#breathing sucks and I don’t even have any allergies >:(

[miaoua3]

Stay The Night?

Pairing: CEO! Choi Seungcheol x f!reader

Genre: shamless smut (MDNI), piv sex, oral (both receiving), mentions of the ex (ew), hickeys and scratches, no protection (don’t be silly wrap the willy guys, don’t make me smack you all),marking in general, possessive choi seungcheol, smallest amount of spanking, squirting

Description: after spending the night with the CEO and (unsuccessfully) trying to sneak away, Choi Seungcheol asks you to stay the whole day and later on, even the night. Will you say yes?

Or

Basically part 2 to “Stay The Morning?”

Note: late present from me to you for 1000 followers on tumblr and 10k on tiktok🥰🫶 and also because i had the chance of smelling creed aventus aka the perfume cheol uses more regularly than the one i smelled that inspired part one of this and i got the urge to suck this mans dick so….bon appetit🥰

Warnings: yet again barely proofread lol im sorry i just hate doing that

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��take that dress off and get back in here, i want cuddles…and maybe something more.”

and who were you to deny him anything?

well, you were you, and so naturally you cross your arms over your chest, tilting your head to the side as a playful smile spreads on your face, in a mockingly offended voice you said “i’m not taking anything off or letting you anywhere near me until you brush your teeth and feed me something. what, you thought the last night was completely free? you’re a businessman, you should know better honey.”

cheol chuckles deeply as he stretches, the blanket slowly sliding down his bare torso, giving you a delicious view of his chest, ribs becoming more prominent the further he reaches with his hands above his head.

groaning in satisfaction, he then throws the whole blanket off of him before sitting on the edge of the bed, softly messing with his bed hair. looking at you with the cutest smile, he then gets up.

in only his boxers. the muscles all over his body softly flexing. his thighs looking deliciously big as he takes the slow steps towards you.

sweet baby jesus.

the moment he’s standing right in front of you in his naked glory, you feel your throat go dry with need and desire.

well i’ll be damned, i already got my christmas present, and it’s not even december.

almost as if he can sense your thoughts, cheol chuckles deeply before quickly dipping his head lower so he can press a gentle kiss on your neck, his tongue lightly grazing your skin. goosebumps irrupt all over your skin at his action, a shaky breath leaving your mouth as he moves away a little, just enough for his face to end up right in front of your own.

staring at your eyes, his own a deep shade of brown, almost black with desire, cheol slowly exhales, almost like he’s trying to control himself.

stretching to his original height, he then takes ahold of your dress with his fingers, lightly tugging on it.

“you should go take a shower while i make breakfast, this dress must be uncomfortable to wear. i will have someone deliver you some clothes before you’re done in the bathroom.”

you raise an eyebrow, amusement playing in your eyebrows.

“or you could, y’know, give me one of your shirts. like all the normal guys do.”

something dark suddenly appears in his eyes, the little smile that has been tugging on the edges of his lips disappears at your words.

he takes another slow step towards you, so that there’s barely any space left between your warm bodies. looking down on you, he darkly says “i’m not like other men. you should know that until know, baby.”

you swallow hardly, but not out of fear or anything like that.

you swallow because that was so fucking sexy of him.

good lord, i need him again, as soon as possible.

he then slowly kisses your cheek, like a gentleman that he is, before he takes ahold of your hand and starts pulling you out of the bedroom.

“c’mon, i’ll show you where the bathroom is and how everything works. any special wishes for breakfast? anything you prefer or not? allergies? would you like coffee or tea maybe?”

you chuckle at his questions, quickly stopping him to gently kiss his cheek before looking at him with your doe eyes.

“coffee is fine, i’m not that big on breakfast but you have spent all of my energy last night, so maybe something light but filling would be good. and i’m not allergic to anything, not that i know at least. now, before you start to terrorise the kitchen, brush your teeth, romeo.”

you push him through the entrance of the bathroom door, his skin soft and gentle to the touch as you do so.

cheol just chuckles before he starts rummaging through his drawers, finally finding you a spare toothbrush so you both can get rid of the morning breath.

as you stand side by side, dutifully brushing your teeth, you both sneak glances of each other in the mirror.

you eyes focus on his bare chest and how they move with every little movement, how his soft stomach jiggles a bit too, as well as the dark happy trail on his lower stomach. the way his biceps pops put by him holding his arms so high is just as delicious as the rest of him.

his own eyes are trained on your face, how beautiful it looks with barely any makeup from last night left. but also because he’s only a man after all, he lets his eyes also travel down your body, lingering on how your boobs jiggle as you continue brushing your teeth.

what can he say, he’s a weak man.

after you’re done, you kick him out of the bathroom in order to take a quick shower, almost letting a “wanna join me?” slip out of your mouth, but he leaves before you can do as much.

the warm water feels amazing on your aching muscles, relaxing you so much so that you almost fall asleep while standing.

after a few minutes, you finish up in the shower, looking around for the clothes that he promised you, but to no avail.

just as you open the door to yell for help, you notice a bag waiting for you on the doorstep.

opening it, your jaw drops at what you find inside.

white lingerie. with a white slip on and a white silky robe, accompanied by white house slippers.

this sneaky little-

“so, is this what the big-shot and ceo of the prestigious company, choi seungcheol, dreams at night? what he lusts for and what he desires?”, you say as you walk in the kitchen, crossing your arms over your chest, raising an eyebrow at him as you wait for an answer, signaling to your outfit with your head.

cheol just smiles innocently, his eyes just two lines from how wide he’s smiling.

“no, this is what a simple man who you have wrapped around your finger, cheol, dreams of.”

you roll your eyes with a smile at the smoothness of his answer, failing to add anything else to his answer.

he then pulls out a chair and points with his hand for you to sit on it. not used to this type of treatment from men, you almost giggle as you sit down.

he sits right beside you, taking your plate in his hand and slowly filling it with all the food that he made (which is way too much amount of food for two people, or so you think until you see him devour everything like he hasn’t eaten in months.)

you chat lightly as you eat, laughing at some of his very badly made jokes-is the laugh out of pity or because he’s just so cute? you will never tell know.

“so, any plans for today?”, he suddenly asks you.

you look up, pondering for a moment if you had anything planned, but nothings comes to mind.

“no, not really. maybe clean my apartment a bit? haven’t done that in a minute, understandably so.”, you chuckle emotionlessly, thinking about how your heartbreak prevented you from functioning normally.

cheol just gives you a weird look, not understanding why you would say that.

it is in that moment that you realise that he doesn’t know anything that has happened with your ex three weeks ago.

you reluctantly sigh, looking him directly in the eyes. “not to be party pooper, but i actually broke with my ex just a few weeks ago, because i found him cheating on me. with his coworker. in my bed. in my apartment. in my silk sheets. that i paid for. with my money.”

for a second there’s no sound coming from either of you, when you suddenly starts giggling a bit, wiping away a little imaginary tear, you continue “you could say that i’m a bit bitter-“, and then you take a look at him.

cheol just looks at you, or rather somewhere past you, his eyes murderous, hand gripping his fork so tightly it could snap in two any second.

your breath catches in your throat, an unfamiliar emotion overcoming you.

finally looking you directly in the eyes, still with the same look in them, he asks darkly “what’s his name?”

you gulp, looking away as you quietly say “it’s not important, I don’t want to think about it anymore.”

sensing that your mood has changed for the worse, cheol breathes in deeply and then out as a way to calm himself down before taking your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over the back of it as he quietly says “for the record, he doesn’t realise just what hell of a woman he lost. and that his loss is somebody else’s gain, so. he’s stupid, who in their right mind would cheat on you?”.

your eyes move to look at him, his eyebrows scrunched a bit as if this is hurting himself.

you can’t remember the last time that a man went out of his way to make you feel so seen and appreciated. it makes your heart do this weird thing. like it stops beating for a moment but also like it sped up by a big notch.

you smile gently at him before you lean towards him and, for the first time since you two woke up, gently kiss his lips for a moment.

pulling away, you just respond “let’s finish eating before it cools off.”

seungcheol, as if in a daze from your kiss, just nods a bit, a dopey smile taking up half of his face.

you quickly finish up, helping him put the dishes into the washer before he leads you to the humongous leather couch that is right in front of even more humongous tv.

he sits down first, right in the middle of it before he pulls you down. seemingly he had a vision for everything that is happening right now, because before you can even get comfortable, he pulls your legs over his thighs, letting a hand rest on the bare thigh, massaging it lightly as he wraps his other arm around your shoulders, your head falling on his shoulder as he does.

well, okay then you think to yourself as you wrap your own arm around his bare stomach, rubbing his hip gently.

he turns on the tv, more so as a background noise, before he starts asking you all sorts of questions- what your hobbies are, who the two friends from last night were, where you are from as in like the city, you favourite colour and many other questions, the weirdest one being “have you ever thought how the dogs think? like are they barking in their mind, or is it maybe english or korean? or whatever the language of the country they’re in is? what about deaf dogs?”

you spend hours talking and laughing, for the most part you. he tells you the stories of his childhood, stories of his brother and how he accidentally smacked him with a baseball bat on the hand which inevitably ended up being broken, how he fell from the tree, stories about his friends who he met in college and still talks to on the daily, calling them “his kids”, all while he traces the hickeys and bite marks on your neck and shoulders.

you two talk until your mouth gets dry and he fetches you a glass of water for it.

deciding that he should take a shower, he says that you can put whatever you want on the tv and watch it while he does so, saying he won’t take long before he disappears behind the door.

you turn something random on, a documentary you think??? when you suddenly realise that you haven’t been on your phone the entire time, just like you haven’t heard from your friends since the last night.

looking around for it, you find it on the little table in front of the large window, the one you stood in front of as seungcheol kissed you for the first time.

you turn it on to see hundreds of messages and missed calls from jihyo and sana.

the last message from your group chat read “that’s it, if she doesn’t answer in the next 10 minutes, i’m calling the police.”

the message was sent 7 minutes ago.

lucky.

you sheepishly reply with an “heyyy guys haha what’s up”

you immediately get spammed with the messages, variating from “WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN” to “WAS THE DICK GOOD”.

i think it’s pretty clear which one of them sent which message.

you respond that you are still at cheol’s to jihyo’s message and that you probably will be home later tonight and that you can meet up then for the detailed story time of your escapades, and you respond with a photo of your collarbones and neck full of hickeys to sana’s message, sending a little wink emoji.

you can see that both of them are losing their minds, writing messages all in cap locks. just as you were about to read them all, you hear the door of the bathroom unlock.

you write a quick “gotta go, the man of the hour is back from his shower, gotta go and make him sweaty again ;)” before turning your phone off and focusing on him.

the sight makes you want get down on your knees and send a quick thank-you prayer to the god.

because there stood cheol, in all his naked and wet glory, black wet hair messily falling on his forehead.

and he only had a towel wrapped around his hips.

you unconsciously bite your lip as you watch him, sitting up straight as you see him walk towards you.

he finally stops right in front of you, his hips on the same level as your face. you go from looking at his happy trail to slowly raising your eyes to look him the eyes, his bulky form towering over you.

his dark eyes are trained on your face, his eyes as dark as midnight as he watches your teeth bite your lips in need.

his hand comes to your face, before his thumb slowly pulls on your bottom lip, releasing it from your teeth.

you don’t put any effort in closing your lips, letting them stay agape.

the same thumb starts to rub your lip, lightly dipping inside your mouth, your tongue poking it unconsciously.

suddenly, in the deepest voice ever, he says two words that make you completely lose all your self control.

“pretty girl.”

you grab his arm and pull him down towards you. he gasps in shock as he starts falling down. luckily, he has fast reflexes, so he quickly grabs the backrest of the couch, so he’s bent over you.

you loop your arms around his neck and pull him closer so you can kiss him.

cheol groans the moment he feels your lips on his, tongue prodding, asking for entrance to his own mouth. he obviously grants it, making your tongues meet in a battle for dominance.

you try pulling him even closer, making him kneel with one knee between your own legs. it is a wonder that the towel still stayed on up until this point. adamant on changing that, you use one hand to harshly pull it away, making his half hard on spring free.

like a woman possessed, you quickly use your hold on his neck to pull him to the side, making him fall on the couch.

just as he adjusts so he’s sitting comfortably on it, you slowly stand up in front of him.

eyes trained on you, unblinking, cheol’s mouth fall open when he sees you taking off the white robe, proceeding to take the white slip off too.

cheol never believed in heaven, but as you stood in front of him, in white matching lacy lingerie, with all of his marks on your body from last night, looking like an angel, he truly started to believe that this is the closest to the heaven that he will get.

reaching with his hands towards you, so he can pull you on his lap, you lightly redirect them, holding them in your own.

you are apparently set on giving this man a heart attack at ripe age of 29, because you then proceed to drop to your knees.

right in front of him, between his legs.

with his hard dick right in front of your face.

his dark eyes, pupils blown with desire, trace every movement you make.

you first adjust your hair a bit, so it’s not getting in your way, looking at him with what he can only describe as hunger of a lioness.

keeping the eye contact, you slowly lick the whole palm of your hand, making sure that it’s extra wet with saliva.

cheol gulps.

the moment that that very same hand wraps around his dick, he’s throwing his head back, a loud gasp escaping him at how sensitive it feels. his back comes off the couch, hand looking for anything to grasp on, only finding his towel instead.

you pump him a few times, looking at him, focused solely on his face, to see how he’s reacting to your touch-to you.

his eyes flutter shut, a groan rumbling somewhere from the depths of his chest, his torso expanding with every deep breath he has to take in order to control himself and not cum on your face this very second.

god, that last thought didn’t help him, at all.

you pump his dick some more, your hand not even being able to wrap itself around his dick fully, making you shiver at the thought of having the very same dick inside of you later.

deciding that enough is enough, you slowly lower your face when he’s not paying attention, until your lips wrap themselves around the head of his cock.

cheol moans the second he feels your wet mouth on him.

his eyes barely open themselves, he basically forces himself to keep them open, watching as you slowly push your head down more and more, until half of his dick is inside your mouth, hitting the back of your throat, making you pull back up.

you repeat the motion a few times just as slowly as you did the first time, enjoying his moans and groans every time the head of his dick hits the back of your throat.

deciding that you want him to be a complete mess, you start bobbing your head faster, hand wrapping itself around the base that your mouth can reach.

god, do you love the fact that his dick is so big you can’t even suck it fully.

something you certainly couldn’t say about your ex.

your mouth engulfs him, the wetness of it making him see stars. and when your tongue does that little things where it first wraps around the head, before sliding along his slit, right where he’s the most sensitive?

cheol sends a prayer up in hopes that he won’t cum right this second.

a strand of hair falls into your face, making you scrunch your face in mild annoyance.

seungcheol jumping to opportunity, quickly gathers all of your hair in his hand, making a ponytail out of it.

and as you go on, bobbing your head up and down his dick, saliva sliding down til it reaches his balls. cheol uses his grip on your hair to control your movements, moving your head in fast pace. you choke repeatedly as his dick hits the back of your throat, and seungcheol seems to like that very much, letting out a groan every time he feels your throat close around the tip of his dick.

as tears stream down your face, you feel yourself being so wet, you fear you might start dripping all over his carpet.

god, you truly hope you aren’t, because that is one dry cleaners you cannot afford.

you watch his beautiful face, head thrown back, long and black eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, lips red from him biting on them to suppress his moans.

he’s so beautiful, if you could, you would stay right here, between his legs, just so you can watch his face in pleasure.

“fuck, baby, that mouth. you’re gonna make me cum, ah, shit. look so pretty on your knees for me, sucking on this cock.”, he raps out, every few words interrupted either by a moan or a groan.

you feel him move your head even faster, as well as his hips buckling upwards, a clear sign that he’s close.

“shit, gonna cum in that mouth of yours, ah fuck, baby- you gotta- gotta stop if you don’t want to swallow it- i- ah-.” he continues to blab, but you don’t pay him any mind, focusing on sucking the head every time he moves your head upwards, and tracing the little vein with your tongue every time he pushes it back downwards.

his moans get louder, his hold on your hair gets tighter, hips stuttering as he’s right there, on the brink of cumming.

you remove your mouth completely away from his dick, immediately replacing it with your hand. looking him directly in the eyes, you say the words that finally push him over the edge.

“cum for me baby, all over my face.”

and that does it for him, spurts of pearly white cum falling on your cheeks, nose and lips. the last few drops you catch with your mouth, wrapping your lips around his sensitive head again in favour of swallowing every last drop of his cum, making sure that nothing is wasted and that he’s as clean as possible.

he moans loudly at your action, pulling your head away because he can’t endure the delicious torture.

you both pant, his chest moving up and down fast, beads of sweat gathered around the crown of his head.

you take the opportunity to finally take a deep breath in, feeling a little bit lightheaded due to being deprived of real oxygen for this long.

cheol slowly opens his mouth, looking at the artwork that is your beautiful face decorated with his cum. with a thumb, he swipes a bit of it away, holding it in front of your mouth as an offer.

you don’t hesitate a second before you wrap your lips around his finger, sucking on it like it’s the most delicious thing you have ever tasted.

cheol groans at the sight, quickly using the same hand to wrap it around the back of your neck, pulling you upwards so that he can kiss you. his tongue invades your mouth, massaging your own in such an erotic way it makes you squeeze your thighs together.

with the other hand, he reaches for your thigh, wrapping around the back of it and pulling on it. you gasp at the sheer strength of this man, because he lifts you up from the floor solely by the hold he has on your leg. for a second, you fly through the air, until your knee finds the couch.

you quickly straddle him, careless sitting down on his lap, his dick rubbing against the lacy material of your panties. he gasps at the sensation, still sensitive from the best head he has ever gotten from a woman.

in order to save his dignity, he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you against him so your hips lift a bit from his dick, his lips still eagerly kissing, biting and sucking on your lips as he does so.

your hands find their home on his cheeks, holding his handsome face as you kiss him back just as enthusiastically.

at some point, after a few minutes, your lips naturally separate, but they stay close. panting in each others mouth, you use your hold on his cheeks to lightly brush your thumbs against them in comfort.

he takes a deep breath before he says in a hoarse voice “fuck baby, even though you look like an angel, that mouth of yours is so devilish.”

a giggle escapes you, leaving a quick peck on the corner of his lips. “i’ll take that as a compliment.”

he takes the towel to wipe the remains of his cum off your face before he directs your head so it’s resting on his shoulder, leaving a fleeting kiss on your neck.

“gimme a few minutes baby, i will eat you out then so good, you’re gonna cry.”

and your only response is the shiver that runs down your spine.

for a few moments you just sit there on his lap, playing with his hair while his hands rub your back, lips leaving kisses every few seconds across your shoulders and neck.

you breathe in the smell of his shower gel and his natural smell, mixing in a way that it makes your eyes flutter shut on their own.

that’s another thing, you never found anyone to smell so good like you find cheol does. something about his natural smell is just so…him, and manly, and makes you feel safe and protected.

you wish you could stay here forever.

suddenly cheol’s kisses on your neck start to linger a bit longer, a bit wetter, and his hands start to stray a little bit more on your ass than usual.

you shift slightly just to get more comfortable as your legs started cramping, when you feel his half hard on. your mouth fall open upon realising that it’s showtime.

ever so slowly, you move your hips back, almost dragging your clothed pussy over his bare dick, making him inhale deeply at your action.

he lightly nibbles on the shell of your ear, before whispering directly against it “you little devil.”

you turn your head towards him, looking all innocent and coy as you say “but i thought i was an angel according to your previous statement?”

cheol narrows his eyes, before taking your thighs in his hand and picking you up slightly so he can basically slam you against the couch.

you gasp at the action, adrenaline filling your veins more so than the blood does.

he hovers over you, his hands caging you as he leans on them right beside your head.

you look at each other for a second, waiting to see who will play the first move, when suddenly, cheol rolls his hips right into your own, his dick catching on the lace of your panties.

you gasp at the action, nails immediately imbedding themselves into his back, eyes rolling so far back in your head you can see your thoughts.

“bad, bad girl. trying to play all innocent…”, he pauses before he leans even more in, so his lips are right against your ear again “…when just a few minutes ago you were choking on my dick, so prettily and desperately.”

unconsciously you inhale deeply, making him smirk a bit.

“what, don’t tell me you’re still thinking about it? still not satisfied? cumming down your throat wasn’t enough for you?”, and the condescending voice, the smirk, the satisfaction in his voice.

it pissed you off a bit.

harshly grabbing the back of his head, your nails digging into his scalp as you pull him in a harsh kiss, your other hand purposefully dragging your nails down his back, which makes him shiver.

you break the kiss off just as harshly before you answer to his question “no, i’m still not satisfied, so you better get to it, before i found somebody who is willing to do it.”

his eyes turn black with jealousy, fire lighting up in them. within milliseconds, he’s grabbing your neck and kissing you just as harshly as you kissed him, teeth biting harshly on your lips.

you moan as he continues to kiss you, almost like he wants to prove a point to you. teeth clashing, hands clawing at each other, his hand around your neck squeezing tighter and tighter, making you wrap your legs around his hips tighter and pull him into yourself as he does so.

he pulls away aggressively, and his next words sounding like a fact, like it’s written in the stars, linger in the air for a second.

“even if you wanted to, you could never find somebody who would fuck you as good as i do.”

eyes laser focused on each other, you just utter two words as a response.

“prove it.”

getting right to it, his mouth attaches itself on your neck, sucking even more hickeys to the pre-existing ones from last night. while his mouth is busy with marking your skin, his hand wiggles under your back, fishing for the bra clasp. once he finds it, he quickly undoes it, pulling it down your arms before throwing it somewhere over his shoulder with no care whatsoever, even when it sounds like it crashed into what suspiciously sounds like the vase he got from one of his business partners.

choosing not to care, he lets his lips travel from your neck, to your collarbones, over the navel of your breast, straying to one side so he can suck on one of your tits, softly biting your nipple that causes you to moan loudly and grasp his hair in your hands.

he does it for a few more seconds, letting his hand massage the tit that isn’t getting the same attention as the one in his mouth, before resumes kissing a trail down your body.

once he gets down to you hips, he looks up to you over his short bangs that are getting in his eyes. the said eyes look at you like a hawk, preying on you, excited to see your anticipation and shiny eyes looking back at him.

he just lets his lips and nose travel of the skin of your lower belly, making it flex from the tickling sensation. once they reach your left hip, he lets his lips envelope the skin there and suck on it, a hickey forming on its place.

letting his lips pop, he looks up at you as he lets his head move even lower, until his lips are hovering right over the lacy panties you are wearing.

you hold your breath as you wait to see what he next move will be.

god, you hope to god that he will just-

just as the thought crossed your mind, cheol puts his opened mouth over your clothed pussy, prodding at the covered slit with his tongue, paying the special attention to your clit. the fabric that is still on you makes his action all that more stimulating, making you throw your head back as you moan.

hands fly to his still wet hair, pulling on it harshly, maybe in hopes that you can pull him in deeper, make his tongue finally enter your hole.

almost as if he can read your mind, he pushes your underwear to the side with the two of his fingers. the moment he sees your pussy, glistening with wetness, his lips are on you, parting your lips with his tongue, entering your pussy. he swirls his tongue around the entrance, gathering all your precum before swallowing it all, moaning at the taste.

quickly he starts pulling on your underwear, mumbling something along the lines off “off, off, i need these off now.”, before he throws them over his shoulder too.

placing your legs so they are resting on his shoulders, he immediately prods with one of his fingers at your whole, letting your walls swallow it whole. his lips wrap themselves around your clit, sucking on it just the right way.

you close your eyes in pleasure, your desires finally being fulfilled just like you dreamed of them to be.

not only was choi seungcheol a walking dream, sex appeal on legs.

he was also between your legs.

he continues to fuck his finger in you, twisting his hand when he’s pushing it in and un-twisting it when pulling out.

after a minute or so, he pulls the finger completely out in favour of pushing two back in. you squeeze your thighs around his head as he does so, moaning his name.

“cheol…”

choosing to ignore you, he just speeds up his movements, tongue still playing with your clit.

you taste so good on his tongue, it makes cheol close his eyes and groan every time he swallows.

the longer he eats you out, the more careless and messy he gets. he lets saliva cover your whole pussy, almost dripping on his leather couch. he lets his fingers push in and out of you at merciless speed, the fingertips grazing your sweet spot every time he tries to reach deeper inside of your pussy.

it all makes you feel lightheaded, moaning mess, your back arch, so much so that your whole upper body almost lifts off the couch.

