to eat dinner at a reasonable hour. And honestly, there’s no fucking way I’m gonna be able to cook 20 wings evenly, so I decided “let’s get shove them in the oven.” There was panko in the pantry which we hadn’t used yet, so I’m thinking, “sure, let’s have breaded chicken wings. What recipe can I find for breaded baked chicken wings that doesn’t require only western-american seasonings since I’m too Chinese for that?”

I end up finding a recipe for cripsy breaded chicken wings that isn’t buffalo wings ‘cuz I don’t have that sorta shit. This one (thank god) only needed the breading, a variety of spices of miscellaneous origin, and eggs for the egg wash. I can’t follow it perfectly cuz I don’t have onion powder and paprika but I have a seasoning mix that includes onion powder and I have white pepper. (I like white pepper more anyway tbh)

While that’s going, I gotta figure out a starch. Our rice cooker, which cooks the best damn white rice you could ever have (thanks zojirushi i owe you my life) takes an hour to cook because that’s how long it takes to have good rice, dammit. But we do have pasta! Mom brought home this pasta from trader joes that has spinich and chives in it??? And I figure “ehh what the hell, that would go with the chicken” but then I realize I gotta figure out a fucking sauce for this fancy-ass dried pasta.

And so I’m stuck. I got chicken wings, I got spinich and chives, and the way both are going, I can’t just use the alfredo sauce in the jar for it, cuz it wouldn’t go with the chicken. And I cant imagine it going well with the pasta, either. Nah, something like spinich and chives, it needs some sorta tangy or just not dairy/cream based sauce. And I don’t really have enough ingredients for a pesto either, not that I like pesto that much cuz it’s usually just a bottle of olive oil disguised as a sauce. (I have a hard time finding good pesto.)

I do got tomatoes for a marinara sauce though. And I do have the food network app becaue I’m a goddamn nerd and Giada De Laurentiis has my fucking back, thank god for this gorgeous italian food queen.

... except the recipe takes over a goddamn hour to make and the chicken’s already halfway done. dammit giada de laurentiis you gorgeous italian food queen. i dont have time for this.

but guess what? barefoot contessa’s got my back. yknow the lady that’s always like, “and if you can’t get fresh butter churned from a 17th century french maiden who pines after the stableboy, store bought butter will do.”

That lady.

But for once, she’s asking me if I got canned tomatoes. I don’t got canned tomatoes! I guess I’ll fucking improvise with a fresh one! Don’t got onion powder still, but I can use the same seasoning mix I used for the chicken, right?

And so, a good hour or so or something later, I end up with crispy chicken wings that are juicy as fuck, a tomato sauce that doesn’t taste like the metal can it was in, and a helluva snapchat story. And it was fucking delicious.

#oolathurman thoughts #long post #notactuallyherenotreally #motheatenscarf #food and drink mention #WHO WANTS CHICKEN WINGS I’LL MAIL SOME OVER

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teapotpartythot · 6 years ago

Text

Doing this

1: I’m afraid my name will have to stay ademainalors ;)

2: 20

3: 3 Fears

The afterlife

Immortality

Mortality

4: 3 things I love

Anime

My Dell Latitude E6410

Cartoons that cannot technically be called anime

5: 4 turns on

Power

Intelligence

Strange hair

Complex understanding of trauma

6: 4 turns off

Misogyny

Homophobia

Clingyness

7: My best friend

Brie or Kyle, although to be honest, I haven’t talked with many humans in the past several months, so at this point, both individuals probably only consider me as a regular friend

8: Sexual orientation

Pansexual

9: My best first date

Aromantic, I never knew, but they were all awful

10: How tall am I

5″ 5′

11: What do I miss

When Zack used to do house rules DND with me, Kyle and Armstrong

12: What time were I born

Heck if I know

13: Favourite color

#ff0000

14: Do I have a crush

I tend not to pay my crushes much mind now that I’ve come to terms with my aromanticism, but when Nathan joked about how he’d want to fuck someone in the server closet, in my head I was like, name a time

15: Favourite quote

16: Favourite place

The Japanese Library

17: Favourite food

Pasta

18: Do I use sarcasm

No, never, not me ever

19: What am I listening to right now

The silence of the void (that’s not an edgy band name... yet)

20: First thing I notice in new person

Their relationship to power

21: Shoe size

10 I think? Fun fact, I religiously wear crocs, and crocs actually stretch out with use, so my crocs have been growing with my feet.