“ah! cheol, more, ple-please!”

cheol never one to deny his lady anything, just speeds up his motion, sucking on your clit while his tongue pries at your entrance along with his fingers.

just as you feel yourself on the brink of cumming, your moans getting so loud they ring inside of cheol’s ears, he pulls completely away, slowly getting on his knees to admire the mess that he made of you.

tears streaming down your cheeks, your hair making it look like you have a halo around your head.

your chest heave up and down as you try to regain some of the air, nipples rock hard under his gaze.

your skin so prettily lathered with the hickeys, marking what’s his.

cheol just then realises that he started calling you his inside his head, no other reason other than the fact that you earlier mentioned the possibility of going to other men to get what you want.

he will be damned before he lets that happen.

and then your pussy. god, it looks so pretty, glistening under the light, his spit mixed with your juices, smeared all around your lips and thighs.

cheol was never that interested in art that much, but he’s pretty sure that this-you, is what a masterpiece is supposed to look like.

he suddenly realises that you have been calling his name the entire time, whining and almost crying in frustration-in need.

“cheollie please just-just fuck me already.”, you say as you pull on him with the hold of your legs that have wrapped themselves around his hips.

he immediately leans down over you, caging you with his arms around your head, his lips immediately finding yours in a hungry kiss.

just as his hand reaches down to take his dick so he can finally push it inside your gaping pussy, he suddenly remembers.

fuck, he forgot the condom.

humming in your mouth, he mumbles against them “wait baby, I forgot the condom, let me just get it from the-“, but he feels your legs just tighten around his waist, arms wrapping themselves around his neck, preventing him from getting up.

you mumble through a kiss “if you get up now, i will cry and make myself cum, all without you.”

well, alright then.

cheol just groans at the thought of having his dick in your pussy, with no condom to get in the way of truly feeling the wetness of your pussy.

little to excitedly, he takes his dick in his hand, and for a second just teases your folds with his tip, sliding it up and down, catching on your clit as he pulls it down.

as you start whining softly in desperation, telling him “hurry up” in a soft voice, cheol decides that it’s time.

and then he’s pushing in.

you both gasp at the feeling- you at the mere girth of his cock, and he because of how wet it feels to have his dick in your pussy.

he pushes a bit more in, but once he feels resistance due to you clamping on him almost painfully, he just kisses your cheeks in comfort, mumbling against them “relax baby or i won’t be able to give you all of my cock.”

you breathe in and out in hopes that it will help you relax, and it does, with help of his kisses and his hand rubbing your waist in comfort.

after a minute or so, you nod as a way to tell him that it’s okay for him to move. he continues to pepper little kisses on your face as he pushes his dick more in, groaning every so often at the feeling of your walls squeezing around him.

when he finally bottoms out, cheol lets a big breath out, relieved that he didn’t cum, which he felt multiple times almost happen due to your tight little pussy milking him so much.

i can’t, not yet, she has to cum first before i do.

with that thought, he starts to slowly rock his hips, making a fluid motion out of it. he feels his tip grazing your sweet spot, which makes you gasp and moan lightly, as well as rocking your hips into his a little bit.

you turn your face towards him, your eyes telling him clearly what you want from him.

he immediately kisses you, tongues dancing a beautiful and harmonious dance for a second and then pulling away just to do the same not even a second later.

he continues with the slow pace, rolling hips so professionally it makes you second-guess his profession.

but once you breathlessly whisper “more” against his lips, he’s doubling his pace, his hips slapping against the back of your thighs.

you stop kissing him in favour of moaning directly in his face, which seungcheol seems to enjoy just as much as your kisses.

“feels good, baby? yeah? fuck, you moan so prettily, all for me, only for me, hm? nobody fucks you as good as i do right? the same way nobody begs for my dick as beautifully as you do.”

you try to focus on his words and to answer him, you truly do, but his cock filling your pussy, sliding in and out of you, and hitting your spot repeatedly makes you forget all and every thought, only being able to respond “yes yes yes” over and over.

he groans as your pussy pulses around him, making him quicken his pace even more, his hips and balls slapping almost violently against your skin.

the words keep leaving from his mouth, but you’re just too focused on enjoy him fucking you like nobody has ever before, that you don’t even answer a question he asked you.

seungcheol doesn’t like that.

he stops his hips from moving, and as you open your mouth to complain, he quickly leaves a strong spank on the side of your ass, a gasp leaving your mouth instead.

“i said- is this my pussy, pretty girl? nobody can fuck you the way i do, hm?”

his eyes as black as obsidian, looking for an answer in your tear filled ones.

you nod your head, moaning as you try to rock your hips into his.

cheol doesn’t like that either.

he spanks you one more time, just as hard, a little scream escapes you as he does. “use your words baby, or i won’t make you cum.”

you nod as you respond “yes, yes, only you can, nobody ever fucked me so good as you.”

he kisses you quickly, tongue teasing your lips for a second before pulling away to ask “who does this pussy belong to baby? remind me again.”, he finishes with another spank to your cheek.

you moan as you desperately respond “yours, belongs to you, only you, p-please stop teasing me-“.

before you can continue, he starts fucking you again, hips slamming into you that you feel yourself move upwards on the couch from the mere force.

you scream as he rocks his hips, tears freely falling from your eyes now. you don’t even realise just how tight your nails have imbedded themselves into his back, pretty sure that you are drawing blood from them.

not that cheol seems to mind, he just groans at every little thing you give him, groaning “yes baby, just like that” in your ear.

still, deciding to spare him an ER visit, you switch to pulling on his hair instead.

which seems to be an even better thing, because he in return moans so loudly, eyes scrunched up in pleasure as you do so.

“fuck baby, don’t do that or i’ll cum right now right inside you.”

the thought makes you bite your lips, as well as clam your walls even tighter around him.

he notices this, causing a little smirk to play on the edge of his lips. “oh? would my pretty girl like that? for me to cum inside you? to cream your walls? hm?”

he looks carefully for your reaction, hoping that he isn’t crossing any lines with what he’s saying. but as you nod your head quickly, desperately saying “please! please please please please cum, cum inside of me-“, he just groans, the thought of cumming inside you, painting your walls white while your pussy takes in every last drop makes him almost cum right there and there.

seeing that he can’t go on for much longer, he lets his fingers find your clit, rubbing it just as fast as he’s fucking you, putting on just the littlest of pressure on it, knowing that it’s enough to make you finish.

your scream echoes through the room, hands pulling on his soft but wet hair like a maniac, feeling your end nearing at rapid pace.

“i need you to cum for me princess, now, fuck, cream on it baby, lemme feel you-“

and it’s done, with a cry, you throw your head back, your thighs squeeze his hips and you cum. you cum so hard that you squirt a little all over his thighs, making a mess out of him.

he, seemingly also almost there, just needs a little bit of your help, mainly just you saying “cum, please, cum inside me, need it so bad cheollie-“, he thrusts once, twice before he’s cumming inside of you, moaning in your face as he does so.

rocking his hips for a bit, to make sure that every last drop of his cum is fucked deeply inside of your pussy, he then drops his whole dead body onto your own, his legs shaking from how hard his orgasm hit him.

although he is a bit heavy, you don’t complain at all, instead hugging him even closer, welcoming his bulky body to squish you. it’s almost like it makes you feel grounded, as well as helping you clear up your mind, haziness due to your own finish clearing up the longer he lays there on you.

you two just breathe heavily for a minute, trying to regain your breaths as you rub his back, while his lips softly kiss your neck and cheeks.

he turns your face to his own so that he can kiss you gently, rubbing his thumb on your cheek in comfort.

he breaks the kiss off, his boba eyes looking at you as he gently asks “are you okay baby?”

you just nod your head with a tired smile.

“i didn’t overdo it, right? everything was okay? wasn’t too much?”

your smile spreads a big wider as you whisper “it was perfect…you are perfect.”

he smiles a little before softly pecking your lips, stopping only at one kiss in favour of whispering back “you are the one that’s perfect…my baby.”

you just loop your hands around his neck to pull him towards you, kissing him deeply and slowly, letting all your feelings and words you don’t trust to say out loud speak for themselves through that kiss.

after a minute or so, you feel his dick slowly get hard again, making you realise that he hasn’t pulled out the entire time.

you softly say “sorry about the mess i made on your couch.”

cheol just chuckles as he responds “i could care less about the couch, especially not after i just had you squirt all over it.”

you shyly hide your face in his neck, groaning in embarrassment as he chuckles some more.

suddenly, he grabs your thighs before going to slowly stand up, all while still holding your body wrapped around his.

you gasp as you get picked up, clamping onto his dick as you feel the shift in the angle.

cheol just groans as he starts carrying you towards his room, spanking your ass one more time as he walks.

“i’m not done with you yet.”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

after two more rounds of wild and fast sex, you two lay there on his bed, both on your sides as you face each other, a thin blanket covering your bodies as the sweat on your bodies starts to slowly cool off.

seungcheol just looks at your face, almost like he’s in awe that a woman like you is truly in his bed and that has given him a chance, running the back of his finger up and down your cheek as you two quietly talk in what now has turned a dark room. the night slowly crept on you two, which you didn’t even realise until you fell onto the bed after you had just finished riding him into oblivion.

night, which reminds you…

you should slowly go home now.

you push his silky black hair back, looking at his youthful face and small smile.

god he’s so beautiful, I want to see him again.

you smile small, a little bit of bittersweetness visible in it, as you say quietly“i should probably go home soon.”

his mood sours immediately, a pout replacing the smile on his cherry red lips.

the arm that has been wrapped around your waist under the blanket tightens, pulling you closer to his body, almost likes he’s trying to prevent you from getting up.

ever so quietly, he whispers in the mostly dark room “do you have to?”.

the lamp that is turned on and is your only source of light illuminates his handsome face, eyes sparkling from the said light, begging you not to go.

you smile sadly as you respond “i should.”

he stays quiet for a second, teeth gnawing on his lip as he thinks about your words.

you just lean in to leave one last kiss on his lips, letting your presence and smell linger for a bit before you pull away and start to get up.

as you are sitting on the edge of the bed, looking for your things, you hear him shuffle behind you, but don’t pay him any attention, thinking that he’s probably just going to walk you out.

which quickly changes once you feel his arms wrap around your hips from behind, face nuzzling in your neck.

you turn your head to look at him surprised, the top his head only greeting you in return.

he tightens his hug around your waist, his legs spread so that you’re basically sitting between them.

and then, in the quietest and most unsure voice he asks you.

“stay? please? tomorrow is sunday after all…and-and I don’t want you to leave… i don’t want this to be over yet…”

you unconsciously start pouting yourself at his voice, heart breaking at how sad he sounds that you have to go.

you fish with your point finger for his chin, saying a little “cheollie, look at me, please baby.”

after a second or two, he lifts his head from your shoulder, face red from the lack of oxygen.

you smile a little at him before you say “okay, i’ll stay, but tomorrow i really need to go, because i have work on monday and i can’t miss it.”

you pause for a second to gulp your nervousness down before continuing “and…”

he just looks at you with puppy eyes, seeing you get flustered in real time, but doesn’t say anything to interrupt you.

you just look at him a bit embarrassed as you finish “…who says that this has to end?”

cheol just blinks for a second before the implication of your words finally delivers in his head, making a big smile explode on his face.

quickly kissing you, he lets your bodies fall back on the bed, his arms still tightly wrapped around you, making it hard for you to turn around so you can kiss him properly.

god, choi seungcheol, what are you doing to me?

[lostintransist]

Broken Beyond Bearing | Part 3

-.-. …. .. .-.. -.. .-. . -. / -.— —- ..- -. —. / .- … / - . -.

Part 1 found here | AO3

CW: A/B/O sexism I guess is what we should call this? Trauma reactions to doctors, awful in world politics.

Keeping his eyes on you Kyle’s concern rises with each shallow breath you suck between your teeth.

The nurse had been watching and held the door open as he directed Kyle to the first room on the right. Settling your body flat on the table he steps back, trying to give the nurse room to move. With two chairs, a small counter and a sink, and a ‘calming’ green on the walls the room looks exactly like he expects it to.

“How long ago was the exposure?” The nurse is taking your vitals and you stiffen as if your body hit rigor. “Ma’am if you don’t relax this is going to take longer.”

“Less than thirty minutes,” Kyle answers coolly.

The whine, primal and terrified, that comes from your throat as the blood pressure cuff is tightening has Kyle moving to where your head lays. Running the back of his knuckles down your cheeks he whispers to you. The scent of your fear, clear and uncontaminated with whatever afflicted you normally, flooded the room.

“Hey, hey. I’m here. You’re not alone. Everything will be okay.”

The nurse, an alpha by scent, makes a noise that pulls Kyle to look at him. The nurse, Johnson by the glance to his name tag, keeps his eyes on the monitor taking your blood pressure and pulse. Kyle focuses back on you. Your body regains mobility as the cuff is removed, eyes rolling like a horse looking for a place to run.

“Her vitals are all looking normal, the doctor will be in shortly,” Johnson shuts the door behind him. He must not be far enough away from the door when he starts talking to someone else. “Beta bitch in room one has track marks up both arms. I knew betas died from drugs more than any other gender but it’s wild to see that out here.”

Kyle would have stormed out the door to rip into the man if your hands hadn’t slapped into his, holding them tight. Pulling yourself upright from the reclined position you tuck your knees to your chest and rest your chin atop them. Letting go of his hands you curl them around your legs.

Sitting on a chair positioned next to the bed Kyle looks up at you, trying to catch your eyes.

Even when he could see the streaks of color through your irises no recognition lit your features. Concerned, Kyle stays sitting on the bed with you watching each breath and twitch. Nothing changes until the door opens with a faint knock.

“My name is Doctor Chen. Can you tell me what happened today?”

Like an automaton, you uncurl from your crunched position. Legs folded you straighten your back and rest your forearms on your knees palms aimed at the ceiling. Kyle had seen poses similar in meditation videos he would watch sometimes to give his mind a moment to relax. There is no peace in your pose. The width of your open eyes and the shallowness of your breath all remind him of victims he has saved from torture.

Memories that left their marks on his bones should not be reflected in your posture, he faced evil abroad and in the mirror to keep people like you safe.

He glanced at the man, dark hair, light blue scrubs, thick-rimmed glasses, and a white overcoat Kyle mostly associated with lab work. A quick draw of breath and Kyle marked him as an alpha. Dr. Chen did not look at you once, eyes staying firmly on him.

“We had an exposure to an allergen.”

Dr. Chen nodded once and sat on the small, wheeled stool that Kyle only ever saw in doctor’s offices. He wondered if they had to special order them or if they appeared in the building like fairies to offers of milk and bread. The man logged into his computer with a swipe of his name tag to an RFID reader and tapped a few buttons before turning to look at Kyle again.

“Do you know what the allergy was in reaction to?” He adjusts his glasses further up his nose.

“We don’t and would like to get some testing. Does this clinic do testing?” Kyle asked; all of his medical care happened on base.

Dr. Chen’s eyes glanced at you for the first time with a flare of his nose as he took in the fear salting the room with your uniquely beta scent. Kyle knew deeper than his marrow that you could turn off his brain and any explosive rage that he dealt with being an alpha. You didn’t use that now, but by the gods, he wished you would. The flash of disgust that whipped across Dr. Chen’s face ignited the soul-deep rage that existed with being an alpha.

“Dr. Chen,” the darkness, power, in Kyle’s voice brought the doctor’s face to him. “You will treat my wife with respect or I will ensure you don’t live to regret it.”

The cloying, nose-coating scent of Dr. Chen’s alpha rising to meet the challenge filled Kyle’s nose. He let the monster rise in his eyes, keeping his scent muted. Military training had to be good for something beyond the battlefield.

Kyle stands, placing his body between the doctor and the bed where you sit. Arms crossed and shoulders spread wide he used the mass of his bulk to show the barrier he could be. He didn’t know you, but Kate had seen something that prompted her to give them the care over you. You would not feel any harm if he could prevent it. You started to rock softly, eyes still unseeing. Then you begin to hum Edelweiss, effectively breaking the tension. Chen lost the staring match when he glanced at you.

“Do your job doctor, so I don’t have to.”

“That is out of line Mr—”

“Sergeant, special forces.”

Dr. Chen’s eyes narrowed but accepted the correction.

“Sergeant, your wife is doing fine by her visual inspection and her vitals agree. This clinic does not offer allergy testing but there are a few private practices here that you can call.” He turned back to his computer, typing in what Kyle assumed to be a summary of the visit today. “Most of what we do here for allergies is to stop the reaction and watch for any adverse effects.”

“I will need a copy of that report for our records,” Kyle stated it like a command he would give a private or a trainee. A firm ‘this is the course of action you will be taking’ that did not leave any room for questions or disobedience.

If Dr. Chen thought of arguing with Kyle, he kept it to himself. He left shortly after with a comment that Johnson would be in soon with the paperwork he requested. That is how Johnny found them, Kyle’s arms crossed and holding back his rage and you the juxtaposition of a peaceful body and an absent mind.

“You are more than you appear, wife,” Johnny took your hand, curling fingers around palms.

They wait in the cadence of your voice for nearly five minutes before Johnson appears, papers in hand. Kyle snaps a vice grip around the man’s wrist, pulling him close.

“Johnson. If I hear you telling tales about betas, and more specifically about my wife I will paint the walls of your room with colors not even crime techs will unsee.”

The man under his eyes paled quite impressively. Plucking the papers from his hand Kyle dropped Johnson’s hand and turned to his pack mate and partner in crime. Johnny’s thumb traced a track along the back of your hand as he watched the interaction play out before him.

“Can you carry her to the truck?”

Johnny’s eyes flicked as he watched the nurse flee from the room.

“Yeah. Up you pop bonnie,” he settled one arm over his shoulder and then the other before lifting you under the thighs to settle around his waist.

Still, you hummed, no life in your form. Kyle had a glare and a harsh, nose-blistering scent of rage for anyone who looked too long. Johnny settled in the back seat with you, buckling you into the middle so he could keep a hand on you and Kyle could check on you in the review mirror.

The drive home is tense, filled only with Kyle’s quiet mutterings about inexperienced winter drivers. When he turns onto the path home Johnny asks a question.

“What the hell happened in the clinic when I was on the phone with John?”

The steering wheel creaks under the pressure of Kyle’s hands.

“Nurse and doctor had some awful things to say about our wife, called her a drug addict, and couldn’t keep professional.”

“The hell? Why did they do that?” Johnny’s face in the rearview is tight with angry concern.

“It’s due to the beta laws that went into place ten…eleven? Yeah maybe eleven years ago.” Your voice is an unexpected addition to the conversation.

Kyle slows to a stop in the snow, throwing the truck in park and turning to look at you.

“What beta laws?”

He knows his gaze is harsh when you flinch back. Johnny wraps an arm around you and you settle a bit.

“There were laws on the books for a long time that weren’t really enforced,” you swallow and look from man to man before staring at your knees and continuing. “About how betas weren’t allowed the same personhood rights as alphas and omegas due to the lack of either consistent rut or heat. Apparently, the ability to do both is scary to the government. Several years back a group successfully passed a new law that said basically that betas should be treated like children, unable to sign paperwork without an approving authority, have bank accounts alone, apply for a credit card, or passport, you name it without the approval of an alpha or omega. In some places it went beyond that, stripping beta’s of all rights.”

Johnny muttered under his breath something that sounded like ‘What the fuck’ but Kyle kept his eyes on you.

“What happened to you?” His whisper hardens on your skin like ice.

There is no weak, scared beta woman here, only a beast that would peel him apart if he pushed. He didn’t scare her, but doctors did.

“No.”

Nodding once and accepting the answer Kyle turned back to driving. He would discuss this all with the guys after they had settled into bed. The interactions with the clinic staff were nothing like he had ever experienced before. Though as he thought of it he couldn’t remember the last time he had worked with a beta.

Simon and John step onto the porch as Kyle parks, as if they had been keeping watch for them.

The four men set about their tasks, hauling everything inside. You follow when Johnny reaches into the back seat and helps you out, hand tucked in his as he carries in a few bags. Simon sets about setting up the bed they picked for your room. Johnny settles you at the table, laughing and joking at you as he prepares a plate of food. Kyle and John set to work on creating the dresser. They don’t hear you laugh at any of Johnny’s stories but John points to you once and Kyle catches a glimpse of a smile. The sun slips away into the trees as each of the men finishes their task. Once the bed is made and the mattress settled on the frame John and Kyle lift the dresser into place.

The three men who had built things collapsed onto the couch facing the back wall of windows into the woods. Simon is settled between John and Kyle an arm dropped around each of them. You are standing on the back porch, head tilted back as you look at the ink-dark sky. The coat and boots you wear are those picked up today. Kyle didn’t think to wonder where Johnny had gone until he bounced down the steps with a bright bundle of fabric over one shoulder as he shoved a beanie on his head.

“Where ya going, Johnny?” Simon pitches his voice to carry but not to shout.

“Gonna give our wife a gift,” he winks at his lovers and pops out the back door.

Simon tightens the arm around Kyle.

“He loves you. That won’t change if he chooses to love someone new as well,” John murmured.

Kyle looked over at John who lay his head fully on Simon, nose buried in the scent gland at his neck. John licks the length of the gland causing Simon to let out a short whine.

Glancing back out to the back porch Kyle watches Johnny settle a shawl across your shoulders and sees in your profile confusion, hesitance. When you look down and clutch the shawl tight to your chest Kyle could only call the look on your face concerned acceptance. Johnny grinned at you like the sun had risen.

“To bed Simon, I can feel you grumble. Your rut starts soon. Let Johnny get our wife settled and let Kyle and I get you into bed.” John pushes up from the couch pulling Simon with him.

Kyle stands as well, eyes drifting to you and Johnny one last time. Standing side by side the two stare at the stars. John calls him from his observations and Kyle starts up the stairs after his lovers. His other lover will arrive with time.

Broken Masterlist | Masterlist

@lucienofthelakes @gg-trini @talia-the-gemini @thriving-n-jiving @z-wantstowrite @asialovesyou09 @literallegendicon @canthavetoomuchchaos @reinekoya @jsptmoche @demothers-empty-blog @hbaasaad

[wordsbyrian]

Would you pls do a Mary earps imagine with them filming TikTok’s together and being otp x

A/n: Not exactly what you asked for but close enough i think.

TikTok is the bane of your very existence.

It’s the bane of your professional life as a chef because everytime you turn around one of your crew is using prep time to make a concoction and upload it to that godforsaken app.

And in your personal life?

Well, in your personal life, it feels like every time you blink you're being sucked into filming one of those stupid videos with your girlfriend.

The first time it happened, you were barely even sure what was going on.

The two of you had been getting ready to go on a date to a relatively nice restaurant, when she pulled up in front of her phone’s camera so she could show off what you were wearing.

That had been the beginning of the madness (as well as a very hard launch of your relationship to the public).

It didn’t really matter what you were doing, if Mary had decided that a video needed to be filmed, it’d be filmed.

A literal walk in the park. TikTok.

You driving. TikTok.

You tearing a member of the kitchen staff a new one. TikTok. (Although she’d been asked not so politely by the head chef to never do that again).

You cooking in your shared flat. TikTok.

Hell, she even made a TikTok of you sharpening your knives, a task you find completely mind numbing.

And if having your every move recorded wasn’t bad enough, she also had you joining her in filming one of the more popular trends. You mouthing along to the silly sounds that are currently popular on the app. Or worse, dancing, you hate the dancing.

Asking how often you think about the Roman Empire (only as often as you need to).

Throwing herself fully clothed into the shower  and singing Taylor Swift while you were trying to brush your teeth.

Making you record a two second clip of everytime you changed clothes while on vacation.

The list is neverending.

Which is why you should be more alarmed when you see her walking into the kitchen  with her phone out but you’re too focused on chopping the vegetables you’ll be using in your meal prep.

 “Baby,” she says.

“Hmm?”

“Can we record a TikTok?”

“Can I keep doing what I’m doing,” you ask in return, still not looking up from the cutting board.

“You don’t need to do anything but stand there and look pretty,” Mary says as she sets her phone up next to you. “And answer questions,” she adds as an afterthought.

You roll your eyes but don’t make any additional comments as you see her hit record.

“So a ton of you have been asking in the comments how my wife manages to be a professional chef when she has so many food allergies,” Mary says, looking directly at the camera. “And I figured it was better if I just let her explain it. Babe?”

Admittedly, you hadn’t really been listening to every word that she had been saying, only really listening to every word that she had been saying, only really catching the words ‘allergies’ and ‘professional chef’, which is a topic you get asked about a lot. So you just answer without really thinking.

“My main allergies are seafood, peanuts and treenuts. And since I’m one of 2 or 3 sous on any given night, I just,” you pause, “wait, what did you just call me?”

You can feel cheeks heating up as your brain finally processes what just happened.

“What? Babe?”

Mary’s playing dumb on purpose. She knows it. You know it. And you both know that the other one knows.

“Not that, the other thing.”

“What my wife,” she asks.

A cheeky grin breaks out on Mary’s face as she watches even more color rush to your face.

For you, when she repeats it, you suddenly feel like you can barely breathe and you know that your next words come out a little choked (much to Mary’s amusement.)

“Yup, that.”

As calmly as you can manage, you put your knife down and take off your apron before walking out of the kitchen.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“I have to find my wallet and keys,” you shoot back.

“Why?”

“I gotta go buy a ring before you change your mind!”

The sound of her laughter is the only thing you hear as you close the door behind you.

The video is up on that cursed app by the end of the week.

A photo of the ring on Mary’s finger goes up just a few hours before.

[mochatune]

Solivan brugmansia x reader who’s obsessed with him back hcs

—-

- he first spotted you in the library, something about you brought a sense of deja vu.

- you had spotted him too of course but for different reasons. He was in your spot.

- he knew it was. He had sat there on purpose. After multiple days seeing you, goading himself to speak to you, he found the courage to throw himself as a roadblock so you too would notice him.

- he certainly caught your attention. Cheeks puffed and stomping towards him.

- he wasn’t going to be a suck up and give you back “your spot” as far as he was concerned no ones name was plastered on that seat plus this was his chance to have a proper conversation with you.

- you had briefly considered your options to hopefully persuade him out of the seat, something like coffee crosses your mind. After all there was a cafe right there, but since he wants to be so difficult he doesn’t deserve your money or any more of your time.

- having a moment of courage you stomped up to him and plopped yourself on his lap. You swear the energy in the room became rigged, frozen even.

- it’d been about a minute since he’s moved, he’s been dead still since you sat down; You can’t read your book like this.

- “hey can you relax? You’re making me uncomfortable, I don’t bite.” You added the last part with a subtle smile

- now that he’s actually breathing, you ease yourself into his lap. He doesn’t have much meat on his bones but you’re comfortable regardless.

- feeling his arms rest where your elbows lie on the curvatures of the chair, he’s slightly looking over your shoulder. Looks like he forgot about his own book trailing the pages with you.

- despite your blazing moment of boldness you had felt an anxiety creep in, the way his breath reverberated off the back of your neck made you sweat with pressure. You wished you had gotten a better look at him, only seeing his dark tinted nails and pale hands as you glance down from your book onto the arm rests.

- with the boldness wearing off you decide to focus your attention onto the time. To your luck it’s about time to travel to your next class.

- you get off his lap slowly while giving an apologetic smile for your past behaviour towards his personal space. In the process scanning his features, despite the quick glance he was actually very good looking.

- He had hoped that moment would last forever.

- on your way to class you just couldn’t stop thinking about him, two parts of your brain arguing about wether you wanted to see him again. A new hallway crush at the very least. You too were stuck on his mind.

- lo and behold he’s in your art class, fuck.

- your heart was going to implode as you snuck glances at him accidentally hooking gazes with him. His ears tinted red as the gaze was averted mutually while you probably looked like a strawberry.

- you zoned out the teachers instructions with your own overbearing thoughts, he kept sneaking his way into your consciousness. Him and his dumb cute face.

- he had insisted on drawing you, probably for the better considering anytime you look his way you get jittery. Patiently leaned forward in a 3/4th view.

- you try to act casual, you really do but you just cant maintain eye contact. Looking at him for just a second before you shift your gaze to the wall behind him. Seems to be the same case for him as he occasionally hides his red face behind his sketch pad, must be spring allergies.

- by the end of class he claims he’s only halfway done despite it looking beautiful. You exchange pleasantries before speed walking out. Sol.. Sol you liked that name testing it out a few more times as you walked away.

- tailing behind you he grabs you by the wrist, you feel like a schoolgirl the way he’s approaching you and the worst part is you’re enjoying it. You had just hoped he didn’t hear you.

- upon request you gave him your number for “school related activities” yeah right. At least you’re in the clear. Maybe this means you have a chance with him, fake it till you make it right?

- he stays stuck on your mind all the way home as you hunker on your bed looking at the piles of laundry you’ve been putting off. No matter what else you focus on it comes back to the thought of him.

- you practically pray for another moment of confidence as you hover over his newly added contact. Sighing as you throw your phone next to you.

- ding!

- you practically jump to your phone hoping for sol instead it’s just the group chat you’re in. Despite it not being him at least someone bothered contacting you.

- a Halloween party? ‘Sounds fun’ you text the group chat as you copy the photo and send it to sol. Maybe he’ll go if you invite him.

—-

“A Halloween party? Hosted by the school?”

“Yeah!”

“I'm not quite into parties…”

“Oh…”

- You knew it wasn’t appropriate to grow this attached but you still felt your heart drop.

“Oh! Well, that's alright! Just asking, that's all :)”

- Promptly putting your phone face down next to you saddened.

- ding!

“Wait”

“if you're coming, then I'm coming as well”

“Really?!”

“Really”

- feeling your heart suddenly come burst out

“Do you plan on dressing up?”

“Idk… do you?”

“I mean, it's a costume party, so why not?”

“I'll try to think of something then.”

(The text convo was copy pasted from EchikoHoshisuki on Ao3)

——

- this excited you more then you could ever know, jumping out of bed to go and find a costume and perfect your makeup so it looks bomb for the party.

- you stood awake until 2am thinking about that guy, just what the hell was wrong with you. You wished he’d text you back.

- he couldn’t stop thinking about you, his soulmate as he pleasured himself. He’d hope to have a day like that with you a million more times.

- you finally fall asleep with him still plaguing your mind.

- Saturday is quick to pass as you spend it inside practically rotting in bed, you do have to do laundry before it gets too dark though.

- it’s about 5pm when you head out with your dirty clothing in a janky old cart, the local laundromat is placed conveniently across the street. You roll the dirty wheels over the unpaved side walk, each bump making the cart and the clothing wobble slightly.

- you hang around with a book as you wait for the wash cycle to finish, seemingly unaware of your surroundings.

- after flirting with the idea of reading, two pages later you look up and give the room a swipe. The wash cycle on your machine still has 15 minutes left on it.

- maybe it’d just be better to daydream about the person you’re trying to distract yourself from, seems like it’s a good time waster. You decide to do just that for the remainder of your wash cycle.

- you swear you just saw a lock of green hair

- you must be going crazy, you’re thinking about him so much that it’s like he’s really there.

- you feel a tap on your shoulder.

- Oh he really is there. You make eye contact with his orange hues, feeling a warmth creep up your neck and onto your cheeks.

- fuck

- why does simple eye contact turn you into a mess with this guy.

- deciding to not be a square you perk up and ask him dumb ass small talk questions. You know the; “the weathers nice, huh?”, “how are you?”, “excited for tomorrow?”.

- You knew you were excited for tomorrow. School events didn’t typically get you excited but knowing he would be there made it worth it.

- despite the obvious lack of originality in these conversations starters it was still pleasant speaking with him. Hell, even just staring at him was enough for you. Maybe just thinking about him was good enough to hold you over. For now anyway.

- you wanted to talk more, you really did. Glancing over to your machine you see the wash cycle had just ended. You wanted to wrap your arms around him and kiss him as you bid your goodbyes. He did too. But instead you opted for a wave and a smile, as did he.

- upon coming home and hanging your laundry out on a rack you still thought about him, you were going back to that laundromat the exact same time next week just to talk to him outside of school.

- he lived half an hour away from that laundromat. He had caught a glimpse of you one day while out in your area. No particular reason why he was there.

- he couldn’t stop thinking about you either, deciding to go with his own dirty laundry on the day he saw you. He was so lucky you were there.

- I love him

- I love her

- you force yourself to go to sleep that night. The excitement of tomorrow seeping in.

- you have about an hour before you need to head out, deciding on a simple mummy look. You were told very short notice, this was really all you could pull together. You figure if the makeup looks bomb then no one will pay attention to the lack of originality.

- throwing the look together with white eye contacts to really get that corpse look, you twirl in the mirror and head out. Toilet paper already tearing at your feet.

- upon arrival you see your friend group crowded at the entrance all sporting their unique styles. Brittney was dressed in a gyaru style, typical but it was cute. Jess sporting a simple cat ear headband and a tail, looks like it was short notice for her as well. Lastly, Crowe who seems to have put the most effort in was dressed as a knight in shining armor. Literally.

- you talked to them for a respectable amount of time. They were nice and they looked great your mind was just elsewhere.

- you had to find him, he’s like 80% of the reason you didn’t bail out of the plan. Sure, you went for your friends too but him coming was what really sold the deal. Otherwise you would have found an absurd excuse to stay home and scroll Instagram for hours.

- you inched your way out of the conversation, it seemed Crowe wanted you to stay and chat more as he immediately asked where you were going as you slowly but surely walked away.

- you caught a glimpse of sol just then, he was covered head to toe in toilet paper?

- god you guys accidentally matched, you could only hope he wouldn’t think you’re some crazy stalker.

- despite enjoying the chat you had to go talk to him, you just had to. You reassured Crowe you’d all talk later as you ran off into Sol’s direction.

- slowing your pace as you see the love of your life

- ahem

- Sol. As you see Sol wrapped in toilet paper just as you were. Awkward.

- he looks your way, himself blushing at the realisation you both were matching. Another reason for him to believe you both were destined to be together.

- he had to have you. Tonight.

- he could not and would not wait any long he decided as he looked at you. Thank god for the toilet paper covering over half his face, he’s redder than a tomato.

- as you finally approach him you both talk as he whisks you away somewhere more private.

- he lures you away from the crowds, to tell the truth you were grateful. You didn’t even want to come to this stupid party.

- it was weird when he had you follow him into a dark creepy alleyway but it wasn’t creepy as long as he was there by your side.

- you both stood there, awkwardly, as he stood at a distance ahead of you. He was acting strange but the red flags didn’t bother you so long as it was him.

- though it was even weirder when he lunged at you and stuck a wet cloth in your face. It made you woozy as your vision went black.

- you awake tied to a chair, you can barely piece together what happened last night. Only bits and pieces coming to you, you have a killer headache too. Maybe you could chalk it up to drinking too much if you weren’t strapped down to a cheap ass chair.

- it was actually pretty sturdy as you tried breaking your way out of it. You can only let out a defeated sigh hoping someone will come and save you, you scream but it seems that no one can hear you.

- except him.

- Upon hearing footsteps you’re pretty nervous, opting to stay as quite as possible.

- it’s him, thank god. You feel yourself immediately sink into the wood of the chair and your breath flow becomes less forced.

- he enters the basement with what looks like a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of water. He looks cute in his inside clothes.

- he doesn’t seem to be in a rush to untie you, which is weird. If he wanted you to come home with him you would have.

- he’s still, just staring at you. You can’t maintain eye contact for too long before you blush and avert gazes again. curse your nerves.

- you’re not sure what to say, honestly you’re just happy it’s him and not some creep.

- it’s a relief when he walks up to you with that tray of food, you’re honestly kind of hungry. Maybe he’ll untie you if you comply.

- “you know, you don’t have to tie me up to make me stay by your side.. heh” you offer a nervous chuckle hoping to lighten up the mood. Biting your lip to quell your anxiety.

- he perks up at this, stopping his movements with the silverware as it sloppily clangs onto the edge of the porcelain bowl.

- his face is covered, not even just covered. Drenched in a red hue, sweat runs down his forehead as he hurriedly wipes it away with his sleeve.

- that reaction gave you knots of your own, even after holding you captive you still somehow can’t get enough of him.

- he fidgets with the silverware, opting for the silence as he feeds you. It shouldn’t have made you hot and bothered but it did.

- the way he’d dab at the food that clung to the corners of your lips with his fingers gave you a visceral reaction. You briefly considered licking him honestly.

- must resist the urges. God you really were desperate.

- somewhere down the line he unties you, it doesn’t even take a fully day to get his trust. It didn’t even take you a full day to warm up to him.

- if he wants you here so be it.

- maybe you weren’t as crazy about him as he was to you but you must have had a screw or two loose to enjoy the attention he was giving you.

- you’d miss him when he ran off to school wishing he just wouldn’t bother at all. Days he’d leave you alone in the house were torture.

- you missed him all the time.

- sometimes you’d think about tying him down so he couldn’t leave you.

- you two really are just two peas in a pod

—-

Look i know these barely count as head canons considering they’re supposed to be vague but I honest to god just really hate writing one shots.

This one really took the wind out of me, I do not usually dedicate this much time to an hc but there is NOTHING for this guy online. Possibly due to the game only being a demo right now.

Anyways, I hope the longevity of this isn’t bothersome, I’ve only seen a small handful of readable fics for this guy and wanted to separate myself from the masses. I heavily utilized EchikoHoshisuki’s fic on Ao3 as inspiration for my own, I’m hoping by mentioning their name they’ll add another chapter soon 😅 Maybe expect something for broken colors or yours game next.

And yesss, I know there are still unanswered asks in my inbox. I just have commitment issues but I love y’all and I promise at some point in my life they will be answered.

[jujutsukgojo]

The Baby Project Chapter 11

Izuku Midoriya x reader, minor Hitoshi Shinsou x reader

The Baby Project masterlist

Summary: Noa's growing fast and is ready for the holiday season! tw: allergic reactions, Sen Kaibara

The room is stuffy from the smell of the smoke that is slowly being chased away by tired support course students. Even with their fanning and the open windows, it doesn’t help. Mei is truly something if she’s standing here like the smell isn’t bothering her. 

“And that’s that! Cool, right?”

Your hand is on your hip. Thankfully, Noa is with Izuku right now, so he doesn’t have to witness you beating the hell out of Mei. Your soon-to-be victim chuckles nervously and backs away slowly with her hands up. “H-hey! Don’t worry! This is something some people go through, so it’s manageable.”

“I’m not talking about the damn peanuts! I’m talking about the price! What the hell is this? Real Benadryl doesn’t even cost this much!” This morning, you were out of ideas for breakfast, so you decided to make Noa a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It ended up being a terrible mistake. He immediately broke out in splotches and complained of tingly lips and throat. You called Mei since Izuku was busy freaking out. Lo and behold, Mei Hatsume decided it’d be great to give Noa a damn peanut allergy. 

Neither you nor Izuku could believe it. When he was a baby, he was sensitive to regular diapers. Mei programmed some of the kids that way. She would also let you know that she programmed a ‘virus’ that the kids can catch. She didn’t say anything about food allergies. Thankfully, when you arrived, she stopped Noa’s reaction from progressing to give you time to give him the medicine, which is terribly overpriced. There’s no way this can continue without an explanation. Medicine, formula, baby food; all of it is paid out of your pocket without knowing where it is going.

“Mei,” You breathe deeply. “What are you people doing with our money?” Although Izuku insists on sharing his card to ease your financial pressure, you aren’t going to take advantage of it. 

She sucks in her lips. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Why not?” You growl. Normally, you don’t act like this towards people who are doing their jobs. However, this is not a normal situation. Mei sighs and smacks her thighs. “Because I don’t know either.”

You pause. “You serious?” 

“Yeah.” She looks down and takes off her goggles. “Nothing goes on sale, but I can cover you this time. As a… y’know.” Her voice trails off. It takes you no time to figure out what she means. Back when they changed Noa’s age, Mei was present. This must be her apology or something. 

“Mei, why this? I don’t understand how you thought of this on a whim.”

“It’s not random. I take the hereditary profiles from the parents and program them.”

Which parent? Noa favors Izuku over Kaibara. So, which father? He’s Kaibara’s on paper and Izuku’s by nurture. You reach out for her to give you Noa’s U.A. gummy Benadryl. When the box is placed in your hand, a little voice pops up behind you. “Hi, Mm!”

Etsuko appears with her hair in a sad attempt of a braid and cute blue overalls with her father in tow. The dual-colored hero tries to keep up with his toddler until she jumps into your arms. She’s become so sociable since you last saw her. Since Sara, her mother, became sick, she hasn’t been able to take care of Etsuko. When he puts his mind to it, Shouto can raise a child.

"See?" The tyke twirls around in her overalls. You gasp. “How beautiful!” You kiss her tiny hands. One is warmer than the other, very similar to Shouto.

“Daddy did my hair!” She runs her little fingers on her braid. On accident and to her dismay, it comes undone. Her shoulders slump. “Here, I’ll fix you up while Daddy does whatever the hell he was going to do.” She smiles and runs to your squatting form. “Okay, what will you like?”

She twirls her fingers. “A braid?” You ask. Etsuko bounces and giggles. Your fingers run through her thick hair to get rid of any tangles. After a few seconds, you decide to go with the same one you did before. “So, are you having fun with Daddy?”

“Mhm!”

You tie off the braid and kiss the top of her head. One of the support course students coos and brings a mirror to show Etsuko her hair. You straighten up and side-eye Todoroki who has a soft smile. “Thank you, (Y/n). Is it alright if I call you that?”

You suck on your teeth. A few months ago was a momentous day. Not only was it Noa’s first Halloween, but you experienced something you never had before. Other than that, Shouto took care of you and made sure you were safe in your bed. Even though you are, and will always be, pissed about this whole thing, you won’t disregard his help and possibly kind nature. Possibly.

“Sure.”

“Here you go Todoroki! Enjoy my babies!” Mei Excitedly hands him a bag full of God knows what.

“Okay, Etsuko. Daddy’s done. I’ll see you later, alright?” Etsuko looks down. Slowly, she walks to you and gives you a hug. You squeeze her tight. “Thank you for the sugars, baby girl!” You rock side to side while hugging her.

She’s adorable and so well behaved. The only problem is that she caught on to the ‘Mm’ thing. She is the third child to do that. You have a real name, they just choose to ignore it.

“You’re such a cutie patootie! But I have to go give this to Noa so his papa won’t cry again.”

“What is it?” Shout tilts his head. “Allergy medicine. U.A. gave him an allergy because they think it’s a good idea or something. So, he’s with Izuku right now.”

Todoroki nods and suggests, “I’m headed back to the dorms, so I’ll walk with you.”

You roll your eyes but don’t miss the curious frown on his face. With an expression of sweetness, you look down at baby Todoroki. “I’ll allow it since you have this cutie patootie!”

She shyly smiles at you. Todoroki chuckles and leads the two of you out of the classroom and to the hero dormitory. Etsuko, who as you thought, is standoffish, talks your head off the way there. 

“I can do this-watch me!” She twirls repeatedly and then rolls on the sidewalk. Both you and Todoroki stare in pretend fascination. She stops and throws her hands in the air. “Ta da!”

“That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.” Todoroki rubs her head. Her eyes sparkle when she laughs. She runs into his arms happily. For the first time, you see her show affection for him. Perhaps Shouto and Sara can work together properly after all.

The three of you enter Class A’s dormitory. Immediately, a familiar tiny person stands on the couch and stares at you from behind the back of it. Her red eyes are fierce. Every day she’s looking more like her dad. Her hair once was the same color as Sakura's. Now, it is fading to blonde, just not as spiky.

“You!” 

“Us?”

“Yes!” She points her finger at you. Mira has her dad’s personality but is a sweetheart at her core. Her specialty is showing you how to do flips and climb on people.

“It’s been a while, sweetcake.” You haven’t seen her in a few days. She stands next to her sitting dad. She’s almost as tall as Noa if you guess right. “Hi, Kacchan!”

He whips his head around. “You!”

“Have you been behaving, Kacchan?”

His ugly gremlin face appears. It’s fascinating. His features morph like clay to make a hideous result for no reason. Without it, he's genuinely attractive. He pushes his Sudoku off his lap. You squeak and run to an elevator to escape him. 

“Thanks for walking me, Shouto!” The elevator door closes just in time. You don’t really know Kacchan all that well. What you do know is that you like to mess with him. Even though you are literally playing with fire by doing that. 

The elevator doors open to another floor level. It’s basic and resembles the one general studies dorms with the difference being the trim along the walls. You saunter down the hallway, taking everything in and looking for Izuku's door number. Right as you mutter someone’s else's number under your breath, you spot a door open. Nosily, you head over and peek inside through the crack. The room is dark with only a single night light on in the corner of the room. Like the sneak you are, you tiptoe inside. 

You keep the door cracked slightly. Right as you go to flip the light switch on, there is a sniffle. An ache beats in your chest as your heart clenches from fright. Out from the shadows is Little Ken. His fluffy hair is outlined from the night light and is a dead giveaway. Kenji stumbles out of his small bed, shaking. He hasn’t noticed you in the shadows yet.

He stumbles straight to what looks like an adult bed. You follow him with your eyes. “D-dad…” Little Ken is breathless and shivers. You lean in to look at what he’s doing. You grab your throat and cover your mouth to contain a shriek. On the bed lies Hitoshi. How in the hell did you not see him? Now that you know he’s there, it’s hard to not look at him with his pale ass glowing with the night light. 

“Daddy?” Little Ken taps his dad again. “Daddy, I’m scared.” You didn’t wake him up then, a nightmare did. Is that even possible? Did Mei trigger a spike of fear for him or did he actually see something?

The poor tyke sniffles and whimpers. “Ken?” 

He gasps and tries to jump on his dad’s bed. “Honey, it’s me. Look, look at me.” The small light illuminates his face. He gasps. “Mm!” Abandoning the mission to wake Hitoshi, Little Ken jumps into your arms and cries. “It’s okay baby. I’m here, I got you.”

After a minute, you wipe his nose with the bottom of your shirt and wipe his face with your sleeve. “Mm…”

“Yes?”

“I peed.”

You go to try to wake his daddy to no avail. Sighing, you go and clean the poor lamb up. After Ken’s cleaned up and changed, he won’t let you go. “Screw it.” On his desk is a lamp that should wake him up. You turn the knob and find that not even light could wake this guy. Izuku freaked out when you woke him up suddenly and the same might be true for Hitoshi if you poured cold water on him. 

A black journal catches your eye. Seeing that the owner isn’t waking up, you might as well look through it. The thin paper carries what looks like a schedule or a planner. Your eyebrows raise once you see his shifts. He solely works nights, and it is morning time right now. His schedule is jam packed with loads of things related to hero work and school. No wonder why he won’t wake up; he just came off of a shift and will have training, then after that, he’ll cram in some studying as much as he can.

Hitoshi’s chest rises and falls. His mask lays on his chest like he is too tired to take it off. Ken breathes deeply, resting in the safety of your arms. Hitoshi doesn’t wake up when you carefully lift his mask and put it on the desk. He doesn't react when you take off his scarf, or when you bunch up Little Ken's blankets and put them in his hamper. If you push any more, he may react and panic. 

“Angel? You real?" His voice nearly makes you jump. “I’m real.”

“Not a dream?”

“Nope,” you whisper. “Hitoshi, baby boy had a nightmare.”

He grunts then two seconds later, he softly snores. The noise is light. "Oh come on."

Sighing you take care of Ken by yourself. You rock the boy and hum a lullaby you perform for Noa sometimes. Little Ken’s sleepy jingle comes on, signaling that you succeeded. You place him with Hitoshi. By how Kenny is snoring and drooling on his dad’s chest, he’s not waking up anytime soon. Hitoshi looks up at you with droopy eyes. “You sure you’re real?”

“Yeah, now go to sleep.”

It’s strange. You have sympathy for him and are willing to do this despite him having better resources. Does he feel the same way about you? He was once in general studies, so he may have an inkling on what it's like. Plus, he still has friends in his old class. Ignoring those questions and thoughts, you turn the light off and shut the door with a quiet click. 

You hum the numbers through the hall and finally find Izuku’s. You knock and the door swings open. “Baby, where were you?” His eyes are frantic and wide. 

“I heard Little Ken crying and I went into Hitoshi’s room. I think the little boy had a nightmare since he woke up scared.”

“They can do that?” Izuku whispers, fascinated by the revelation. He slowly puts the corner of his thumb to his mouth, about to bite on it. It's a little quirk of his whenever he's curious or planning. You grab his hand to stop him. “I guess. They can also get hereditary conditions, too.” 

Before you can go into detail, Noa’s small and raspy voice calls for you. “Mm?” It tugs your heart to see him like this. “Mama brought you something that’ll make you feel better.”

By Izuku’s bed is a nightstand that holds orange juice, soup, and all the works. “Bubba, he’s got a peanut allergy, not a cold.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do. I talked to Mei when I got there." Your shoulders slump. "I should've known. I'm his mom, right?" There are so many memories, it's hard to search through them for an answer. He doesn't eat peanut butter that often, but there had to be some clue. Allergies like this can develop and progress over time. You open the medicine package with shaky hands. Why are you taking your time giving this to him? You should've come back here immediately rather than mess around. 

Izuku rubs your back. “No one could have known.” Since Halloween, he’s been repentant for how he acted. In his defense, Riko did pass out the punch that she had let out of her sight for two seconds; unfortunately, that is all it took for one of the dummies to spike it. Of course, Izuku felt the effects shortly after he had a couple of cups. The next morning, he called you with a wicked headache from the hangover and Aizawa’s wrath.

It has been easier to get into the rhythm of things with him after that night happened. There are still those thoughts in the back of your head that try to shade on the happiness you feel when you’re with him, but you persevere. That night was confusing and way too much to handle all at once. 

You give Noa his chewable pill. “Mm, it’s strawbaby!” 