22: Eye color

Hazel

23: Hair color

Brown

24: Favourite style of clothing

I was talking to Kyle about Queer Eye, and I said, “You know what they would say to me if they saw me, they would say I wear clothes that nobody would ever wear because no clothes express my gender, and then they would fix that” And he told me I was perceptive. My favorite shirt is an MPR Volunteer shirt that has no gender.

25: Ever done a prank call?

Nope

27: Meaning behind my URL

What Adrien says to Marinette at the end of the umbrella scene, “See you around” in french

28: Favourite movie

Tangled, but in Spanish

29: Favourite song

Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story

30: Favourite band

Baths

31: How I feel right now

Overwhelmed

32: Someone I love

My parents platonically

33: My current relationship status

Single

34: My relationship with my parents

Good

35: Favourite holiday

36: Tattoos and piercing i have

I have my ears pierced

37: Tattoos and piercing i want

I’d prefer to keep those Japanese bathhouse privileges

38: The reason I joined Tumblr

I shared a blog with Kyle on Blogger and he wanted it moved because Blogger sucks

39: Do I and my last ex hate each other?

I’m irritated with my last ex, as my last relationship made me realize I was aromantic and that I was doing painful amounts of emotional labor and downright fraud in the name of normalicy

40: Do I ever get “good morning” or “good night ” texts?

Nope

41: Have I ever kissed the last person you texted?

My dad? Platonically

42: When did I last hold hands?

In my last relationship

43: How long does it take me to get ready in the morning?

30 Minutes

44: Have You shaved your legs in the past three days?

I haven’t shaved them in the past three years!

45: Where am I right now?

My room

46: If I were drunk & can’t stand, who’s taking care of me?

Nobody, that’s why I don’t drink

47: Do I like my music loud or at a reasonable level?

At a reasonable level

48: Do I live with my Mom and Dad?

Yes

49: Am I excited for anything?

If I’m being honest, no, but there are several things I would tell people about IRL if I were asked

50: Do I have someone of the opposite sex I can tell everything to?

Is the opposite of non-binary cisgender, or another non-binary? Doesn’t matter, the answer is no

51: How often do I wear a fake smile?

Too much

52: When was the last time I hugged someone?

My dad, platonically, two weeks ago

53: What if the last person I kissed was kissing someone else right in front of me?

I wouldn’t care

54: Is there anyone I trust even though I should not?

My lab partner for this goddamn lab report

55: What is something I disliked about today?

My lack of productivity

56: If I could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be?

Justin Trudeau

57: What do I think about most?

My time efficiency

58: What’s my strangest talent?

Mechanum: I can execute complete instructions perfectly, and I can memorize sets of complete instructions. So if I get a set of complete instructions, I can master the task associated. I am very good at extremely divergent tasks due to this.

59: Do I have any strange phobias?

Having to attend SCSU

60: Do I prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it?

Behind. Pansonic HMC150s are the bomb .com

61: What was the last lie I told?

I told a group of people that I was sick. I’m actually just anxious and depressed, which is it’s own kind of sick, but I implied influenza.

62: Do I perfer talking on the phone or video chatting online?

Video chat.

63: Do I believe in ghosts? How about aliens?

Aliens probably, but they likely formed at the same time we did and are either too far or lackluster like dolphins. Ghosts, not really.

64: Do I believe in magic?

I bought a spell from a witch down on money, I just like witches though, I’m not wiccan

65: Do I believe in luck?

100%

66: What’s the weather like right now?

Clear night skies?

67: What was the last book I’ve read?

Sedra Smith, Microelectric Circuits

68: Do I like the smell of gasoline?

69: Do I have any nicknames?

None that I like, except 雨

70: What was the worst injury I’ve ever had?

Concussion, 6th grade skiing accident

71: Do I spend money or save it?

Mostly save

72: Can I touch my nose with a tounge?

Nope

73: Is there anything pink in 10 feets from me?

Yup, my blankets are pink, should change 74: Favourite animal? 75: What was I doing last night at 12 AM?

Sleeping

76: What do I think is Satan’s last name is?

Ochocki-Becker

77: What’s a song that always makes me happy when I hear it?

Get it together, by the Go-Team 78: How can you win my heart?

You can’t. I’ll be your QP if we make a utilitarian symbiotic domestic partnership. I’ll fuck you if you’re sexy and can somehow manage to not trigger memories of my sexual assault, but like, that won’t happen.