“Strawberry."

“That’s what I said.” Instantly, life comes back to his face. His eyes are brighter, and his voice is no longer hoarse. The spots on his face disappear like they were never there. 

“Thank you, Mei.” You whisper. Had she not stopped its progression to give you time to give him his medicine, who knows what would��ve happened. You turn back to Izuku who looks like his soul is entering his body again. Since everything is fine now, you need to bring it up again. 

“Izuku, I know he’s your son-”

“Definitely.”

“I don’t know about biologically. He looks like you, but I don’t know if…” Your voice trails off as you look at Noa. “What if he’s Kaibara’s?” You haven’t talked to him in months. Honestly, you haven't really thought about him either.  

“I’m his papa no matter what.” Izuku's voice is firm, and his face is soft. You bite your lip. “Just in case, we need to know everything about each other.” You sit on the foot of his bed. 

“Other than me being Quirkless, there’s nothing.”

Your shoulders slump. You press the question. “Seriously? Not a thing?”

He shrugs. “Nope. I’m completely healthy.”

“What about mentally?” You clench your fist at the thought. He sits next to you and messes with your hand. “I get nightmares and anxiety sometimes.”

You won’t tell him that you know that. “Understandable, given everything.”

“What about you?” He tilts his head, ready to listen. You inform him of your history openly. With a deep breath, you move to another subject. It’s exciting but oh God. Your eyes dart around and you whisper, “It’s the holiday season, Izuku."

“I’m excited.”

“No! What are we going to do? General studies always have parties and presents and now that Noa’s here, we’re in danger.”

“We’ll be fine-” He assures.

“I’m talking about my wallet, baby! When he gets his hands on those catalogs Riko steals it’s over!” You harshly whisper. Izuku chuckles. “I promise, we’ll be okay.”

“She does it on purpose! He’s going to circle all over that thing.” He’s turning red as he tries his hardest not to laugh. 

“They don’t make those anymore.”

You point to his face and glare. “They do to the unsuspecting strugglers and manifest right into Riko’s hands.”

His laugh gains the attention of the kid. “Why are you laughing?” Noa comes over with his Kamui Woods doll in his hand. Before you can say anything, Izuku confesses. “I’m laughing at Mm because she’s being silly. She doesn’t know what you want for Christmas and the holidays.”

“What’s Christmas?”

Izuku tells them everything to his knowledge. You cringe at the light in the boy’s eyes. As sweet as this scene is, there is something still there that presses against you like a thorn. You’d much rather spend time focusing on Christmas and Izuku, however, there is a restlessness that you can’t shake away. 

“Can you watch Noa for a second? I’ll be right back.” He nods and kisses your knuckles on the hand he was messing with. He’s a sweetheart and one you’ll never get used to.

“I’m his dad, not a babysitter.”

-------------

You spot Kaibara eating a carrot with his friends. You haven’t talked to him since Noa went missing. Taking a deep breath, you go over to him. “Sen?”

 His name is bitter on your tongue. Your stomach churns when he looks at you. He looks the same since the last time you saw him. There is only one small difference, his eyes. They look curious more than anything. Back when Noa went missing, his eyes were fierce with hatred and his grip was bruising your arm. 

“Hm?”

“I need to talk to you.”

His friends leave while whispering your name and about the curious situation. “What?”

You get it out quickly. “Apparently, the kids can get hereditary traits and conditions and I want to know if you have anything.”

“Um, yeah? Years ago, I was allergic to peanuts and certain fabrics. I outgrew them, though.” When Noa was a baby, he struggled with Mei’s diapers. Kaibara couldn’t have told you this before?

Your heart drops to your stomach. As it turns out, Noa really is Sen’s. You look down at your feet. You got so caught up in the little family you created, that you forgot it wasn’t real. Why would he be Izuku’s? Sen Kaibara is your assigned partner. 

“Okay.” You turn to leave. Kaibara grabs your arm and brings you back to him. “I, uh, back then it was wrong to act that way. I was worried and out of line. Um,” He rubs the back of his neck. “I'm sorry you got hurt.”

He didn’t apologize. You suck on your teeth and go to leave. “Wait!” You stop but don’t turn around. “How is he? I mean, what’s he been up to?”

You immediately stop. You should slap him. “He’s four years old and he likes to cook and draw pictures.” 

“He’s four?” He asks, shocked by the development. You nod. “Yep.”

“Damn.” You’re about to leave the hall again until he says something that’s about to make you snap. “Is it alright if I see him?”

Noa has no idea who this guy is. At all. “Have you lost your mind?” You slowly turn to look at him. “After everything you’ve done and didn’t do? You want to meet him?”

He undoes his tie. “I’ve met him-”

“No, no you didn’t. You watched him once for an hour then gave him back. You don’t even know what he looks like!” This dude has some nerve. Even being around him gives you hives.

He takes a deep inhale and runs his fingers through his hair. When he lifts his hair, you note that Noa has nothing of him. Not even his hairline, head shape, nothing. This is a stranger who is quick to change face and snitch on someone who has nothing. Even now with Izuku’s support, you’re fighting and will ultimately have to support yourself completely again. Back before Izuku was kind enough to be there for you, you had the restaurant. He encouraged the heroes to take it from you and leave you broke in an expensive city at an expensive time. A teenager, younger than him, was left alone with his kid. 

You want to punch him. He left Noa! Gave him to Kenji, who was a stranger to him, without any warm clothing and in the diaper that gave Noa rashes. How many times must you look at him? Even Shouto got tired of his shit and lashed out. Damn, you forgot about Izuku’s reaction to his proximity to you. You need to leave. Not for Sen’s sake, or even yours, but for Izuku. If he puts his hands on Sen, he’ll suffer the consequences.

It’s bad enough that he had taken your punishments before. And probably still does. 

With a shake of your head and a stern conviction, you say, “No.”

You back away while facing him. When Noa was lost, Kaibara showed you his colors and they are shades you don’t wish to see again. That whole experience is a wish that came from the wrong star. Now that you are farther away and closer to the corner of the building, you turn around to walk. You sigh and feel along the glass of the building. It’s better to focus on something that will cool your palms and ground you to whatever will keep you from noticing the sweat.

Soon, you will be facing off against these so-called heroes and the Hero Commission in a society that has seen what happens to people like you. Yet this scares you. Some wormy-eared twat makes your hands shake. Can you really face them if you can’t take Sen on? What is he compared to the world?     

The phone beeps in your pocket. You take it out and answer. 

“Recovery Girl wants to see you.” 

You frown. “Why?”

Even though you can’t see her, you know Riko is shrugging and rolling her eyes. It’s her signature. 

“Everyone is getting checked. I’m in her office right now.” In the back, you can hear an aging voice question your friend. “Yeah, yeah, I just told her.”

“I’m on my way. Hey, do you know if it’ll be long?”

“Mine didn’t. It’s just a plain check up.”

At the beginning of the year, you had yours. So, why do it again? 

------------

You enter Recovery Girl’s office and see her slide down from her chair. “C’mere, dear.”

She taps on the bed patiently. You shrug your bag and blazer off. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, I just have to give you a checkup.”

You had a checkup when you first entered UA and at the beginning of the year, before Noa. Is it Shouto? Did he tell her about Halloween? It was a one-time thing. “I hardly need one. Whatever Shouto told you-”

“What do you mean, dear?”

So, it’s not him? You frown and take a deep breath like she tells you. “What am I doing here, ma’am?” She stops and pats your hand. “It’s been requested that the classes have a checkup. Later, you’ll see Nezu and maybe Hound Dog.”

You scoff and shrug her off. “What the hell?”

She lifts her needle cane as a threat to whack you. You slump your shoulders and follow her directions throughout the checkup. She leans back in her chair and watches you. You try to take a peek at her clipboard. “So…?”

After signing her name, she looks up at you. “The main thing is exhaustion. You aren’t getting enough rest.”

“Gee, I wonder why."

She lightly hits your leg. “Don’t do that. I understand your frustration. I can’t relate to it since they never did this to my generation, but I understand.”

You crack your knuckle. “So, what happens now?”

“I’ll check on everyone in your general studies course and will share these results with Nezu, especially. After your episode when Noa was wrongly set back, Nezu wanted to check on everyone.”

“Even the hero course?”

“They get checkups frequently anyway.” Recovery Girl puts her clipboard on a desk. She inhales deeply then takes steps on her stool to sit on her chair. “Look, what has been going on is taking a toll on all of you. For example,” She points to your chart. All she said was that you were exhausted. What else could be on it?

“This isn't like it was during your last check up.” U.A. does it every so often to see if everyone’s okay. The hero course evidently gets more attention in that area. Unfortunately, it does make sense despite how rude it seems. 

“Is it worse?” 

“It’s a decline. I can’t say too much about your peers other than it’s a decline. So, for the time being, I need you to check in once a month. At least until the project is over.”

What the fuck is in that report?

“Why that often?”

“Hey, be grateful. Some need to come more often. Consider yourself lucky.”

How can you be lucky? She’s told you that you’re exhausted, which you already knew, but there is probably more in your report than she’s letting on and it is all because of this stupid project. No, maybe you are lucky. Not for making it out lightly scathed, but for this ammunition.

“Class is tomorrow but I want you to go to bed early if possible. That’ll help you some.” As much as you want to, you have other things that need attending to, like Noa. Resting isn’t really possible when you have kids. Noa is calmer now than he was as a baby, but he still needs constant guidance and supervision. Plus, you have school and a job that hides underneath the title of ‘volunteering’. It’s nice that she is thinking of your health, but she is not considering what it means to have a kid. 

Instead of telling her this, you nod. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You head back to Izuku, already knowing he’d be filled with questions for your absence. It isn’t that you have much to hide from him except for Kaibara. What’re you supposed to say? Or do you not owe him an explanation and keep it to yourself? Izuku made himself clear when it concerns the bastard. The hero’s dislike towards Kaibara is still surprising since Izuku is known for his compassion and understanding. 

You sigh and walk into the room. Izuku is wiping off an orange-colored marker from his face. He shyly looks at you and chuckles. You can’t help but grin at him and the kid who's now crashed out on the bed. 

“Had fun?”

“Yeah, kind of. It would’ve been better if he didn’t get a hold of the Sharpie.”

“Oof. Here, I’ll help.” You pick up the wet rag and start to wipe his freckled face. Izuku closes his eyes as you work. 

“I just got back from Recovery Girl’s.”

Izuku’s eyes shoot open. “Are you okay? What’s wrong-”

“Nothing! She gave me a check up. Nezu ordered it for everyone.” You frown. He touches your cheek. “Hey, why the face?”

Your shoulders slump. “I…I don’t know. I’m happy they’re checking but I’m upset that it has come to this. I’m mad that Noa has a damn peanut allergy and didn’t tell us until Noa got hurt, and at the same time, I’m glad that Recovery Girl is seeing a decline. I just-” You sigh and shake your head. “I don’t know. I feel bad and at the same time, good.”

 You’re happy Noa’s okay and that Nezu seems to be taking the students’ health into consideration, then again, he is also the reason for this. You’re mad that Noa is even going through this, and the prices are bullshit. Plus, Sen is Noa’s father. How disappointing is that? How dumb are you to forget that fact?

Izuku smiles softly. “It’s okay to feel like this.” Your faces are close, completely forgetting everything around you other than each other’s proximity. Izuku is warm and soft. He smells of laundry detergent and permanent marker, a combination you are finding yourself partial to. Seeing Sen Kaibara and Recovery Girl is leaving your train of thought the closer he gets.

“It’s going to be okay, Bun.” His voice, a usually sweet timbre, turns slightly husky. Suddenly, his phone rings. Izuku groans and answers. “Hello?”

He rolls his eyes and sighs. “Shinsou wants to talk to you.”

You clear your throat and answer. His voice is groggy and deep. He must’ve gone back to sleep after waking up for two seconds. “Trespasser.”

“I’m sorry, Hitoshi. I heard Little Ken sniffling and couldn’t help myself.”

“Don’t worry about it. I just wanted to thank you. Villains were a mess last night, so I was dead tired. I didn’t even hear him.”

You tug on your earlobe a little. “It’s alright, I don’t mind him. He’s quite the cutie. Don’t know how in the hell he’s yours when you’re you.”

With a scoff, he replies with his voice still thick with sleep. Who knows why he called rather than rest. “Whatever. He takes after his old man-dear God. Scratch what I just said.”

 “Nope, nope, nope! I’mma refer to you as an old man now.” You can't help but smile and feel warm. Hitoshi is growing on you. 

He groans. “Hush,” after a few beats of silence that isn’t uncomfortable, he sucks on his teeth. “Well, I just wanted to thank you for helping me. You do that a lot.”

“Take it as repayment for deterring Eraser that one time. Y’know, when I interrupted and unloaded the kiddies on everyone?”

“He was fucking pissed. He's rarely mad like that but after a while, he calmed down.” 

The aftermath was strange. Until now, you didn’t think about it. Snipe gave you detention but never held you to it after that one time. Plus, he let you out early. And Eraserhead didn’t complain to the principal either or you would’ve been dragged to the office. Why did the teachers calm down? What you did was justified but disruptive to their standards. 

Unless Izuku Midoriya is covering for you. 

“Why’d he calm down?” You ask quietly, fearing for Izuku. This is one of his problems. He has no self-preservation and won't say anything! Although you'd hate to suffer, you don't want Izuku to. 

“He deals with two problem children who have done worse. Actually, it’s not just them, it’s everyone. Except me, of course.”

“Mhm, yeah right,” you look at Izuku who is tapping his thighs. “What do you mean everyone?”

“When Bakugou got abducted, everyone knew about the rescue plan. Technically, they should’ve been expelled but he spared them. What you did was nothing.”

You suck in your lips. “Oh, I forgot how much of a rebel Deku is.” Izuku tilts his head in confusion then shrinks back. 

Noa goes up to Izuku to show him a new drawing then goes to you. Not wanting to ignore Noa, you hang up the phone with Hitoshi after a bid goodbye cheekily. You put Noa’s new art on the wall. “This okay, Izuku?”

“It’s perfect.” 

---------

ONE MONTH LATER

 With one heavy tray in one hand, and the other holding the foldable stand, you make your way to a table of uniformed teenagers. They talk among themselves but loud enough to grate your ears. No one with common sense or life experience that doesn't involve hanging onto their daddy’s gold that he stole sits at the table. The lilt in their voices is bothersome enough to gain the attention of your regulars.

You don't roll your eyes or try to think of ways you could smack them without it looking purposeful. Especially when you need the cash.

The seasons have passed, and a new holiday is beginning. Christmas, the most wonderful time of the year, is in four days. In a short span, you have to work extra because of it. Thankfully, Christmas Eve, Christmas, and New Year are the restaurant's days off. However, your entire winter break is booked. Alas, people like this come with the grab. 

You don't make a sound other than the clinks of plates being set on the black table. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Don’t I know you?” You turn around to see one squinting at you. “That one class! How’s it been going anyway?”

“I couldn’t put my finger on it!” The guy to the side closest to you inspects you like you’re a test subject. You blink a couple of times. “It’s been a struggle, obviously. To hell with the customs, tip me.”

It’s not normal to tip in Japan. However, Yona put a jar on the counter for you. God bless them, some people tip. Not hundreds, obviously. Sometimes it’s a few coins here and there. Nonetheless, you appreciate every cent. 

Right as you go past the counter, one of the students calls for you. Quickly, you go back. “We thought you’d like to see this.”

She pulls out her phone with a Deku symbol on the case. A surge of pride blooms in your chest until you look at the screen. Alas, that one good feeling towards him was not meant to be. On her phone is fucking Deku with Noa, shopping in different stores arguing! You gasp and cover your mouth. They went everywhere like that. The student even caught them glaring at each other when they were eating a damn melon pan!

You try to act ashamed and not laugh with the others at Izuku and Noa’s antics. It’s bad enough that Noa is bounced between you two, now this is what you have to show for it. You clear your throat. “I apologize for that.”

Your shoulders shake with the force of your laughter threatening to burst through. “He’s adorable!” She compliments. Her manicured nail taps the screen on Noa’s face. In other pictures, he smiles wide and has sparkles in his eyes. 

Amid these warm feelings of fondness and pride, another emerges. This isn’t the first time someone has recognized you or Noa. Have you been careless about showing everyone’s face on the internet? You pinch yourself and deeply inhale. Not willing to lose the light atmosphere or spend more time thinking why you have these instincts and questions about something unnatural, you smile brightly and remember Ken, who is puzzled about Christmas gifts. 

“Hey, if you had limited cash, what would you get a family member?”

The girl looks shocked, her light grey eyes wide. “Can you not get Deku’s son anything?” 

Another girl gasps. “That’s so sad...”

Your eye twitches. “I can get him gifts. This question isn’t for me, it’s for a friend. He’s trying to get something for his kids who are a little older, preteens, I think.”

One of them, a blue-skinned guy with pale blond hair, crosses his arms. “Hm…” he taps his fingers along his bicep. “I don’t know. I never had that problem.”

You nod. “Thanks anyway. Enjoy your meal!” 

Groaning, you slide down the kitchen wall. This will only last for two seconds but it is absolutely needed. You watch Kenji do his magic on the stove. On the tiny table in the corner is a notepad you’ve been writing in for Ken. He has no idea what to get his kids. According to him, they have everything already. If that’s true, why not do something with them? Or make something special just for them, even if it is made with human remains. 

You crawl over to it and write that down on the pad of paper. Ken isn’t made of money, so he’ll have to be frugal about this. “Girl, get out here!” Yona snaps. Lately, she’s been on edge which is odd for her. You groan and get up, ready to fight the crowd all over again. In the end, it’ll be worth it. 

-

It’s beautiful. The jar is full of more than loose change. You close your eyes and think of things Noa could get. Yeah, he needs shoes and jeans, and he’s been into sweatpants lately. He doesn’t need any more toys since your room needs to be gutted of them. This is Christmas, though! He likes art, books, and cooking supplies since he’s grown out of the toy kitchen. Then there is Izuku. He deserves something, too. You started this thing in April and Izuku’s been involved since around then. 

It should be special, something heartfelt and meaningful. Something about All Might? Shoes? You groan and count the money. You place the earnings into your bag behind the counter. Suddenly, more people come in. Taken back since the restaurant is closing, you look at Yona. She tells the hostess to seat them. Yona wants double time. Unfortunately, you’re not going to make it to curfew. You can only pray that you can somehow sneak in and get past the dog hero.

----------

This is horrible. It’s Christmas Eve and you had no time to shop. Yona acted psychotic these past few days and worked you to the bone. Had it not been winter break, you would’ve been in so much trouble for breaking curfew. Every time you were late, the dog hero caught you sneaking in. Thankfully, Snipe, of all people, told him of your ‘volunteer work’, so he let it slide. Who would’ve thought that Snipe would bat for you? At least he did to a certain degree.

Here you sit, not a present in sight. You worked so much that you didn’t get to shop. Thankfully, Izuku’s schedule was near clear, so he got to spend a lot of time with Noa. Even though that’s great, it doesn’t stop the guilt. You were working hard to get Noa a present and now you have nothing to show for it. There was no time. Stores are closed so you can’t go out to get one.

You try not to cry when you look at the small Christmas tree in Izuku’s room with all the presents underneath it. None of them are from you. What’s worse is the Christmas party that Ema planned is today. A Secret Santa is tonight and you got Riko. Should you just give money? Maybe you can rewrap something and pretend it’s new? Maybe something of yours! An old sweater and you’ll call it vintage. 

Right now, you will think of Noa. You cut out recipes from old magazines that Noa has yet to try. The ones that he has made are glued to the construction paper with Deku stickers underneath. Of course, all of them get five out of five Dekus. Your lip wobbles when you take the stick glue and glide it onto the papers so they stick. After so many pages, you add a few more for Noa to fill out with his own creations. 

The old hole puncher goes through each of the different shades of paper. You bind them together with several strands of yarn. The cover of the makeshift recipe book has a drawn heart under the title, “Noa’s Recipes!”. 

You sigh and try to smile. It’s Noa’s first Christmas and he’s been buzzing with excitement the whole time. Although you are here now, you missed out on so much. It doesn’t feel like it’s enough. Everyone else will be getting shiny new toys while he gets a homemade book. Izuku went out and got him new things, so he’ll be fine, right? You exhale deeply and close your eyes. Now that Noa’s gift is settled and placed in a candy cane gift bag, you need to go to an actual candy cane: Shouto Todoroki.

You put the bag underneath the small tree and clean up your mess, all the while not giving the pathetic gift a second glance. 

—

Right as Shouto exits his room, you wave him down. “Can I ask you for something? It’s a gift.”

“What do you need?”

Your secret Santa is Riko, who is a fan of his. You smile to yourself at this request you have. It’s an odd one. “Can I have your sweater? Maybe with cologne on it? It’s for Riko and she’s a fan of yours.”

You follow him into his room which is surprisingly very traditional-looking. “Want to choose?” 

You go to his closet and pluck the black turtleneck from the hanger. “This one.”

You hand it to him to spray which he does willingly. 

You shift your weight on your feet. “You know you don’t have to do this, right?” 

Shouto hums. “I want to. I like Christmas.” He hands you the soft material. The fragrance is lovely enough that you press it against your face. “Do you like it?”

“Oh yeah. Riko’ll love it!” You fold the sweater and thank him. “Are you coming tonight?”

His face is soft with a small smile. “I am. I like parties.”

“Really? You are a party animal, eh?”

“Not really. I’ve learned to love festivities. It’s…different from what I’m used to. Being here opened a lot for me.” Shouto turns around to his closet and plucks the sweatshirt that you put back in the closet. It’s light blue with an emblem on it that you can’t place. The hero sprays his nice cologne on it. Since Riko’s gift is settled, there isn’t a reason to give you another sweater, yet here he is. 

“This is for you.” 

“Uh-Shouto?”

Without room for debate, he places the fragrant fabric in your bent arms. “Merry Christmas, and happy holidays, (Y/n).”

What the hell are you supposed to do? You didn’t come here for this. You only went to him because Riko’s a fan. When this project started, she wanted him as a partner until he who shall not be named was paired with her and hurt her. Whatever happened between them was enough to land her in therapy and ruin his reputation. She’s getting better as time goes by and is still a fan of Shouto’s. 

He doesn’t have to help you, especially when the way you two met was pretty BAD. Shouto decides to surprise you anyway by agreeing and even goes beyond to give you a gift as well. He’s showing signs of not being completely like his dad and devilishly handsome brother. Instead, he has changed his ways by participating. 

You press your face against it and smell it. “You smell good, Shouto. Thank you for this.”

A very faint tint of pink rests on the apple of his cheek. His left cheek hides the subtle blush behind his scar. Looking at him, you smile and can’t help but think about gently caressing the left side of his face.

---------

The room is loud with laughter and conversations of all sorts. Hanging from the walls are Christmas lights and garland along with mistletoe in strategic places. Treats and several dishes are on the tables and tons of presents are under the large tree. The tree itself is something to behold. Lights all around, fake snow, ornaments that the kids and students made, candy canes, and of course, the star. It all shines brightly in the spirit of Christmas.  It’s practically a cut out of some kind of magazine or social media. 

Izuku puts his Secret Santa gift under the tree and you do the same with Riko’s. Both of you decided to give Noa one gift at the party and do the rest later. You didn’t tell Izuku what you made Noa. All Izuku knows is that you feel terrible about the whole thing. Although that’s true, you won’t let it ruin Christmas; you’ll wait for the twenty-sixth.

On the kids’ heads are Santa and Elf hats, and reindeer antlers paired with red noses. Ema thought it’d be cute for a group picture. She tried to get them to do some caroling, but Hana had stage fright and nearly fainted at the thought. When seeing that, Ema dropped the idea. That didn’t stop her from using the costumes. 

You put on reindeer antlers while Izuku and Noa wear a Santa hat. Everyone gathered around for the jolly holiday is something you didn’t think would happen. How could you? Although, you’re still bitter and are silently judging the heroes. Now that general studies have most of their partners here, you wait for the heroes to help or provide some kind of relief. Though, with the way they’re looking at you, something says that it’ll be a bumpy road.

-

“Riko, here’s yours.” You hand her the box with her name on it. She points to herself. “You got me?”

She excitedly opens her gift. “Wha-ah!” She gasps and pulls out Shouto’s sweater. Riko puts it to her face and squeals. At her expense, your classmates laugh. Riko’s had a tough year and to see her resemble her old self is a refreshing sight. Despite there being responsibilities and children to take care of now, this feels so nostalgic. It’s tight on your heart and nearly tear jerking. How long has it been since you’ve felt like a regular high schooler? 

“Alright, alright. (Y/n), Merry Christmas.” Sakura, of all people, hands you a red-wrapped box with a yellow bow on it. Immediately, dread settles inside you. Out of everyone, you’re Sakura’s secret Santa? Seriously?

“Thanks,” you peel the wrapper off and lift the lid. Your frown so deeply that it may stick. You lift the paper, her picture, from the box. There is no other content other than her photo. It’s in black and white and posed like an old Hollywood starlet portrait. The sound of everyone’s cackling is deafening. Izuku has his hands up, signalling for you to remain calm. “What-wh-why? Just why?” 

“There’s more, (Y/n).” Sakura rolls her eyes and snatches the picture from you. You sigh in relief. Sakura places a ballpoint pen in her mouth to remove the black cap. The cap rests in her mouth as the pen glides along the corner of her picture.

“Here you go.” She places your gift in your hands is the cursed image. On the corner is her signature and a little note.

‘Merry Christmas or whatever. I’ll try to remember you! XOXO- Sakura’

“Treasure it, because I’m going to be rich and famous. You’re the only one in the world with a one-of-a-kind picture.” she pinches your cheek. 

Suddenly, right there on the couch, Noa’s body jingles. Both you and Izuku look and see him stretch into a five-year-old boy. His tummy glows through his Santa shirt. You go to him and lift it enough to watch his belly. On the screen is a chibi Hatsume waving her hand with the words ‘My baby is five!’ under her.

“I-Izuku!” you point at Noa who smiles back at you. “You’re a whole new year, buddy!” Izuku twirls him in the air. 

Then, another jingle sounds. On the other side of the couch, Mira also grows. Kacchan cackles loudly. “Fucking Deku! He’s no longer the oldest in the class!”

Izuku uncharacteristically glares at Kacchan. “Yes, but he did reach it first.”

“For a boy. She’s the first girl. Plus, she’s taller.”

Dear God. How long has their rivalry with the kids been going on? 

“She is not!”

“And she can read!”

“So can Noa. He can also add!” How ridiculous. He can count and is learning to write his name. 

“Mira can subtract-” Before Kacchan and his old friend can continue their lies, you get between them. “Will you two stop?”

Eijrou laughs heartily and pulls you away. “It’s alright, (Y/n). It’s a friendly competition between two dads.” You look back at the two and see them still going at it, albeit playfully. None of the arguments are true, just exaggerated accomplishments. 

Noa and Mira look at their respective dads in amusement and awe. Hitoshi comes up to you with Little Ken. The tyke gives you a drawing that is adorned with macaroni noodles and crayons. You ‘oo’ and ‘ah’ over it. His grin is wide and cheesy. 

“Thank you-”

“Here.”

Hitoshi hands you a cappuccino mug with dark rims at the top and bottom of the cup. Compared to Sakura’s gift, this is gold. “Thank you guys! 

“It’s all you deserve.”

“Compared to what I got from Sakura, I’ll take it.” You look around to find the punchbowl. Thankfully, Hansuke was not allowed to be anywhere near it, so he didn’t have a chance to be evil. No repetition of Halloween today, thank God. That day was such a whirlwind it’s not even funny.

“Actually, I’ll use it now.” 

Hitoshi smiles with closed lips. “Glad you like it, brat.”

“No, no. Sakura is the brat. Look at the junk she gave me!” You huff and pet L.K.’s head. You go to leave but the little boy follows you. “Oh?”

“I wanna go, Mm.” You shoot him a grin. “Your company is always welcome.” 

Finally at the table with Christmas novelty cups and punch, you dip up some for the kid and yourself. Suddenly, the mug changes color. Your eyes are wide when you see that the innocent mug developed the pictures of you and Hitoshi. You look up and find him smirking. You glare at him. The mug rests in your hands but you can’t bear to look at it and the images on it. If you do, you’ll immediately remember how everything felt and went. 

“Kenji, over here!” Noa waves at the purple-haired child. Seeing Noa and the rest including him makes you warm inside. Although this is a minor thing, you are proud of Noa and how inclusive he is. Little Kenji is younger and smaller yet he welcomes him.

Little Ken hands you his cup and runs over to your son. You down both cups and frown when you see that those pictures haven’t disappeared from the mug. Quickly, you put it in the sink and wash it. If you can get this crap dry and put away, it’d be great then you could go back to the party without thinking about how Halloween went.

-------------

The party ended late. As promised, Noa is allowed to stay up past his bedtime to open the presents his parents got him. Tonight has been lovely and so, so, warm. Even though it wouldn’t have meant much to anyone else, to see Noa not bothered by the differences in his gifts to others, made your heart swell. You aren’t much but at least you can say you’re raising such a sweet, gentle, and kind boy.

Noa happily shows you the present you made him. With droopy eyes, he goes on and on about his plans for a souffle. 

“Do you even know what a souffle is?” Izuku picks up Noa’s wrapping paper off the ground. “Yes! It’s this!” Noa shows Papa the picture of the souffle on one of the pages of his new recipe book. 

Izuku raises his eyebrow. “A souffle?” 

You shrug. “It’s something fun, right?” you pat Noa’s head. “Beats confetti cake.”

“Really?”

“Beats chocolate cake.”

“Blasphemy!” 

You snort and roll your eyes. Noa continues to play with everything he received. Papa gave him hero figurines, remote control toys, clothes, and art supplies, he even got him matching shoes of all things. Izuku is next to you on the bed, leaning on his palms behind him. 

“You spoil him, Izuku.”

 “I just thought that he deserves it. He’s a wonderful boy.”

“He’s a handful.”

Izuku tuts. “He’s a normal kid. Besides, I think he’s grown nicely.” Noa has grown a lot. He isn’t a perfect child and still has his off days, but they are mild and few. “He’s a lot like you.” you point out. “His behavior before was all Sen. I didn’t do that.”

Izuku cackles at your expense. “Yeah, right!”

“I’m serious! The boy got that from y’all.”

“Why are you lying to yourself?” Izuku lays back and laughs. You suck in your lips to stop from laughing. “Whatever.” 

Noa yawns and his sleepy jingle follows right after. You sigh and stand up. The clock reads way past midnight, and the snow flurries begin to paint a beautiful white picture for the morning. 

“Do you want to or should I?”

“I’ll clean up here while you help him.” Izuku gets up and begins to put stuff away. You gather Noa’s things and take him to the bath. He’s covered in sticky stuff, markers, and sweat. A bath and a good brushing are definitely needed. 

Noa waves a figurine in his hand. "Can I take my All Might toy?” Izuku nearly broke his neck to look at Noa. “Yes!” 

Noa has only met All Might a few times and wasn’t impressed apparently. Now that he’s asked to take the All Might figurine to his bath, he may have a change of heart. Izuku’s proud smile takes up his sleepy face. 

In the girls’ bathroom, you help him bathe. He’s mature enough to do it on his own now but he still needs help with his hair. Thankfully, Izuku has the proper products he needs. 

After washing up and combing his locks, you settle him into bed. “He needs a haircut.” Noa’s asleep before his head hits the pillow. He’s had an exciting day. Izuku straightens out his own bed. He’s in his night clothes, having changed into them when you were gone.

“Well, I better get going.” you too need to clean up and crash. “Why?”

“Izuku, it’s late.”

“Spend the night here. I’ll walk you back to your room tomorrow.” Izuku’s eyes look so kind yet determined. He is set on having you spend the night. Funny, it’s usually the other way around concerning this. Now you know how Izuku felt the first time. 

Your eyelids are heavy and you can’t stop yawning. Still, is it okay for you to sleep here? “Are you sure?”

“Definitely!” he springs up and lifts the covers for you to go in first. You watch as he goes around and fluffs up pillows. “I didn’t bring anything.” 

“That’s okay! I mean,” he straightens up, a red flush to his cheeks prominent. “Y-you can wear my clothes if you want.” the red tint that settled on his cheeks bloomed to grow all over his face and ears. 

Although the offer is nice, it feels like a step and one you’re not ready for. “No thanks.” You get into his bed and lie down. “I didn’t bring a toothbrush either, so don’t complain.”

“You didn’t when I stayed at your place that one time.” with a flick of a switch, the light is off with only the moon to guide him to bed. He nestles into the covers and lays down. “Are you comfortable?”

“I-”

“Do you need anything?” he pops up hurriedly. “I can get you something if you want!”

You grab his arm. “Izuku, stop. I’m fine.” you bring both of yourselves down to the bed that is way softer than yours. “Although I do feel dirty.” you laugh when you see the shade of his face. In the moonlight, his face is visibly tinted. “Please calm down.”

Izuku gulps. “I’ve never had a girl in my bed.”

“We’ve slept together before.”

His breath hitches and he clears his throat. “I mean, yeah, but this is in my bed. My room. It feels different.”

“Being a host is a big responsibility.”

He chuckles. “You’re a wonderful one.”

“Hardly.”

“I mean it. You’re wonderful.” he says the last part quietly. You turn to your side to face him with a solemn expression. “I didn’t get you a present.”

“That’s okay.”

“I feel bad, Izuku. Tell me-tell me what you want.” he rolls to face you. “Honestly, nothing. But,” his crooked finger traces your hand. “If you really want to, I’d like to hold your hand.” 

There is something about the way he says it that throws you off. You know he means using your quirk. Does he remember his dream all those months ago? The prospect of him knowing almost makes you groan in embarrassment. 

“I don’t have my meds, it may go out of control. If it does, promise you’ll snap me out of it.” It's a fear that remains with you to this day and will most likely stay. 

“I trust you.”

With a deep breath, you say, “Go to sleep then, Izuku. I’ll meet you there.” you pet his head, feeling the soft curls underneath your hand. In minutes, Izuku drifts away to his dream, waiting to see you. Before you go to him, before you are overwhelmed with the calm scent of lavender and surrounded by violet, you notice that you aren’t afraid. In fact, you are completely calm. Your jaw drops and a mist gathers into your eyes. You feel safe, a luxury you could never buy. Stability and security were robbed from you growing up and here you are, for the first time, truly safe. With Izuku’s arm around you, lightly snoring and a little drool trickling down to his pillow, you know he’d save you if anything happened. 

When you were surviving with Yona and Ken, rejected from shelters that were filled with victims of the wars and denied entry to those who had unsavory histories, it was hard to live. Struggling is all you’ve known, even before Shigaraki. Now, you lay in the arms of someone you deeply care about and can’t wait to see in person or a dream. You cover your mouth and cry, even enjoying the sound of his snoring. You softly touch his face and smile with wobbly lips. 

You close your eyes and smell lavender. 

------------

You adjust Izuku’s jacket. His hand goes to yours to stop your fiddling. “Love, we’re right here, there’s no reason to fix my jacket-” The door opens, revealing Inko in her usual apron. Inko smiles so bright, it’s nearly blinding. You shyly wave at the kind woman. “Hi, Ms. Inko. Thanks for letting me spend New Year here.”

Christmas went by just as fast as it came. It is such a strange thing, to feel content with the small gift you gave him. It wasn’t much, not anything at all. To spend a dream with him was more of a present to yourself than to him. Nevertheless, he woke up happy and peaceful. The subtle bags under his eyes from relentlessly fighting crime, studying, taking care of Noa, and everything else, seemed to fade instantly. His blinding smile came back tenfold when he lifted his head from the pillow. His green curls were erratic and some smooshed, a thin string of drool and the red lines on his face let you know you did a job well done. Izuku Midoriya is very kind to you and Noa. Now here he is inviting you to spend the New Year with him and his mom. At first, you were going to refuse, but then Ms. Inko was insistent. She’s such a kind woman.

Izuku lets you go in first, quickly following you with Noa in his hand. The kid bounces up and down excitedly. He immediately runs to his grandma. Noa’s previous concern about her not liking him has disappeared. Thankfully, she welcomes him with open arms. His smile is big and bright. “You’ve gotten so big, Noa!”

“He’s a year older.” you rub your hands together then the jewels of your new bracelet. Izuku and Noa tag teamed on your present. It's shiny and no doubt expensive.

Inko gasps and smiles. “Congratulations, Noa! And you two as well.”

You finally take the time to smell the fragrant cooking. It is enough for a drool to gather in your mouth. “You guys sit in the living room. I got started on dinner late.” Izuku asks his mom if she needs help, which she denies. 

“Hey, wanna watch a movie?” Izuku’s eyes light up. “We can watch whatever you want.”

“What’s your favorite movie?” Is it gory porn? If that’s the case, then it’s out of the question. “Oh, it’s an oldie.” He gets on his knees in front of the TV stand. He gives you the disk. “I thought your favorite would be gory porn.”

“What?!” both you and Izuku freeze. He stutters and waves his hands around. “No, no! She means zombie movies!”

You bite your lip and cover your eyes. Your face is warm from embarrassment of Inko discovering a dirty inside joke and trying to hide the laughter. Izuku continues to stutter an explanation to his horrified mother. 

-

You three are cuddled on the couch, bellies full from the feast Inko made. The round clock on the wall shows that it’s past eleven and close to midnight. Despite the comfort you feel while snuggled up on the couch with Izuku, you try to stay awake to see the New Year. Thankfully, you’re not alone. Noa is knocked out and Izuku is fighting the same fate. 

“Why do you like old movies?” The picture he chose is a dumb one. It is in black and white with a cheesy plot and effects. He shrugs, temporarily tensing up. “My dad and I bonded over movies like this. I just thought it’d be fun to do that with Noa, too.”

“He did like the movies you picked.” Both his and Noa’s eyes were glued to the screen about an hour ago. “It’s gonna be a thing with you two.” you yawn, hoping time speeds up so you can at least say you saw the clock strike twelve. “As long as it’s not gory porn.”

Just then, Inko makes a squeak. Izuku groans. “Dear, please.”

“Okay, okay.” You rest your head on him again. Your eyelids are too heavy to hold open. Izuku breathes deeply, his shoulders moving with him. Right before you drift away, there is what feels like a kiss on top of your head. 

Inko comes up and waits until midnight. Right when the clock strikes, she snaps a picture of you three on the couch. She smiles with watery eyes.

tag list: if i forgot anyone, please let me know.

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[undertheopensky]

Catch Your Breath

Whumptober Day 30: “Not much longer…”

Characters: Legend, Sky

Trigger warnings: allergies, breathing difficulty, asthma, falling

Read on Ao3!

---

A lot of people, Sky reflects, thought of allergies as kind of funny. Lots of sneezing, watery eyes, even gastrointestinal misery is just funny. People looking foolish when their bodies betray them.

As he watches Legend struggle to breathe, he thinks those people are stupid.

---

It’s not that they didn’t know Legend has an allergy.

Way back when, when the group as a group was new, and Wind asked what the white stuff Wild was adding to the stew was, they’d realised in short order the differences in their eras had real consequences. Sky and Wind can’t have any kind of dairy. Time has a nut allergy that he says was worse when he was a kid, but no one wants to risk it. Shellfish makes Four violently sick. And Legend?

Legend’s allergic to feathers.

“Okay, I know we promised not to make fun of each other for medical stuff, but feathers?” Warriors says. “That is hilarious. Are you pulling my leg?”

“Nope,” says Legend. He’s unbothered, more interested in arranging the contents of his bag to his liking. “When I visited my grandparent’s farm, I was always banned from the cucco coop and anything to do with the pigeons. Prob’ly not as bad as the Old Man’s nut allergy –” and he points a bizarrely carved little twig in Time’s direction that Sky suddenly desperately needs to see in detail – “but it’s something I’m supposed to tell the healers, so.”

“Yes, and thankyou, Legend, it’s important to know,” says Hyrule. The healer smacks Warriors when he goes to open his mouth again, and that’s pretty much the end of it.

After that, it just… doesn’t come up. The one time they visit the ranch and Legend accidentally ends up on cucco duty, he quietly switches out with Four. Otherwise, there’s just not much cause for the heroes to interact with feathered creatures. Though several of them have had experiences with marauding crows, the mischievous birds don’t really count as monsters. They’ve never come across any infected ones at least. (“Not that those bastards need to get any smarter,” Four grumbles with uncharacteristic acid in his tone.) In fact, none of the infected monster hordes they hunt down includes any feathery fiends, except as very occasional decoration. It never seems to bother him, and Legend never brings it up himself. It falls to the back of everyone’s minds.

---

Sky’s carefully cleaning dark blood from Fi when he hears Wind groan in complaint. “What, already?”

He can’t help but agree. It’s been less than five minutes since the last stalfos fell; they’re still breathing hard, still patching up scrapes and bruises and the one arrow-slice from where Wild had not quite dodged in time. And they’re already being thrown through another portal?

At least it didn’t show up right as they were bedding down this time.

One by one, they head for the portal, Sky following at the tail end of the line. It’s not on purpose. He’s just feeling it, a bit, feeling the poor sleep from the night before (ha) and the heavy weight of the humidity. Actually the thought of leaving the humidity behind is what finally drives him to step through and let the dark nothingness of the portal suck him under.

It’s always an eerie feeling. Ghostly fingers trailing over exposed skin. The cold chill of the void, so dark it doesn’t matter whether your eyes are open or closed. The adrenaline rush of falling. Wind yanking at his hair, his clothes –

No, wait, there’s no wind in the void. He’s really falling.

Sky opens his eyes to a landscape of eye-searing white touched with blue and gold. It’s dizzying, it’s blinding, it’s familiar. For a moment all he can feel is the incandescent joy of coming home.

Then he remembers eight heroes with no loftwings to catch them, and his whistle is more than a little desperate.

Flashes of colour spread out below him, bright against the clouds; Sky starts marking a path in his head, who to catch first. Wars and Time and Hyrule and Twilight, all the people without gliding items. He prays the others can hold out long enough for him to come back for them. None of them are meant for true flight, but with so many already – can Crimson even take the weight? If it came down to it, who would he leave behind –

A loftwing’s cry breaks his train of thought, and the relief would knock him over if he was standing. Crimson’s diving for him, but a pair of Skyloft knights are diving alongside, aiming for his scattered friends. He doesn’t have to catch all of them.

Sky twists on himself to face the clouds; the wind is tearing at his hair, at his sailcloth, at his blurred and watering eyes. It’s freezing, he’s not wearing as many layers after Wild’s muggy jungles, but he doesn’t have time to change. All he really needs right now is his sailcloth, not to catch but to stabilise.

Crimson’s back rises to meet him. Sky hits the saddle with stinging force and scrambles to get into position; to see over Crimson’s head and tip him back down towards his still-falling brothers. Who’s closest, who’s –

There’s a flash of red that isn’t Crimson, as Legend wrestles with his Roc’s Cape and tries to keep it from tearing free. It’s not made for this kind of use, and – he’s close. If he spirals around – Four is lighter and his cape held him longer, and Crimson can snatch him out of the sky with his talons before it gives out, and then they’re dropping through the sky after Legend when the magic in his Cape falters and fails.

Four screams. Sky can’t spare the breath or the focus to reassure him – they’re drawing even with Legend, then easing underneath, then coming out of the dive in a smooth arc that intercepts Legend’s fall at the precise moment he crosses Sky’s saddle.

Before his momentum can drag him back into open air Sky snaps an arm around Legend’s waist, as ungiving as iron. Legend helps by clinging to Crimson’s saddle. Passenger secured, Sky quickly scans the air. The last scrap of colour has just been snatched up by a third Knight, and if he squints he thinks he counts out the six of them, all safely in someone’s charge. Everyone is safe. He didn’t lose any of them.

Adrenaline and panic-sweat cooling on his skin, Sky shivers. They’d gotten almost frighteningly close to the cloud layer – Sky’s a knight, he’s used to seeing it, never mind how often he’s deliberately dropped through it – so it takes a few heavy wingbeats for Crimson to steer their trajectory back upward. It’s slow going. It gives him time to sit back, to steady his breathing, to realise just how fast his heart was beating and let the grey haze at the edges of his vision fade away.

Legend coughs. Then coughs again.

Sky frowns. There’s a thin whistle to the vet’s breathing that the wind had disguised. “Legend, you okay?” he asks, just as the veteran doubles over into a real coughing fit.

He sounds awful. He hadn’t taken any real blows in the fight, he shouldn’t be struggling to breathe like this. Had he been hiding an illness? After the fit Hyrule threw the last time Wind pretended he didn’t have a cold the whole group had wordlessly decided to just let the healer have his way, and he’d thought Legend was on board with that.

It doesn’t – it doesn’t sound like he’s trying to bring something up, though it’s deep and in his chest. It sounds like he can’t get any air, almost like Sky when the thick air of the Surface gets overwhelming. Like his throat is closing over, wind whistling through narrower and narrower passages –

Sky realises all at once.

Not an injury, not an illness – Legend’s allergic to feathers, and he just crash-landed on a whole platform of them.

Sky scrambles to prop him up, though he suspects the damage is done. Legend leans back against him. His breathing is maybe a little easier with his chest open, coughs louder and further apart. When he sucks in air, it sounds like it’s screaming through metal pipes, high and thin. But he can breathe.

They level out. There’s an island in the distance that the overloaded knights are headed for, but it’s small and isolated, intended as a jumping point for people with loftwings to catch them. It’ll take time to explain the situation, that they don’t have loftwings and need lifts back to the mainland, and that’s time Legend may not have.

Sky leans forward, holding Legend to his chest, and tries to think.

They need the infirmary, they’ll be able to treat the breath attack – but then they need somewhere feather free for Legend to rest, and there’s nowhere on Skyloft that fits that description. Loftwings are everywhere. The infirmary’s even got special-built troughs for them when their riders are in there and they refuse to leave! Every building has windows Loftwings can open and at least stick their heads in, if not hop straight through, and every floor bears scratches from their talons.

Legend wheezes. His fingers dig painfully into Sky’s supporting arm.

Determination solidifies. That will have to wait.

Sky leans into the turn as Crimson changes headings. Goddess, he loves his loftwing – as soon as Sky realised what they needed Crimson was responding. It’s the loss of this kind of bond that’s so devastating to him, when he considers the disappearance of loftwings over the ages. That the others have never known having a partner who knows your every move.

Legend’s stopped coughing but his breathing’s worse: pained little wheezes as he struggles to breathe, shuddering with every inhale like it’s a fight – his face is red and his eyes are wet and Sky doesn’t know if it’s breathlessness or pain.

“Hang in there Legend, we’re nearly there,” he says.

When they make landfall Crimson hovers long enough to drop Four the short, safe distance to the thickly grassed area meant for such deposits, then they’re off again. Sky hears Four shout behind them. Realises belatedly that between the wind and his own terror Four likely didn’t know what was happening – but he’s safe where he is, and if someone else finds him they can help him regroup if the others don’t land in the same spot, and –

That’s a problem for later. Right now, he needs to save Legend’s life.

No sailcloth dives with a passenger. Crimson lands on the tiles right in front of the infirmary with a soft grunt, and Sky flashes gratitude at him as he throws himself off his back and runs.

“Aren,” he shouts as he shoulders the door open, “Aren, I need help!”

[writingblognumber1]

Dad’s best friend Toji pt 2

Contains smut!

Monday morning classes go by slowly or maybe it’s the fact that you can’t wait to go home and see what Toji is up to. Even though, he probably is at work. You wonder how he would react if he came in from work and you had made dinner for them. Would it be too domestic? Would he even question it? Would he sit at the table with you? Would he find someway to say thank you? It might be too soon for him though. You don’t want to scare him away, but you feel so drawn to him. You feel electric when he’s around.

After class, you decide that you’re going to cook dinner for him anyway. You stop by Aldi and pick up a few things and rush home to prepare. His truck that he drove in yesterday is gone, confirming that he is at work. You decide to start dessert before you take your shower. You prepare lemon blueberry tarts for him and yourself. The house smells delicious and it makes your mouth water. Hopefully he has no allergies. After completing this step you prep a few things for dinner and leave to clean up yourself.

Dinner is almost ready and it’s nearing 6 o’clock. You hear the sound of keys at the door and suck in a breath of air, wiping your moist hands down your shorts. As Toji enters the house, he lifts his head and meets your eyes. Instantly, he smiles warmly at you. You watch as he takes a deep inhale through his nose.

“What is that smell?” He asks, dropping his keys onto the counter.

“I made us dinner for tonight.” You sheepishly look down at the rice pilaf cooking on the stove.

“You didn’t have to do that. But I appreciate it. I’m gonna shower and I’ll be back down.” His voice is casual. You can’t help but watch as he turns to the stairs. Your heart skips a beat and you work to finish everything, hands slightly shaking.

When Toji comes down the stairs, you start to make your plates. As you set his plate down in front of him, he grasps your hand. You bite your lip to hold back any sounds you want to make.

“It looks delicious. Thank you.” His thumb brushes over the back of your hand.

“It’s no problem Toji. I wanted to cook for you.” You’re not sure why you said that. Maybe your hormones and sexual frustrations are catching up to you, making you braver than before. He raises his eyebrows at you and you turn your attention to your own plate.

“Oh! I almost forgot!” You jump up and come back with a bottle of wine in your hands. Toji is grinning at you and it makes your heart beat wildly in your chest.