79: What would I want to be written on my tombstone?

Rest in Pieces

80: What is my favorite word?

��す

81: My top 5 blogs on tumblr

I’m not here to start a war, though one of them is haiku bot

82: If the whole world were listening to me right now, what would I say?

We are not Trump

83: Do I have any relatives in jail?

Nope

84: I accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow me with the super-power of my choice! What is that power?

Pausing time

85: What would be a question I’d be afraid to tell the truth on?

Tell me about your sexual history

86: What is my current desktop picture?

Me standing next to a no parking sign in Japanese in a small town in rural Minnesota

87: Had sex?

Yes

88: Bought condoms?

Kind of

89: Gotten pregnant?

90: Failed a class?

I have more W’s than a web address but no F’s

91: Kissed a boy?

Yes

92: Kissed a girl?

Yes

93: Have I ever kissed somebody in the rain?

94: Had job?

Yes

95: Left the house without my wallet?

Yes

96: Bullied someone on the internet?

Actually, surprisingly, Kyle. We’re cool now.

97: Had sex in public?

98: Played on a sports team?

Yep, 3rd grade, Softball. I wanted to play baseball and I hated it.

99: Smoked weed?

100: Did drugs?

101: Smoked cigarettes?

102: Drank alcohol?

Confirmation wine, a sip of champaign that I spat out, a sip of gin that I spat out. I can taste the death of my mouth microbiota when I put alcohol in my mouth

103: Am I a vegetarian/vegan?

Vegetarian

104: Been overweight?

Nope

105: Been underweight?

Probably

106: Been to a wedding?

Yes

107: Been on the computer for 5 hours straight?

まいにち

108: Watched TV for 5 hours straight?

はい、アニメを見ます。

109: Been outside my home country?

Nope

110: Gotten my heart broken?

I don’t have one, but I found out a FWB hated non binaries. It was kind of crushing.

111: Been to a professional sports game?

Yep

112: Broken a bone?

Nope

113: Cut myself?

Sort of, TW: I pick at the skin around my toenails, sometimes with pushpins

114: Been to prom?

115: Been in airplane?

Yep, Houston

116: Fly by helicopter?

117: What concerts have I been to?

The FIRST Robotics concert

118: Had a crush on someone of the same sex?

Yep

119: Learned another language?

はい、すごし

120: Wore make up?

Yeah, I hate it

121: Lost my virginity before I was 18?

TW: Is rape virginity

122: Had oral sex?

Yeah, it sucked.

123: Dyed my hair?

124: Voted in a presidential election?

Hillary Clinton

125: Rode in an ambulance?

Yes, concussion

126: Had a surgery?

Wisdom teeth removal

127: Met someone famous?

Dessa

128: Stalked someone on a social network?

Probably

129: Peed outside?

130: Been fishing?

Yes

131: Helped with charity?

Yes

132: Been rejected by a crush?

Yes

133: Broken a mirror?

Yes

134: What do I want for birthday?

Cash

135: How many kids do I want and what will be their names?

Adopting teenagers, they’ll have names already, probably one, but maybe more if they’ve got sibs, Despicable Me style.

136: Was I named after anyone?

Something

137: Do I like my handwriting?

No, it’s an abomination

138: What was my favourite toy as a child?

Piglet

139: Favourite Tv Show?

Assasination Classroom

140: Where do I want to live when older?

Minnesota doncha no?

141: Play any musical instrument?

Used to play trombone

142: One of my scars, how did I get it?

Scootering accident

143: Favourite pizza toping?

Alfredo sauce instead of tomato sauce

144: Am I afraid of the dark?

No 145: Am I afraid of heights?

Yes 146: Have I ever got caught sneaking out or doing anything bad?

No 147: Have I ever tried my hardest and then gotten disappointed in the end?

The midterm two days ago

148: What I’m really bad at

Reading university textbooks

149: What my greatest achievments are

Student Senate President

150: The meanest thing somebody has ever said to me

I was in a political argument and some bitch brought my yellow teeth into it

151: What I’d do if I won in a lottery

Take the payments over time, put in a bank account, pay off people’s loans on the contidition they try to pay off other people’s loans, put solar panels on things, buy a tesla

152: What do I like about myself

My hair 153: My closest Tumblr friend

@dragon-in-a-fez 154: Something I fantasise about

Being dictator of the US 155: Any question you’d like?

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