“Wine and dinner? If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were trying to seduce me.” He chuckles, looking at you through his eyelashes. You hesitate, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Is it really that obvious? You say nothing as you pour yourself a glass.

Dinner goes smoothly and, before Toji can leave, you’re quick to ask him if he’d like to watch a movie with you. Being alone in a dark room with him sounds like the perfect setup for something carnal to take place. He stares at you for a moment, undoubtedly trying to figure you out. But then he shrugs and says,

“Sure. A movie sounds nice. But I get to pick.” You can’t help but giggle in satisfaction at his answer. Excitement moves through your body making you feel giddy. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt like this around someone. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever wanted someone more than you want Toji. You’re not even sure where you want this to go. All you can think of, is him. His face, body, voice. It’s like a drug you can’t stay away from.

When you make it back to the living room, after changing into your pajamas, Toji has the movie paused. Your eyes roam his features, stopping at his soft lips. He looks up at you and you turn your eyes to the tv.

“So what’re we watching?” You ask, sitting on the other side of the couch Toji is sitting on. He smirks at you.

“We’re gonna watch Sinister.” You can’t help but laugh. He looks confused for a moment.

“What?”

“I love sinister, Toji.” He looks at you and for a second there’s a look in his eyes that make you want to lay back and spread yourself open for him. He face shifts and he lets out a laugh.

“I should’ve figured you’d like scary movies.” He presses play on the tv.

“I do like scary movies but nothing too gory. It’s just exciting and makes me feel some type of way.” He turns to look at you then and that feeling comes back. This time you hold his eyes.

“How does it make you feel?” His voice is deeper, raspier. You wonder what it would be like for him to talk you through it.

“I mean, like I said, it’s exciting. Gives me a rush and I love the suspense and build up.” You pull your legs up onto the couch and position your body so you’re facing him. His eyes roam over your legs and up your body to your eyes again.

“See something you like sweetheart?” You mock him and he throws his head back when he laughs.

Since you both have seen sinister, you decide to watch something neither of you have watched before. You both watch Pearl.

It’s halfway through the movie and you’ve noticed Toji has moved a couple of inches closer to you. It’s cool and dark in the room, making you feel more confident than before. You stretch your feet out and they brush the side of his leg.

“Sorry.”

He looks up at you and you move to tuck your feet back, but he grabs them. Toji moves over another inch towards you and sets your feet in his lap.

“Thanks.” You smile, feigning innocence and he brushes his hand over your feet. His thumb presses into the arch of your foot, massaging it. You can’t hold back the small moan that slips through. Foot massages are your weakness. He lets out a low laugh.

“Feel good?” He’s looking at you now, digging his fingers deeper. Your toes curl at the pressure and the feeling of his hands on you. You want more.

“Yes.” You nod your head at him, watching his hands work. Your pussy clenches around nothing and you press your thighs together. Both of you have forgotten the movie in the background. His hand moves up your ankle, to your leg, and softly strokes you there. You clench your thighs tighter, holding yourself back from spreading your legs for him. Even though this seems extremely intimate and inappropriate, you still can’t be sure how he would react if you just open yourself up for him. The movie ends and the credits roll on the screen. His hand continues to rub your leg.

“Toji?” Your soft voice grabs his attention. He looks at you like he could swallow you entirely. Your breath hitches for a second and you gulp. You wonder what he’s thinking.

“I really like when you touch me.” You keep your voice delicate, innocent almost. He tightens his hold on your leg.

“Yeah?” He asks, his hand moves higher than it had before. Goosebumps break out across your skin at the contact. His hand is very warm, just like you’d thought.

“Yes.” You whisper out. You hold each other’s eyes as he continues to slide his hand up and over to the inside of your leg. Without being able to stop yourself, your legs part for him. Your eyes are heavy. Heat builds in your core and you can feel yourself getting wet with slick. You wonder what it feels like to have Toji’s fingers in your pussy.

“I-I’m sorry. I actually can’t do this.” Toji removes his hands from you and stands, running his fingers through his dark brown hair. The embarrassment spreads through your whole body and you close your legs, sitting up straight. The rejection sobers you up from the heat that has built in your core.

“It’s just, your dad is a good friend of mine and you’re his daughter. It would be wrong, for both of us.” You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. Part of you can’t blame him for being hesitant, but he doesn’t know your relationship with your father. He also doesn’t know you, doesn’t know that you’ve never done anything like this before. Never pursued a man. Never had the confidence in yourself to do such things like you’ve done tonight.

“I see. I’m so glad he’s a great friend to you Toji. If only he could be the same way with me. Doesn’t matter anyway. You won’t be here forever and neither will I. Goodnight.”

You get up from the couch and Toji watches you leave before beginning to clean up. Of course he wouldn’t want to touch you. How would your father feel if he found out? Would he even care? Probably not, but Toji doesn’t know that. You do know that Toji wants you, otherwise he wouldn’t have touched you the way he did. You wonder how much more enticing you can make yourself to him. Would he be able to say no if he saw you, begging for him, open for him? A treat laid bare for him to consume. Surely he wouldn’t deny himself something that was handed to him on a silver platter. He’s not the type to pick at his food, wouldn’t dare be impolite and reject what was offered to him. You want to see his facade crumble for you.

You make sure to leave the door unlocked and slightly ajar when you lay out across your bed. You pull your clothes off and reach for your toy. Just the sight of it makes you throb, the desire moves through your body anew. You think of him as you desperately seek release from the tension that has coiled its way inside your body.

“Toji!” You call out, so close to cumming from just the thought of what could’ve happened earlier. The thought of him pulling you closer to him and situating himself between your legs. You wonder how he would feel completely pressed against you. What does his cock look like? Would you even be able to take him? Your vibrator is pressed to your clit and your back is arched off of the bed. You can hear him coming up the stairs finally. You gasp his name out as you clench around nothing, wanting so desperately to feel his fingers, tongue, cock, anything inside of you. A creek from the door has your eyes darting towards it. Toji stands there, watching you intensely. You spread your legs for him, grabbing your breast with your other hand. You’ve never felt so vulnerable in front of someone. You want to be vulnerable for him though. Your hips roll against your vibrator again and again, unable to stop yourself.

“You’re doing all of this? For me, baby? Are you that needy for it?” His husky voice makes you beg. It sends all rational thought from your brain. He hasn’t touched you and yet, you feel like you’re floating. You can tell from his eyes that he’s fighting with himself.

“Toji, please. Please, I need to cum.” You’re whining now, so close to your peak. You wonder what he feels watching you like this. Is he hard right now? The thought makes you press harder on your clit. You’ve only known each other for a day, but it feels like he’s all you’ve ever wanted. You were never the type for random hookups, but for Toji, you have to have a taste. A piece of him. Whatever he will give you. Your mind races with thoughts of him. All over you, surrounding you. Your eyes find his again and he holds your stare. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips and you whimper at the sight. The thought of his sharp tongue on your pussy has you gasping. He steps closer, leaning against the wall as he peers down at you. It makes you feel exposed. You fight to close your legs from his gaze.

“Are you gonna cum, babygurl? Gonna cum just from me watching you play with yourself?” You cry out at his words. Yes, yes, yes.

“Cum for me, baby. Be a good girl and cum for me.” His voice is stern; it’s an order. An order you refused to disobey. Your toes curl as you arch further off the mattress. The pleasure washes through you in never ending waves. Your brain is nothing but tv static at this point, no thoughts. You’re gasping his name out like a prayer, body jerking from the aftershocks as you come down. When you finally collapse on the bed, you look to where he was standing. He’s gone.

[xanadontit]

Dear Care and Feeding.

My husband and I have a delightful, inquisitive 4-year-old daughter, “Bree,” who has a nut allergy. We have been able to manage this fairly well, but the problem is my in-laws. They were careless about nuts to the point that we had to stop coming over to their place. My father-in-law keeps a bowl of peanuts or trail mix on the end table next to the couch, and never remembered to remove them before we arrived for a visit. Even worse, my mother-in-law believes Bree’s allergy is something she will outgrow over time and even thinks she can be “cured” if she is exposed to nuts in small doses, because she read about people overcoming allergies through exposure therapy on the internet. After Bree nearly ate some peanut butter M&M’s my FIL forgot to put away on our last visit to my in-laws’ place I put my foot down. I said until they were willing to take my daughter’s safety more seriously, we would not be coming over to their house. My husband grumbled that he thought I was overreacting, but went along with it. My in-laws were very chilly for a couple of weeks, but eventually agreed to the new arrangement.

I thought we had resolved the problem, but I was wrong. When my in-laws visited our home last month, I left Bree watching TV with her grandmother while I went to check the mail. I came back to find my MIL in a panic, my FIL on the phone with 911, and Bree on the floor nearly purple and gasping …

I realized she was having an allergic reaction and immediately gave her a shot with the EpiPen I carry with me at all times. Within several heart-stopping minutes Bree was breathing better. The EMTs came and took her to the hospital in an ambulance while we followed behind.

While we were waiting for the doctors to update us at the hospital, my MIL told me she had given Bree a small piece of a Snickers bar. She said she thought Bree could overcome her nut allergy if she ate a little each day. My husband had to practically hold me back. I shouted at her that she had nearly killed my daughter and as far as I was concerned, we were done with both her and my FIL. My MIL huffed that she was only trying to make it so Bree could have a normal life and stalked out of the hospital with her husband on her heels.

It’s been over a month now, and my husband has been trying to facilitate a reconciliation between us. He acknowledges that what his mother did was wrong and dangerous, but still tries to defend her by saying “that’s how she is,” and pointing out that she never intended to harm Bree. I have told him that I will never be able to trust his parents around our daughter again. His mother hasn’t even so much as apologized. He thinks I am being too harsh and am taking this too far. Please tell me I’m not.

—Am I Nuts?

Dear Nuts,

No, you are neither being too harsh nor taking this too far. You made it abundantly clear to your in-laws what the rules were regarding your daughter and her allergies. Because they read too much online baloney and like to imagine they know better than anyone else, they broke them on purpose, put her life at risk, and don’t even seem to feel that bad about it. They suck! You are right and he is wrong. I hope this makes you feel better.

But it does you no good to feel better now and still have your husband claiming you’re overreacting, even in the aftermath of your child nearly dropping dead. It does you no good to be the lone voice in the wilderness. You need him on your side.

It’s possible that he finds your daughter’s nut allergy so frightening—and it is frightening!—that he’s desperate to grasp at any straw that suggests she might “get over it.” Combine that with an unwillingness to confront his parents, and you might have a dad who’s feeling just torn enough not to know how to handle this mess. Sit down with your husband and explain exactly how you feel about what his parents did, and how you feel about how he is not supporting you—or, honestly, even protecting his own daughter. Feel free to wave a printout of this advice column to help make your case.

Maybe, down the line, you’ll decide together to reintroduce his parents into their granddaughter’s life. (I know it feels like you never will want to, but there are such wonderful rewards for a child in having a relationship with even totally objectionable grandparents.) If so, there will be conditions, and whatever those conditions are, he’d better be on board for conveying them, in no uncertain terms, to his amateur-immunologist parents—and making clear to them that there will be no divergence from those rules.

******************

I'm sorry but what the FUCK is Dan Kois' problem? The dad/husband fucking sucks which tracks because he comes from fucking sucky stock and I'm failing to understand what "wonderful rewards" await this poor child from "having a relationship with even totally objectionable grandparents" unless he means "heavenly rewards" because they seem intent on killing their granddaughter.

Can you imagine being this kid?

"Hey, Mom, why did you let Grandma and Grandpa around me? They were constantly feeding me peanuts and I ended up in the hospital every Christmas."

"Oh, a complete moron advice columnist said it would be good for you. Somehow. Hey, you were great at calling 911 and not all kids can say that!"

ETA: And what's with all the sympathizing with the dad because he's just so sad his kid has an allergy and doesn't know what to do?! You don't let the kid eat peanuts/peanut products and you keep the kid away from people who purposely do that. He doesn't need to get an MD and cure food allergies for all of mankind. Christ.

Would love to hear @sequinedably's thoughts on this one.

[crazylittlejester]

i personally don’t have any food allergies, but my younger sister does, and when she was younger they were a lot more severe so i always tried to make sure we knew where her allergy medicine and epi pen were when we first found out. it also sucked because she was the first of anyone in my family to have food allergies so it shocked and scared us pretty badly when she had her first allergic reaction.

anyway, i wanted to one, thank you for writing fics where wars had that anxiety over food so that others (like myself) can try and understand a bit better those with food anxiety!! and then two, because my love language is basically giving/making food to others, *throws as many oranges as possible towards you* i hope you feel better and that people stop being jerks to people with allergies!! (i’m glad you have someone like your friend’s mom who at least tries their best though!!)

I keep two epi pens on me always, and my best friend carries one as well, not because she has allergies but just because she said she’d feel more comfortable if she had one too since we spend so much time together, so I gave her one. That first allergic reaction is definitely absolutely terrifying for everyone involved, because oftentimes no one knows what’s happening and no one really thinks “Oh it’s an allergic reaction” because you’re either the one on the floor unable to breathe or you’re watching it happen to someone you love and it’s just awful because everyones is panicking

I really wish people were more aware of what allergic reactions look like and how to handle them/help, I feel like a lot of lives could be saved this way. I went to grade schools that treated allergies like a joke, because they just didn’t understand, and I think schools are getting better about it now from what I’ve heard, but I firmly believe that schools should teach kids about allergies to spread awareness. Especially because food allergies aren’t even an uncommon thing anymore???

A kid in my class junior year of high school had a severe allergic reaction and the teachers and adults all stood around not knowing what to do, and it was his best friends who gave him the epi pen, called 911, and handled everything. That group of 16/17 year old boys literally saved their friend’s life because they were taught what to do (by said friend with allergies), and that’s why I think it’s so important people learn what to do in situations like that. Like if you know how to give an epi pen, you literally know how to save someone’s life

And like I said last night, I think it’s kinda insane that after nineteen years of trying to explain to people what this kind of food anxiety feels like, all it ended up taking was a couple fanfictions about a guy who’s scared of being poisoned 😭 I’m really glad I finally found a way to get people I know and also internet strangers to get to a place where even if they’ll never understand exactly what it feels like, they can at least see the thought process and understand that way, but the WAY through which I finally accomplished this is hilarious to me.

Thanks LU Warriors for ur sacrifice king 😭

I am incredibly grateful for both my friend and her mom for everything they do for me, and also for every single person who tries their best to understand an experience they might not ever have. Again, it’s crazy that what it took was Zelda fanfiction to get people to see what it’s like, but hey, I’ll take it 🫶

[prince-princess-bunny]

I have a shellfish allergy and I work as a dishwasher. I knew about the allergy beforehand, but I thought it was only eating. We didn’t serve any shellfish dishes for my first 6 months I was there, until thanksgiving, when I accidentally sprayed down a pan that had been used for shrimp, and was sent home with a migraine. I thought it was a holiday thing, so I brushed off, until we started serving shellfish on a regular basis. I told my bosses and the team, but only two people actually cared enough about my safety to wash their own shellfish dishes (someone once left me a note that said “shrimp :(“ on top of it). I had to go get an official accommodation to force everyone take my allergy seriously.

I remember eating shrimp as a kid. Growing up, my dad hated pickles, so I thought I hated pickles. Then as an adult, I tried a pickle. Turns out I love them! A few days later, I was presented an opportunity to have shrimp again and thought “I love pickles, maybe I love shrimp!” A few hours later, a bad idea.

Food allergies are weird. You’d think it’s as simple as “exposure to A causes reaction B.” But no. It can be all over the goddamn place. When I first found out, I got severe stomach cramps and a headache, so I stopped eating it. When exposed to particles, it makes me feel like garbage. Breathe in enough, it triggers a migraine. I can’t be in the same room as someone washing the lobster bisque, but I can be around the clam chowder, as long as I’m not the one cleaning it. Then out of the blue, my allergy decided to develop into trouble breathing. Nothing life threatening, but now I keep some pills and an epipen in my locker, just in case. Now if I’m exposed to shellfish, it’s a roll of the dice if I’ll trigger a migraine, or if I’ll role play a weak person trying to strangle me. Tonight, I had a two hour delay before my health slid down.

The thing is, because my symptoms are kind of all over the place, I always feel like I’m lying. Because I can’t specifically say “this causes that reaction,” I’m always afraid people won’t believe me. I looked up allergies in general, and apparently it’s common for them to just be wildly inconsistent?? It’s so much easier to just tell people “I’m allergic.” And leave specifics to situations at hand.

Everyone has been really good about keeping track. I’ve worked there for almost 2 years now, and I’ve only had a handful of events. We moved locations recently and got a bunch of new hires, so they let me print out a sign with big red ALLERGY letters on it (I call it my “please don’t kill me” sign). Most people are cool. They’ll even remind me if I forgot to put my sign up. I’ve had to explain multiple times to multiple people that fish is not the same as shellfish. Yes, I can wash the tuna bin. It’s annoying, but very sweet, so I let it slide.

Tonight, one person dismissed my sign, and I got a face full of shrimp. Had to leave work early. I’m not mad, because it wasn’t on purpose. Things happen in a kitchen. I’m certain she’ll be extra careful going forward.

Allergies suck. They’re weird. It makes me feel bad physically and mentally. I have to work to make people take me seriously. I hate it ~___~

[olderjodijournals]

TUESDAY, AUGUST 1, 1989

Work was a bitch last night cuz fucking Guy and Rob just don’t know what the fuck they’re doing as cooks. They had 10,000 orders and some people waited for a half-hour for their food. I wish there were more cooks like Jayke.

Jayke and I definitely have to get together sometime soon.

This woman cop who came in last night was so nice and so attractive.

I tried my best to go to sleep and I can’t. Probably cuz I slept so much the last two days and I’m very hyped up.

I got my shopping done and Jessie’s coming over later. Tomorrow, after another fun night at Denny’s, Andy and I are going to the beach. I hope to hell I get more color. It’s already August.

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 2, 1989

After work this morning Andy fell asleep till almost 1:00 so we didn’t arrive here till almost 2:30. I was exhausted, so shortly after we got here I fell asleep. I only slept 2 or 3 hours though.

I called Tammy who I’m gonna see tomorrow along with Lisa and Becky. She’s gonna make me that big gold chain.

We called Nervous and kept the sucker on the line for ages. He’s not answering now so he probably got smart and unplugged his phone.

We went to this really fancy restaurant and the bill came to $40. Theresa T was working there. We knew her when we were kids at the beach. Her mom died. Both her parents are gone now and she’s only 21. She looks just as pretty as she did as a little girl.

Andy’s sleeping now. I just finished listening to music and we’re supposed to go to the beach and climb our rocks, but I don’t know whether to let him sleep or wake him up. I’ll give him a little more time. He’s no doubt exhausted even though he slept this morning. We both didn’t get enough hours of sleep. It ain’t easy working the graveyard while trying to remain active in the daytime. I guess I’ll lay down myself for a little while, and I hope Nervous answers his phone later, the little sucker!

This room we’re in is so small. I like Ho Jo’s much better and so does Andy.

THURSDAY, AUGUST 3, 1989

Well, I just had the grandest time calling people and billing the calls to Nervous, since the asshole won’t answer his phone. He’s got it unplugged for sure. What took him so long to pick up the hint of what we were up to? He probably won’t plug it in till tomorrow, or this morning, I should say, at around 7:00 when he goes to call his mommy.

I made a call to Fran, but as usual, he wasn’t there. He’s probably at Bobbie’s. I also called Ann and Harry B, my foster parents from when I was 16 but gave them the silent treatment. They were great foster parents. It’s just that they’ve ignored me ever since I left them. Makes me feel a bit slighted.

I’ve tried several times to wake up Andy, but it ain’t doing any damn good so I guess I’ll try to sleep myself for a few hours. I wish I could snap my fingers and make it beach time, but since I can’t, I better sleep or else I’ll be dead tired.

Later…

Can you believe this fucking shit! I still can’t sleep. I haven’t been sleeping much lately. Either I sleep too much or hardly at all. I’m on such a screwy schedule. I gotta start eating and sleeping right and why the fuck did I ever have to start smoking again after 3 fucking days of quitting! I’m so pissed! I’m so short of breath and all stuffed up and my singing sucks, and I still don’t know for sure if it’s mostly smoking and maybe also allergies too, or what. This definitely is not caused by Sasha and I want her back! It’s a curse from God! I’m so fucking wound up and one pissed-off motherfucker!!!

SATURDAY, AUGUST 5, 1989

The beach went sucky. I was nothing but a bitch to Andy and did nothing but complain and be negative. I don’t think we’re gonna be friends much longer, and this is what I mean by how I lose decent people. I’m really only good right now for other mental cases that do nothing but complain and talk negatively.

I thought I had learned to keep my problems to myself and my fears inside so I don’t burden anyone or bring anyone down with me, but then I had to fuck it all up at the beach. I’ve learned that no one can cheer a person up and that that person has to cheer themselves up only. I’ve also learned that talking about your problems only depresses people and brings them down with you and it’s gonna be very embarrassing to have to face Andy on Sunday night the next time I work. I don’t want to quit the job, though, and of course, I don’t want to end our friendship, but I feel it’s best to cuz it’s only gonna end someday by him. I haven’t spoken to him since Thursday night and I’m really proud that I haven’t called him. Makes me feel stronger. Talking to him is gonna do absolutely no good and if I want this friendship to continue I’m gonna basically have to kiss his ass and be in a good mood all the time and always talk positively all the time.

FRIDAY, AUGUST 11, 1989

Life has really changed for me since the last time I wrote. Well, I finally decided to see Mario Fernandez, an allergist, and end this misery once and for all. Fernandez showed me an article saying that skin puncturing is not accurate for sure, and that it is not impossible to test for cat dander like Walker had said, and that testing by blood was better. But it costs $425 and my insurance won’t cover it, but I knew that in order to get a good doctor, I’d have to pay, rather than see a quack who accepts Medicaid. Medicare pays for the shots, but not the blood testing. I think I can avoid shots in the end. The doctor said I have 4 choices. The first one is to take Seldane and not have Sasha, and of course, he wants me to quit smoking. If that doesn’t work, the second step is shots, the third is freezing my nose to bring down the swelling, and the fourth is straightening my nose cuz it’s slightly crooked.

Yesterday his nurse called me and said that when he took my cultures from my nose they found an infection so yesterday I started both the Seldane and an antibiotic and already I feel a difference! I think I’m gonna be able to avoid the last 3 steps. I’m gonna be singing real soon like never before and Ma feels I can do without shots, too.

When I told Andy he said, “I wonder how long this infection’s been going on?”

A long, long time, and cuz I put off dealing with it, it spread throughout my whole body for many, many months.

MONDAY, AUGUST 14, 1989

Believe it or not, we’re on our way back from the beach and we took Nervous which we’ll never do again. It was more fun to rank on him over the phone and ring up his bill. We were gonna dump him off but after a half-hour or so we went back and got him. He didn’t misbehave all that badly, he was just a little hyper of course. He sure as hell was our slave and it was so funny. The guy’s a major sucker.

Andy says, “I wish I had a sucker like him to use and rank on.”

We have so much fun antagonizing him.

As far as a sunny day at the beach - ha! It’s raining and cloudy.

TUESDAY, AUGUST 22, 1989

So much has happened since I last wrote which was quite a while ago. Sometimes I can’t get in the mood to write. Starting with when we took Nervous to the beach which was the last time we were there, which was hilarious as all hell. Well, after we left Ho Jo’s we told him to wait outside so we wouldn’t be caught with him and have to pay extra, we took off without him and then when we finally came back to get him, he was in a pickup truck with this guy Andy thought was a hunk, and was about to get a ride to the beach. So then later on after we left the beach, in which Tammy was in her usual pissy mood and Lisa looked really upset (Becky’s too young to catch on yet), we dumped him several times and made him walk up the street where we’d drive up to. We stopped at a pizza place, and then afterward, did the same thing. The guy is a major sucker! You should see the way he stared at my body the night before in the hotel. All I wore was a thin see-through half-shirt and underpants.

Work was hectic last night but I made $60. Today pervert Nervous is making a $122.75 deposit and also getting me wrappers for quarters, nickels and dimes. This week’s paycheck will be bigger cuz of my raise and next week’s will be even bigger cuz it’s for 4 days.

I met another referral from the service named Eunice, which of course was a major turn-off. She was pitifully ugly and seemed very stuck up. The guy she brought with her, who was also gay, was better looking than she was. We all went to a fair and she basically ignored me the whole time. She was rude and butchy looking, but that’s typical of what God sends my way. I was far from upset by it, though, cuz I knew it was coming.

My allergies still drive me nuts and probably will continue to for a year or so cuz that’s how long it’ll take to get rid of the dander. Eggs and cheese I am definitely allergic to for damn sure.

Otherwise, things have been ok. Had a couple of lousy days, but life’s never perfect and I’m only human. I had a good talk with this new guy, Dick, on 2nd shift, then with Tom on the graveyard shift at PCS (Psychiatric Crisis Services).

I am trying to get into Hamden District Mental Health Center here on Pine St., but I’m still waiting to hear from them for an intake. CC is out of the question. They despise me and will never return any of my phone calls and just to get even and say “fuck off” they sent me a bill I don’t even owe.

Thursday at 2:15, I’ve got to see Fernandez again for x-rays and to figure out what to do about my infection. The antibiotic (Augmentin) he gave me was too strong and I got wicked bad dry heaves.

THURSDAY, AUGUST 24, 1989

I had a really fun evening and the only thing in the way was my usual allergies and just feeling slightly drained from not eating too well lately due to feeling so miserable. Tomorrow I’m going to see Fernandez and we’ll see if I get anywhere with him.

Before Fernandez, Andy’s gonna take me to Saratoga Drug to get my $67 in food stamps and then bring me to the doctor. After that, I’ll go straight to Food Fart.

I’ve got to call and tell SS right away, which I keep forgetting now that I’m working.

Tomorrow Nervous is gonna make a $90 deposit which I’ll have around $653 in the bank and soon my $502.39 and more tips and paychecks.

Speaking about my fun evening, well, Nervous brought me a phone recorder from Radio Shack where you can record phone calls. There’s a little suction cup you place on the headset of the phone with a small black cord and the other end of it goes into the mike jack on a tape recorder. It wouldn’t work on my box cuz the jack was too big. This one is 1/8” so I had to get back from Nervous the tape recorder I gave him a couple of years ago. Hopefully, he’ll get himself a new box soon so he can play all his tapes. I’ve really gotten him into music. He’s hooked on Joan Baez and I’m making him more tapes of Gloria and the Judds music.

So, anyway, we recorded some crosses we made with these two confused black chicks and a few other people. Me, Andy and Nervous were all over here and Fran was at his place. It was funny as all hell cuz these people thought the lines were really crossed!

Notes that Andy and Nervous wrote and that only I could understand:

Listen, I don’t mean to sound like Chin Fatt Kong but I hope you won’t kill me for writing in your book. I just wanted to write and say I love you! You know I really, really do! Love, Andy

To Jodi - You, my very talented young friend, will make it big in the music business some day maybe even sooner than you think. Love You, Kevin

MONDAY, AUGUST 28, 1989

Well, last night I was very cruelly and very wrongfully fired by Crosby and even Andy’s pissed at him for what Crosby did to us before, and wants me to tell Demeter the facts or go to the Labor Board if that doesn’t work, but I’m not gonna even bother. They’re not worth the bother and I’d rather try getting into that music school I forgot to mention. Hopefully, I can get in on some kind of grant or scholarship.

It’s at the Springfield Community School of Music which is great so I won’t have to take math or English or any other general bullshit which is required at Holyoke Community College. Hopefully, I can major in voice and take piano and guitar, too. I don’t know how it works there but I’m going there on Sept. 5th for enrollment. If I get the financial aid I sure as hell hope they don’t fuck me up like they did at La Baron. But if I get in, I’ll be doing what I love to do rather than hair and nails which I only care to do for friends, family and myself. I only hope they don’t try to say they can’t accept me cuz of my allergies and asthma.

Speaking of that, Fernandez gave me another antibiotic called Amoxicillin which is helping quite well with no bad side effects. Also, I must have shots for 2-3 years but it’s worth it to end this misery so I can be healthy and sing well. Of course, I still wish I could quit smoking and know it’d help tremendously but I’m not gonna quit for a while if ever. I guess I’ll just have to die 20 years younger with cancer or emphysema or a heart attack cuz I like to smoke and I need to smoke for now.

Right now I’m listening to a tape of me talking to Nervous. Yesterday I had Nervous buy me 6 90-minute tapes for phone call recording, and once they’re all completed, me and Andy are gonna edit them, taking only the best parts.

Gloria’s birthday is coming up sometime next week but I’m not sure of the exact date. I forgot. She’ll be 32, though.

TUESDAY, AUGUST 29, 1989

I am speaking on the phone right now with Nervous. Andy and I were talking earlier, but he’s not home now. He mentioned going to pick up Roger at work, who is a major druggie, but he and Andy have known each other for a while cuz they worked together the last time Andy worked at Denny’s.

Linda popped over earlier just as I was getting out of the shower. She had handcuffs with her and says she’s going to train to be a cop which she’d definitely be good at, and I joked with her about arresting me for prank calls.

I am one bored motherfucker since I’m not working, and even though I was wrongly fired, I still feel like a complete failure and a useless piece of shit, and I wonder where my life is leading to?

I’d better fucking get into music school!

THURSDAY, AUGUST 31, 1989

I was very depressed earlier, but a half-hour or so after I took my meds, my mood cheered up and became more positive.

Andy came over at 1:30, and by 2:00 he was passed out on my couch and still is. Guess he’s been exhausted and I am too, but can’t sleep yet.

I am going back to CC, so it looks like. Both Osborne and HDMHC recommended I go there cuz they have more to offer, but I hope CC doesn’t pull this daycare shit on me. I just want weekly therapy with a decent female therapist and a decent shrink like Moshiri.

I really hope I’m in school at least 3 days a week and that that won’t interfere with CC or my allergy shots or anything else I ever need to do. I don’t think the school opens, though, till mid or late afternoon which is great, but I hope if I get in that I won’t be leaving at night. If I do, I hope I can get a ride from someone and give them gas money.

Tomorrow I’ve got to call Fernandez to let him know I’ve decided to have the blood testing which is safer than the other kind they do, and once again discuss Medicare with them who says they cover 80% of the $450 it’ll cost, so I’ll only have to pay $90. Mom’s gonna be sending a check for $100.

Part of me still wishes I was working at Denny’s for the extra money, but doing what I love to do and having therapy and shots are more important right now. The job had a lot of hassles and stress that were both worth it and not worth it.

[under0-0s]

Tony Stark did not cry at weddings.

Okay—maybe one tear, once. Pepper looked unbelievable, the moment was cinematic, and he had a minor contact lens situation. But today?

Today was Barnes.

Married.

To Natasha freaking Romanoff.

Tony adjusted his cufflinks as he stepped out of the car, glancing sideways. “Don’t make it weird, Rogers. We’re fashionably on time, not emotionally vulnerable.”

He smirked to himself, running a quick scan of the venue with those shades he still wasn’t admitting were prescription. Minimalist setup. Tasteful. Classy, even.

He hated how much he approved.

“Did you know they got Poseidon on the guest list?” he muttered, leaning a little closer to Steve as they walked. “I swear, one more Greek god shows up, I’m installing celestial security measures at my next gala.”

The soft hum of vintage music hit him as they neared the arbor. Blue Flame. Of course it was. Barnes and his old-timey drama.

“Wow. They really went full Forties Fantasy Camp with this one, huh?” Tony muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “I give them ten minutes before one of them threatens the other in Russian and they make out mid-ceremony.”

He took a seat beside Steve, crossing his legs with flair. His fingers drummed against his thigh.

Nerves? Please. He just hated sitting still.

“Don’t look at me like that, Rogers. I'm perfectly calm. This is just my default wedding posture.”

He spotted Peter across the way, camera in hand, focused like the sweet little nerd he was. Tony gave him a wink. Kid deserved front-row access—probably had to sign a non-disclosure just for attending.

Then there she was. Natasha. Stark couldn’t help the small breath he sucked in. She looked like fire and snow had a baby and gave it a black belt.

“Damn,” he whispered. “Romanoff could have worn a tactical vest and combat boots and still made everyone else look like background actors.”

His gaze flicked to Bucky, who looked two seconds from passing out.

“Well, if Barnes doesn’t faint, I’ll personally give him a Stark Industries discount card,” Tony mumbled. “The man looks like he’s being drafted into war again, and yet somehow still smug about it.”

He leaned closer to Steve again. “Tell me you see Yelena’s face. She’s one sarcastic blink away from tackling the officiant and calling this a farce.”

The vows started, and for a moment, Tony didn’t say a word.

Not because he was speechless. Please, never that.

But because he was…okay, a little moved.

A little.

“They actually wrote their own,” he whispered. “Romanoff’s voice didn’t even shake. God, she’s such a professional. If I were standing there, I’d be halfway into a Shakespearean monologue about circuitry and how love is like nanotech. Tragic.”

He smirked. “Barnes is crying. I knew it. I didn’t bet money, but I spiritually bet money.”

When the rings were exchanged, Tony pressed a hand to his chest, mock-swooning. “Well, there goes the last shred of my emotional detachment.”

As they kissed—slow, reverent, a real soul-hug of a kiss—he gave a low whistle.

“I’ll give it to them,” he said. “They’re absurdly good together. Like trauma-core Barbie and Ken. If Barbie had knives and Ken had seventy-five years of assassin baggage.”

As the audience clapped, Tony joined in with a few extra dramatic snaps and a flash of his patented Stark charm.

Then, out of the corner of his mouth to Steve, with a smirk: “Remind me to install a gift registry filter for any future weddings. If either of them put down 'matching Glock sets' again, I’m revoking their login.”

And then, softer, half to himself: “But damn… I think they might actually make it.”

He didn’t cry.

Not even one tear.

Just… allergies. Definitely the flowers. And maybe, just maybe, a little pride.

Tony Stark—sucker for a happy ending, despite his best efforts.

And, right beside him, stood his second chance. And with one glance-by at him, Tony knew. He couldn't mess up whatever they had tried to establish, for anything in the world.

@thelittleguyfrombrooklyn

Well, it was finally happening. The air was almost like the gymnasiam floor when the school ship had finally begun to dance.

Bucky imagined Elecktra and Yelena were about to have a field day.

He stood with Steve and Sam, trying not to fiddle with the place on his left finger where the ring would slip onto. He had asked Stark if he could make something to keep the ring in place, so a small divot was made.

“Relax,” Sam leaned closer to Bucky. “It’s not like you don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“I can’t wait, thats all.”

He was going to be honest with himself, this was the greatest day of his life. His entire family was there, at least he knew as family.

His sister, his Ma, his best friend since 1924, even the man he thought he would hate for the rest of his life. Heck, Sam was great.

Practically all the Avengers were there.

Oh, yeah. It was going to be a party to remember.

Laurya was kind enough to keep any birds away from the guests and decorations, not that it was extravagant, it was simple, no more than needed.

Who would have thought Poseidon would show up??? What a day…

He shifted his weight again, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I swear, I’m gonna sit on you if you keep that up.” Steve teased.

“You just might need to.” Bucky looked around, catching his mother’s eye. She was beaming to say the least. He smiled back, choosing to pretend he didn’t see her tears. He was just as excited.

He couldn’t imagine what Natasha looked like right now…

Meanwhile, in the white tent where the reception would be held, Natasha waited patiently while Yelena finished off her make-up. Her sister would never let her live it down if she went to the alter with messy mascara.

“I hope you don’t mind Bucky attached to me now,” She half-smiled.

“He’s been attached to you,” Yelena smarted as she leaned back and inspected her work. “You just now noticed this?”

Natasha simply rolled her eyes. “I just hope I don’t start crying.”

“Don’t be a sap.”

“Hey,” The red head touched Yelena’s arm. Don’t think I’m going anywhere just because I’m getting hitched. Okay?”

“The thought never crossed my mind.”

The sisters shared a smirk and a hug before Natasha stood up and checked herself in the mirror.

“Well? How do I look?” She asked Dani who was helping in the tent.

“Absolutely stunning.” Dani nodded. She and Yelena broke the traditional style and wore suits to the wedding.

Everything was practically humming with anticipation.

The sun was just beginning to set as the ceremony began, the soft tunes of Blue Flame, a forties song, crooned from the speakers to the sides of the arbor where Cillian, Bucky and Steve stood, the middle having to clasp his hands behind his back to keep from fidgeting. Funny, he was more scared than he had ever been, even from missions for HYDRA.

He looked down as he thought back to where he was when he met Natalia. She had pulled him from a horrible place, and he had the audacity to ask her to stay with him.

And hell, she said yes.

He felt Steve give him a nudge from his left, almost a silent signal that his best friend had his back.

Bucky held his breath as he saw the bridesmaids and groomsmen come down the isle. It was only three pairs; they didn’t want a big wedding.

Then he knew he was going to loose it.

Natasha came down the isle, Sam’s arm linked with hers as she locked eyes with him.

Elecktra was getting every detail down.

Peter was quietly getting the best shots, his camera making a small clicking noise when he took a photograph.

Bucky swore his heart stopped when Natasha winked at him.

“Friends and Avengers.” Cillian began, sounding rather hyped as well. This was a big day for his friend. “Today we mark the event with our friends, James and Natasha. And it appears to be a major event for both of them.”

“Its not everyday you do this.” Natasha chimed, shooting a playful glance at the immortal.

“That is true.” Cillian grinned. “Now, who gives this bride away in marriage?”

“That would be me, even though I have no relation to her,” Sam spoke up, a bright smile on his face. “And no sympathy to Bucky, he asked for this.”

There was an amused rumble of laughter around the audience as Sam stepped back and took his seat next to Winnifred Barnes.

“Thanks, Sam” Bucky quietly said, shooting a smile to his friend.

Cillian continued, a smile plastered on his face. “I have had the honor of James as a friend, and enemy at one time. But even through the years, he’s been a man I’m proud to have as a friend.”

Natasha grinned at Bucky as he ducked his head. It was so…strange to hear a man you once hunted for a mission stating that you were a great friend. But that was the past. He needed to let go.

He was here and he was about to get married.

“A union between a pair such as this, it’s something that only happens once in a lifetime. So, Buck, you made a hell of a choice.”

Bucky chuckled and looked at Natasha who was still smiling at him.

“Another surprise, I was told that they had wrote their own vows. So, Natasha, will you honor us with your vows?”

The redhead nodded and looked at Bucky. “From those darker days when we knew nothing of happiness, I knew you were someone I should keep close to. Whether it was for protection, warmth or just companionship, you were always there for me. You’re my friend, a challenge to meet in training, my mentor, my personal space heater—“ She paused and snickered, also receiving a chuckle from the audience and Bucky.

“But you are also my life, and I want nothing more than to spend the rest of whatever years we have left with you. I vow to be your companion, your lifeline, the one to stay up with you when the terror gets the best of us. I promise to be faithful, accepting of your quirks; whatever those may be. I also vow to be yours in wherever we’re going in life. I give you my heart, my love and soul. I promise to love and to cherish our love til death do us part.”

“Dang, how I am supposed to follow up that—“ Bucky smirked, taking Natasha’s hand in his. “Natalia, I know how I have hurt others in the past. I’ve done things I wouldn’t dare to share with anyone. But��then you showed up. You showed me something I hadn’t felt in years. I had no idea something so simple as compassion could change someone like me. I didn’t realize it at first, but from when I knew you meant no harm, my heart was yours. I was taken. I’m still taken aback at how you put up with me.” He breathed a laugh. “Nat, you’re the most beautiful person I know. Inside and out, you shine your love to others in a way I don’t deserve. And I vow never to smother that light, never to let you walk this life alone. I promise to love, to cherish, to share and to hold you for the rest of our lives. You’re not only my friend and partner in crime, you’re my girl, and I’ll never let you go.”

Cillian nodded in approval and smiled. “And now the rings, please.”

Steve deposited the two rings in Cillian’s outstretched hand, giving Bucky and bump on the shoulder with a grin.

“A circle has no end.” Cillian began again. “Its infinite, it also shows both of your unconditional love and respect for one another. James, take the ring and repeat after me.”

Bucky took the silver and red ring in his metal hand and gently held Natasha’s left hand.

“Natasha, I give you this ring as a symbol of my love and fidelity. I promise to love you today, tomorrow and all the days after.”

Bucky smiled and met Natasha’s gaze. “Natasha, I give you this ring as a symbol of my love and fidelity. I promise to love you today, tomorrow and all the days after.”

“And now you, Nat.”

“James Bucky Barnes, I give you this ring as a symbol of my love and fidelity. I promise to love you today, tomorrow and all the days after. And don’t you forget it, either.”

“No, ma’am.” Bucky shook his head.

“Then by the power invested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife.” Cillian said quickly, noticing Natasha hopping slightly. “James, you may now kiss the bride.”

“Yeehaw!” Bucky whooped before pulling Natasha in and kissing her slowly.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Mr. and Mrs. Barnes!” Steve cheered.

------------

Replies can be reception, speeches, congrats, whatever you want. Have fun!!

Attending list:

@azuresrp | @katherine-fisk | @fictionalmenjusthitdifferent | @thescarleteevee | @oh-to-be-a-murderer | @starfly-nicole| @officially-reformed-capn-hydra | @dollface-xoxo | @rebecca-barnes-official | @kamala-msmarvel-khan | @maggiemelodies09 | @thelittleguyfrombrooklyn | @under0-0s | @serenastark-official | @peter-the-spider-guy | @dam-that-river | @brucewayne-offic | @roselinewilson |@captain-eagle-stuff | @we-love-redwing | @prettyboysteve11 | @daniel-barnes-the-ghost | @itzzkaylaaa @luna-draven-barnes @the-winter-soldier-official @your-fav-russian-assassin @butheremeouttho @buckyofficialbarnes @the-best-black-widow @official-morganstark

IF I MISSED ANYONE, JUMP IN PLEASE! And to tag @official-natasha-romanova They're married!!!

[lluxoperon]

You don’t realize how much you depend on balance until you don’t have it

Ok here goes, this is a long one and a bit personal. I’m hoping that’s by sharing this, it may help someone experiencing something similar. Full disclosure here - I’m not going to even attempt to pretend to apologize for any language, because sometimes nothing better fits or gets the message across as poignant or elegant as a well placed sentence enhancer.

Simply put, chronic and/or long term health things suck ass. Serious donkey balls sucks. Serious. Like… Fuck. That. Shit. Sucks. Especially when you spend a months (or longer) not knowing what the actual fuck is going on with yourself or a loved one. It also sucks much less when you have people in your life that genuinely give a few of their own precious fucks in their life to you to help you get through it all, when your fucks to give are coming up short to a complete lack thereof.

I’ve been down a really shitty road of a long term thing once before when it took an agonizingly long 6+ years to diagnose my cluster headaches at a time they weren't really understood by anyone in the medical industry, let alone common people. The amount of “just fucking relax, it’s only anxiety” I heard that time from literally EVERYONE (including my past SO's) around me at the time was outright maddening. “Yea I fucking have anxiety because all you fuckers either don’t care, think I’m faking this shit, or you can’t figure this shit out because you suck or never heard of this”. The lack of a good support system is not helpful as best, damaging at worst. And if I am being honest, I kind of expected that again from my past experiences. However, this time around, it's been night and day compared to before. I’m not being made to feel crazy, and it's quite a breath of fresh air. My wife, Niki, has been all kinds of helpful and supportive. I write all this as much for her as myself, she's been deep in it with me right from the start.

So to the present... Some of you online have noticed I haven't been posting a lot of my photography for quite some time. Some of you that have seen me in person recently may have noticed I’m using a cane lately, and/or noticed I haven’t been my usual jet-setting self as much I usually am. International travel stopped completely after Nürnberg in Feb 2023. Some people asked about it, some have been polite and just nodded and not asked. Some have ignored it altogether, as I know some aren’t comfortable talking about personal stuff, either their own or other people's. I appreciate however you feel about it, but full open kimono, I’m not embarrassed about it, nor do I mind talking about it, it just is what it is. It's a crazy story, and I often forget details when I am rambling (why I'm writing this in the first place). I guess talking about it also is in my best interest if anyone else has even heard of someone dealing with this. Trying to figure out what it is has been an ordeal, mostly because it's so uncommon, but I’m not giving the fuck up. My brain won’t let me stop trying to figure it out, but some of this all is still in flux.

After getting back from Nürnberg, I started having a weird ear thing, where I was noticing a weird warble effect in my right ear, basically like an echo or reverb. I have gotten this actually quite often over the years, as I had bad ear infections when I was a kid, and it’s also something that just happens with my cluster headaches, or allergies. No big thing, whatever. However, one day after doing some work on our backyard, breaking up concrete, I put my finger in my ear to get some concrete dust out, and I fell backwards onto the kitchen counter. Whoa. Vertigo. What was that?!? Ok... that’s weird. I go to take a shower and as I get to clean out my ear and my eyes start shifting uncontrollably left and right. Wait, what?!? No fucking way. What?!? Ugh. That doesn’t feel great, it also makes my head spin. Ok yea, don’t do THAT anymore. "Niki come look!" Yea, weird... Ok. Put that out of my head. Let’s see if it goes away. It does a bit, but my head is still all wobbly for days and weeks, but maybe I'm just super tired. I mean we were going all out on working outside in our backyard to get 'er done before summer hits in typical Vegas fashion. I get a referral from my GP for an ENT. I find one local to Vegas, they do not return my calls. Typical for here, so yea... A couple months go by...

I fly to LA in April for some tattoo work, all is ok. Over the next week, I have industry conventions to go to on the Strip, all is ok. I'm starting to wear my mask a little less around people, no big thing. All good, tired, but good. A few people come over, I play some Beat Saber with them, I get a little nauseous and dizzy playing, but I figure I'm a bit over exhausted from being on the Strip all week, work, travel to LA, meetings back to back, and house work. The finger in the eye still produces the weird eye thing (it's called nystagmus I find). Still no big deal, right? The fates are laughing in your general direction... Enter one of the largest wind storms we've seen to date in Vegas. My allergies now are through the roof. I get yearly hay fever, so not surprised at all. I start up the Allegra I take each year for my allergies. We go out drinking with friends on the Strip, we all eat too much, drink too much. Back home, in middle of the night, I get up to pee, and as normal, I don't turn on the light in our WC. I'm not barely even drunk any more at this point. I turn around to go back to bed and next thing I know I am splat out on the floor, I don't even know how I fell, or even remember falling. Somehow I ripped off the TP holder on the way down, I'm confused and tired. Niki helps me get back to bed. I'm REALLY confused at this point, and a bit more dizzy than I have been in weeks.

Two days later, I fly back out to LA for a demo for people from the EU, I'm listening to an audio book, and as the plane starts going descending to land in Burbank, I am struck with the most INSANE vertigo, my eyes rolling back into my skull, I feel like the plane is crashing, this is how I die type vertigo. My eyes can't be controlled be damned holy shit I can barely stand once the plane lands I want to crawl to my rental car. Nope, I'm done. I am NOT going to my demo, it's not going to happen, I need to get back home ASAP. I call Niki, I need urgent care, this is not good. I'm dying. WTF is going on?! Holy shit! I'm NOT going back on a plane, fuck THAT shit, I'm driving right now back home to Vegas. I drive. The entire time, I'm either focused on an audio book or Niki over the phone. I can't look over my shoulders. I probably should NOT be driving. I don't fucking care, I need to get home. NOW. I have no way to get home. Fuck THIS. GO. I drive like a banshee. It's the worst drive to Vegas from Burbank, EVER. When I start the trek into Primm down the mountain, the vertigo gets even worse, like when the plane was descending. OMFG it's the goddamn air pressure! Holy jeez. Nope this is not fun. At all. I make it home, somehow.

We get to urgent care later that day:

UC Doc - "Huh that's weird, yea. Yea, you have uh some redness in your ear. Looks like an old infection."

Me - "Uhhhhhhhhhhhh, I still am having the vertigo like a fucking madman, it's been all day now, and my eyes are doing this stupid nystagmus. This isn't BPPV (Benign paroxysmal positional vertigo - ear crystals), or Labyrinthitis, I have had those before. It's doesn't feel the same. And obviously the air pressure change is making it worse. "

UC Doc - "Oh, Ok you know your terms, good. Been down that road before I see. Maybe it's Meniere's, but that usually has hearing loss and not the nystagmus. Here's some steroids and antibiotics."

Yea, I obviously need to get into see that ENT like right now. I call and leave messages. I'm still having the vertigo. I email. Nothing. Days go by, did I mention, the vertigo has NOT stopped. FINALLY get ahold them. Appointment in 1.5 months. I did say the vertigo hasn't stopped, right? JUNE?!? Uh... ok. well... shit. Hello vertigo, my new bestie. You're an asshole, bestie. On top of this, now I start realizing my balance is crap, I close my eyes, I just fall and can't feel it. Wow, ok, that is something new to fucking panic about. Lovely. Thank the fates and our good taste that we have a really comfy couch to park my ass for most of the day. We're still trying to get some things done outside, but I'm feeling like washed shit and can't help much while I wait. Vertigo is the new baseline of my days.

Finally see the ENT in June. By this point I am having vertigo on and off all day long. New constant is always fucking dizzy as fuck. Like you drank too much on a boat and got back to shore and your feet can't find the horizon, it's my new Jack Sparrow Sway. Do a bunch of tests. No hearing loss. Air pressure still fucks my shit up, they can't even finish that test. Finger in the ear still making my eyes have the nystagmus. My ear looks fine. We all assume it's just my right ear. Nothing significant to report, but probably, maybe, definitely not Meniere's. Maybe. Maybe it's a fistula (tiny hole). Time for a CT Scan, only way to see that. Maybe they can put in a drainage tube to help with the air pressure, but we'll see. He also gives me a nose spray (Flonase) for my allergies, maybe it'll help.

It's not a fistula. This is "weird", ok this is clearly past this ENT's wheelhouse. Let's get you to our other Neurotologist/ENT 2 in July. This is going nowhere quickly. Groan. I stop taking the Allegra for the Flonase spray. Helps the allergies way better, but does nothing else. Now I'm starting to get fatigue every day. Can't go an entire day without a nap. This shit is draining me, for real. I'm not keen to fly to LA for work meetings, I cancel flights. Besides the fear of air pressure changes triggering me, I'm just so damned tired. All the time.

End of June, my legs start to twitch uncontrollably at night and fucking hurt. WTAF. Dude, seriously?!? Now my legs are twitchy and my balance is still shit. Let's just say I am not loving life right now. I am in super pain all up and down my legs, it's agony. I get a couple what I assume are 3 bug bites on the back of my left knee, and 4 on my thigh, they are PAINFUL, and are not healing. I'm about to loose my mind. After a week or so of this, we go back to urgent care.

"Oh this is an easy one, it's Shingles." Wait, WHAT?!??! I'm way too young for that. "Well, looks like you are past the point any antiviral will do anything, so here is some antibiotic cream for the sores. Have a nice day." This just keeps getting better and better. Also, still dizzy all the time. Vertigo daily, STILL. Leaning on Niki hard while we are out, because any time it's dark and/or inclines in any direction, or I close my eyes, I still can't feel myself falling. Like at all, it's fucking scary. Shingles is no joke, but shingles AND all this vertigo, dizzy, and crap balance. I'm not in a good mood, ever, at this point. Understandably.

Back to the ENT 2, whom specializes in balance disorders and neuro related ear things. "Yea that finger in the ear thing is super interesting, never seen that before. Weird. Let's get a massive barrage of blood work to check everything from vitamins to lyme disease to neurosyphilis and a brain MRI. Also let's get a VNG (Videonystagmography) test to see where your balance is at. See you back in a month. Super weird, wild man, this is crazy." Cool man, glad you are entertained. I'm half amused, half annoyed.

Get all the bloodwork and MRI, now we wait. Waiting is always the worst part. You know, there are DAYS and weeks were the base line doesn't change. So while you wait, you are IN it and waiting.

At the VNG test, negative for BPPV (knew that already, since day one), my eyes work fine with tracking. Great. My hearing is fine, so it's not Meniere's. It's not Labyrinthitis (figured that as well). Moving to the next test, my eyes are not moving when my ears are stimulated by hot or cold air. Like at all, ZERO reaction. In BOTH ears and eyes. I ask 'What's supposed to happen when you do that? No reaction? Not get nauseous?" She replies, "Actually... the opposite, you are SUPPOSED to have a reaction." Oh... "Total caloric eye speed of 6, and 24 is the target for normal. Your vestibular system is not working, in EITHER ear. This generally means Bilateral Vestibular Hypofunction (BVH), and you should do PT, specifically VRT (Vestibular Rehabilitation Therapy)."

We go back to ENT 2, bloodwork all fine, except positive for Mono. Huh? "Is this from the shingles?" "No, anyone who has had Mono can have a positive result for the rest of their lives." Uh... actually, no I know that isn't true, but we'll skip over this for now and not worth the argument, maybe it's just a false positive. Too many other things to think about. MRI came back with some white matter lesions, but he says common with migraine. But I don't get migraines. "Oh, well it's probably Vestibular Migraine which is causing the vertigo, which doesn't always come with headaches per se." Coincidentally, not a single cluster headache since all this started. "So, let's start you on some Nortriptyline, and see if that works. Also, yes, start the VRT asap."

I start the new med and the VRT. When I go the the eval for the VRT, they do some more tests. My overall balance is at 50% overall of what is usual for my age. How???? Why??? They confirm when my eyes are closed, my balance is takes a nose dive of the shallow end. It's nil, nada, zip, zero, zilch, completely non-existent. This is not cool. Not fun or cool, at all. "Ok, so what do I do or take to get it back?" Not so fast, it's going to take time. And all this stupid VRT twice a week, doing exercises every day, morning and night at minimum. Well fuck.

Ok FINE. 1 month of VRT. I start using a cane, while out and about, so I don't have to lean directly on Niki.

2 months. Wobble is the new norm. Fuck you new norm. Fuck you very fucking much. Oh hey! I can now feel myself falling, well happy fucking birthday to me. There is THAT.

3 months, October. The vertigo has subsided quite a bit, now maybe getting it once a week. Maybe it's the medication, more likely it's the VRT. Most likely my brain was just "short-circuiting" from the loss of my balance. Ok, now... WHY. I need to know what happened, this still sucks, I'm still wobbly, I can't walk without a cane in the dark. Still dizzy all the time, but getting better. My balance has gone up to 72% of what it should be, but still completely zero eyes closed (or dark). I NEED TO KNOW, because how else will I "fix" this, right?

I'm getting antsy. I start getting out of my comfort zone and go to Lowe's without Niki just to see, obviously with the cane. I'm not having the vertigo. I want to go to my October meetings in LA. Dear lord, the airplane... I don't have enough energy to drive. Niki finds these ear plugs on Amazon for regulating air pressure (EarPlanes). Ok, let's try a quick single day trip. It goes surprising well. I have vertigo a couple times, albeit super quick episodes while on the trip. The EarPlanes work fucking amazingly, some positive news, finally. Maybe I can actually manage this. Everyone looks at the cane, most are confused. Everyone I chat with while in LA are supportive when I tell them what's going on. Best comment was: "maybe you should just say you laid down a motorcycle on a highway to save a pregnant lady and jacked your leg up". I love my people and our shared sense of dark humor.

November, I consult with my GP. Should I see a Neurologist? It couldn't/wouldn't hurt. Ok, appointment set for end of December (four days before Christmas), and my VRT "ends" in early Dec (fuck you very much medical insurance). I'll continue to do the exercises at home for now I guess. If I'm going to need the cane for a while, I might as well get one I like, so I do.

We go to the Neurologist. It's a very weird visit. He's is asking me questions, taking his time responding. Very nice guy, obviously thinks before speaking. Going over all my results I sent over. Very thoughtful.

Neurologist - "Take out your phone, open the camera."

Me - "Ok."

Neurologist - "Here take a photo so you can refer to it later, this spot right here on your MRI."

Me - "Yea, got it."

Neurologist - "Your ENT missed this, he saw possible migraine on the list of possible things and left it at that. These white matter lesions concern me."

Me - "Yes, we talked about that, I mentioned that about 15 mins ago when you asked me my other visits."

Neurologist - "Yea, ok. He missed this. I think you have MS."

Me - .......................

Neurologist - "Let's get you more bloodwork done, neck and spine MRIs... *cue Charlie Brown wah wahs* "

Me - ....

Neurologist - "... and a spinal tap."

Me - "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck."

Neurologist - "I know, sorry, they aren't fun. But let's do that and follow back up in Jan, and go from there."

Me - "Ok, wait you said MS?!?!? What then?"

Neurologist - "It can be dealt with, but it would account for all you said, plus all the weirdness with all the results so far."

As you can imagine, it was a quite anxious Christmas and New Years. More blood work, 10 vials taken in all at once for one, PTSD flashback to blood drawn when I was a kid when they found my iron deficiency. Brain electricity scans. MRA head and neck. MRI neck and spine. Already getting sick of getting poked and prodded. Then comes spinal tap time. 1 star, do not recommend. Hated it. "It'll just be a pinch..." Liars! Nope my body didn't like it one bit, it hurt like hell, all up my back and down both legs. Recovery was even worse, laid out on the couch with a proper migraine for a week straight. Like brain is going to leak out your ears migraine, light sensitive and all that. Nothing helped, not ice, not pain meds. Nada. Good times, indeed. Apparently, I've actually have actually never had a migraine before. Weird, huh?

Go back to Neurologist. "I'm not convinced it's MS." Well ok, thanks for that month and half panic attack and all the testing to go with it. "Maybe it's NMO." If it's not that, then he will refer me to another Neurologist for a second opinion just to make sure. Gotta love the go get 'em, figure it out attitude, but bro... send me for tests, but maybe don't tell me the worst case each time right up front. Go for even more bloodwork. "Btw, you have some syrinxes (cysts) in your cervical and thoracic spine. We're you dropped as an infant?" Huh? Uh, I don't think so? "Ok anyhow those won't do anything with this condition, but something to monitor yearly or so now."

I go out to Palms Springs for work. A whole 4 days planned. First night, I'm walking back to my room and it's pitch fucking black on the sidewalk, and I have to walk up a grassy area because of a puddle. I have to call Niki because I just cannot deal. I'm stressed. I can't walk. I have to use my phone's light to see so I can make my way back. I'm done. I just can't. This was the worst idea ever. Sigh. FUCK. I make it through 2 full days, going back to nap when I can, all the walking is too much. It's wearing me out, so much worse than I thought it would be. I just don' t have it in me to last the entire trip. I can't. I have to call it on day three, I'm disappointed in myself. I drive back home.

I have a follow up with the ENT 2. I want to stop taking the Nortriptyline as I'm not convinced it's Vestibular Migraine, and I really need a fucking drink at this point. You can't drink on Nortriptyline, and it's a bitch to get off of.

But moreover, I don't know if the vertigo being gone is from the medication or PT. I suspect the VRT PT. Besides since starting it, between my own searching and asking the physical therapist, I'm starting to suspect the BVH from a Neuritis (ongoing viral infection) in my inner ear. She tends to agree, they have been seeing that more and more, especially in younger people... Lingering viral infection, lines up with my symptoms, I had Covid late the year prior, and the "ear infection", and then the shingles. Too many coincidences to be coincidental. The timeline of events is WAY too close.

I speak with the ENT about this all. He still focuses on the nystagmus, which has since gone away, and deflects from the Neuritis, which is weird. Of all people whom specializes in inner ear infections and the such, and being the one that recommended the VNG. But such is the time we live in - it can't possibly be viral, that might mean we're not following up correctly with everything going on. The med is fine to stop, and if the vertigo comes back we know it was Vestibular Migraine. Come back when/if needed.

Spoiler alert - the vertigo doesn't come back full force, it's not Vestibular Migraine... Well least another thing ticked off. Lots of things ticked off, but not a lot to go on still. Fuck this, I'm starting to go back to my VRT. At least that was doing SOMETHING. My balance is still right around the same as it was in early Dec. So, still not great, but not worse. Yay, a small victory at least.

It's not NMO. At the neurologist, "Also, what about the fatigue? I'm super tired all the time. Like STUPID tired." This week I was back at the Strip for the yearly conventions, so doing the late dinners, drinks and all that as usual. "Maybe don't work so much." "Heh, right, but seriously, that's not possible." So he prescribes a MS fatigue medication, Amantadine. Cool, I don't have MS, but... ok, I'll just hold onto that for now, not starting that just yet. Referral received, and follow up for end of the year.

Enter Neurologist 2. This lady is great, spends around 2 hours with us. She's not convinced it's MS either. But the MRI is super low quality and she wants better images. Give her the entire story. Answers any ancillary questions we have. She mentions "You definitely have something going on in the sinus, ear, throat area, like maybe a Vestibular Neuritis, which damaged your balance." Hm, you don't say? "But let's get you more images, and you can come back."

Still doing my VRT, but I think now I've hit a plateau with my balance, so we're working on strengthening for tactical feedback so I can at least not fall, maybe eventually not use the cane.

VNG test number 2 as recommended by my PT, so we can see if anything has changed. Yep, definitely still BVH, and so far this is my ONLY actual 100% positive diagnosis. This year my total caloric eye speed has bumped up all the way to a whopping 9. Still shit, but upwards is a positive right? So how do you fix this? "You can't, if it's gone, it's gone. No getting it back, just learning to deal with it. But you should look up Neural Circuit Dizzyness." Yea, remember how I thought my brain was short circuiting from the loss of my vestibular working? Yea, cool. I get more dizzy when I am fatigued, so that tracks.

Cue two months later, back at the Neurologist 2. Definitely, probably NOT MS. "But let's monitor it yearly via MRIs for both your syrinxes and white matter lesions just in case, now that we know they are there. You should also find a new ENT." Know any GOOD ones in Vegas? "Yea... not so much. Maybe Mayo in AZ or UCLA in LA, but not many good or even decent ones in Vegas." Yea, I know that for sure, no one here specializes in BVH as ENTs. She gives me Meclizine to have on hand just in case I get more dizzy than normal for travel, and said the Amantadine might help, and try it out for a couple weeks.

Now - I'm at a point, I am sick of getting poked, prodded, jabbed, and all that. I'll follow up on follow ups and just for now focus on more VRT, bumping up the sessions per week, and see where we are at in a few months, maybe just finish out the year. I'm still fatigued all the damn time and debating starting the Amantadine. Balance is still crap when my eyes are closed, but now the vertigo only comes very rarely. Usually only when I'm beyond stupid tired, or overly exercised, and only for a few seconds at a time.

Still more to come, and a stupid, stupid long road ahead... to quote Monty Python: "I'm not dead yet!"

More background FYI - BVH affects only a very significantly small amount of people, I have read between .3-3% of the population. The higher number are ones who have this in addition to other related issues (such as BPPV or MS), and the smaller is having this without other conditions (related or not). The later, smaller percentage, appears to be my case - unrelated to anything else and its cause appears to be idiopathic (unknown or unknowable) for the time being.

For more info: https://vestibular.org/article/diagnosis-treatment/types-of-vestibular-disorders/bilateral-vestibular-hypofunction/

[carmenized-onions]

Ad Interim. | No Service

logline; The days and doubts and desires; the air, underneath the shoe.

[!!!] series history, this is the ninth; the amount of links are getting nauseating just go to the landing LMAO.

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. I listen to this playlist too much in my day to day now, fr.

portion; 3k+

possible allergies; you're almost ten chapters in, you know very well by now that these two are rife with anxiety and insecurity.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (gets she/her'd mb)

fun fact: i finished this one 19 hours after the last chapter, whoops, but let it sit in my drafts to give some breathing room and do some rework

It is t-minus three days, until the worst Friday of your life.

But today’s Tuesday, and though you feel a touch uneasy, you figure it’s probably just the breakfast from yesterday at La Mattina settling in your stomach— Or, at least, hope it is.

You’re at home, sitting on your couch, pensive, haggard, leaned over. Elbows to knees, prayer hands to face, staring at your phone on the coffee table in front of you.

Just send it. Just send the text. Don’t be a fucking wuss. You’ve re-written it in your notes app like five fucking times— He does not care this much, he doesn’t even have basic reading comprehension— Okay, that’s mean— But it’s just not that deep. Just fucking! Send it!

Actually no, no, upon sixth review, the paragraph you had written out was way too intense, way too presumptive. Backspace, backspace, backspace—Just say hi. Let’s just start with Hi.

‘Yooooooooo’

Are you fucking possessed? Good Lord. How is he already typing he never used to reply this fast, what the fuck—

‘Are u fucking haunted?’

‘Fuck is yooooooo’

‘Yooo to you too, cousin’

Faster texter now, but Richie is still the same guy, at the end of the day.

‘this is a loaded fucking question’

‘but do you think you’ll be free any time this week?’

‘not unless ur dead or dying’

‘are you dead or dying?’

‘not that I’ve heard’

‘but I was thinking maybe we could like, get food or smth’

‘chat one on one. Been a minute, yknow’

That was too much. You didn’t need to do all that. Now he’s gonna go well who’s fault is that? And it’s yours. You know it’s yours. And then you’re gonna have that fucking conversation— Which is what this whole meet up thing was supposed to be about in the first place—

‘heard’

‘can’t get time off but fak needs to have his training wheels ripped’

‘could have dinner at the bear this week? Like 2 hours. Then I can watch him and keep him from shitting the bed’

‘and still get to do a fucking one on one, you corporate speak ass’

‘I didn’t know how else to fucking say it alright!!!!!!’

‘Dinner @ bear sounds good to me’

‘but probably ask carm/syd first if it’s cool’

‘yea yea I’ll fuckin check in with daddy don’t worry’

‘that sucked for me. That sucked to read. Go to jail.’

‘already have.’

‘I’ll let u know a time when I know. See u chip’

You heart it. The classic signal that it’s the end of a conversation. Holy shit. You did it. You actually texted someone that you miss that you miss them— Not directly, but you know Rich knows. And specifically, to book a dinner, to talk about what happened, to apologize for it. That’s pretty fucking huge. Which means—

It’s time to eat a whole freezer cake and lay in your pyjamas all day and interact with not a single soul on this entire planet. You’re absolutely at your social limit, for the day. Maybe you’ll talk it through with Mikey, actually. To the air, more accurately, but, y’know, same thing.

You’re gonna get dinner with Richie. You’re gonna get dinner, with Richie, this Friday. And it’s not gonna be awkward or weird, at all.

It is t-minus two days, until the worst Friday of Carmen’s life, so far, at least. There’s always next year.

But today’s Wednesday, and though he feels a little nerve-wracked, he’s pretty sure it’s just because the kitchen was so fucking dysfunctional this morning, and now that their prep’s off, the tempo of the whole fucking day is off, and they're behind on two tables. And fucking seriously this time, can someone get him a fucking marker that fucking works.

Okay, maybe it’s a little more, than nerve wracked.

Sydney is ever the intuitive, and always correct, at the station next to him— Because yes, they’re still down a hire since the meth guy, so now Carmen is on line.

She can tell, that somethings wrong with him, something’s always wrong with him. “Take your ten, Chef.”

Carmen shakes his head, obviously, there’s still prep to catch up on. And if he doesn't do it, it's not gonna get done, and even if it does get done, it's not gonna get done right. He’s pressing the dead sharpie down on the tape, like if he just brute forces it, it’ll start to work. “M’good, Chef.”

“Carmen.” She turns to him fully, stopping her work. And so, he does too. “Take your fucking ten.” She deadpans, she’s not taking no for an answer. She rubs her fist over her heart.

Carmen takes a beat, before nodding, doing the same. “Heard, Chef.”

He needs to look over expense reports that he can’t quite comprehend, anyways.

He really needs his sister. He steps into his office. Despite the fact that they re-constructed just about everything in the restaurant, this musty office remains the same. Untouched. After caving down walls, they had to cut the budget somewhere. He’s glad though, that it's untouched. It might be crowded, poorly organized, have an off smell (probably because of the birth in here, just a few weeks back), but it’s exactly as his brother left it, and that helps him feel… Connected, somehow.

What the hell is Var vs Budget? He’s googling every other word, here. He’s more than grateful, that before going home on mat leave, Sug set up a good enough automated Excel sheet that he could just plug in numbers and it did all the calculating for him. Doesn’t mean he knows what any of the numbers mean, but, they’re there.

He knows that red equals bad. Natalie told him that very specifically. Which did seem like she was calling him fucking stupid, but he let it go. There’s a lot of red. That’s a lot of bad. Well, not a lot, but like, a third of this is red. That’s probably more than it should be. How many months do they have again? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He is never gonna get to pay himself, he’s never gonna be able to pay Syd, he's never gonna get her a star, she’s gonna live with her dad for the rest of her life, you are never gonna get to work here, you’re gonna work as a bottle girl for the rest of your life, he’s never gonna get his shit together so he’s never gonna get to call you his, he’s gonna have to hand the deed to Cicero and then fucking everyone is gonna to lose their jobs and he’s still gonna be him. He’s still gonna be him. Carmy Berzatto, the chef that lost everything, little brother to everyone's hero who blew his brains out. Starless in Chicago, unable to feel anything more than sorry for himself. Carmen’s gonna die as Carmen, and nothing more. At the end of the day.

Take a deep breath, Bear. Relax.

He’s catastrophizing. You told him that. He forgot to look into it. He googles that, instead of another business term he doesn’t understand.

‘Fixates on the worst possible outcome and treats it as likely, even when it is not.’

Well, it does seem pretty fucking likely that he’s doomed to fail and fall into a Sisyphean nightmare of opening restaurants and falling on his fucking face, dragging everyone he loves down with him with his stupid failed pipe dreams. He's no better than his brother.

He tries his best to think of whatever level-headed bullshit you'd give to him, right now, tries to taste the hot chocolate, the lavender and cardamom coffee. He smells your shampoo, in his hair, that helps.

Maybe, maybe it’s just been a bad week. Maybe there will be a lot of bad weeks, maybe there won’t be. Maybe things will be fine, maybe they won’t. You and Syd will still succeed, even if he fails. Everyone will, even if he fails. He has a very capable crew. And while he cannot escape the thought that failure is around the corner, at the very least, he is comforted by the idea that at least he will be the only one sinking with the ship he commands.

The thought of drowning alone is still impossible to rid of. Though.

But you’ve sent a text. And isn’t that a wonderful distraction?

Your connection results in response to his, from this morning, of course. You actually got it today. He swells with what feels like pride, and despite the fact that no one's looking at him, he has to hide his smile with his hand, embarrassed by how happy he is, when he sees the photo you’ve sent, just now. A selfie, sitting next to an oven, Other Tony’s oven. You’re holding a fried wire in your hand.

The text below it is a wonderful salve, ‘If you ever fuck up your ovens, I’ve got like, 10 thermocouples in my personal stock now :))’

So good to him, too good to him. Too good to anyone. ‘Heard.’

Carmen so, so fucking desperately wants to ask you to come to The Bear, right now. You’re only two blocks away, at La Mattina. You’d come, if he asked. He knows that. But he also knows that even if you calm him down, in the long run, it’ll set his day even further off tempo, he’ll be distracted the rest of his shift, and that’s the last thing he needs. He can handle this himself.

‘:)’ For levity. Or something. He’s trying. You give it a heart, so that means he’s done something good, he’s pretty sure.

There’s a knock at his door. Richie does not wait for an answer before coming in. His knocks are more like warnings, really. Carmen’s quick to tuck his phone away, he knows it’d be perfect cannon fodder to be teased into oblivion.

“Aye, cous—”

Carmen does not let the man get a word in inch wise, “Who’s on expo?”

Richie grimaces, this fucking song and dance, again. “Syd.”

“Who’s on her station, then?”

“T.”

“And hers?”

“She’s doin’ fuckin’ both Carmy— And—” Richie pulls a sharpie out of his breast pocket, throwing it at him. Carmen catches it. “Fuckin’ works. Alright?”

Marker works, and the system works. He catches the double meaning, too. Carmen nods, “Heard.”

“Christ.” Richie looks to high heaven, looks to his best friend, really, to give him strength. “Can I take my fuckin’ turn now?”

“Yeah, yeah, go ‘head.” Carmen turns to his desk, looking over the excel sheet, again. He can’t imagine Richie needing all of his undivided attention, right now, he’s not you.

Speaking of you, he can’t find your repair expenses anywhere on here. He needs to text Sug, about that. No, she’s got a fucking baby, he’ll at least look for a physical copy, first.

“I need to take two hours, on Friday.”

“Huh?” Carm’s head snaps up. Okay, maybe he does need to give his full attention to Richie, right now. “Eva got a fuckin’ recital, or somethin’?”

“No, no, uh— Chip wants to get dinner.” Rich scratches his nose with his thumb. “Thought since Fak's been training to host f'like, the whole fuckin’ month, could do dinner 'ere, let him do a run on us. Two birds, one bullet, y’know.”

“It’s stone.”

“I’m not fuckin’ high, cousin—” “No, it’s— Alright.” Carmen closes his eyes, hand over his face, deciding this is not the fight he wants to choose. “Tony’s getting dinner with you?”

“If I’m allowed, your fuckin’ Majesty.”

If it were up to Carmen? He wouldn’t be. But you specifically asked. Why, he has no idea. Carmen crosses his arms. “Yeah, yeah, s’fine. Just start at like, a not peak time. Like 4:30? Then when rush starts after 5 Fak’ll have a lil' momentum.”

“Heard. I’ll tell ‘em.” Richie nods, turning to make his way out.

Carm’s leg bounces, a tick that he’s pretty sure he’ll never get rid of. “… Ey Rich?”

He stops, turning back to Carmy, “Yeah, cousin?”

Carmen taps the end of the sharpie on the table, not looking at Richie, “What’s uh— Why d’you call Tony ‘Chip’?”

Ever so slightly, Richie’s brows furrow. “Did'j'ya ask her?”

Carm shakes his head, “S’why I’m asking you.”

Richie takes a beat, head rocking to the side, “Y'should ask her, she’ll tell you.”

Carmy squints, at that, “Is it fuckin’ dark or somethin’, cousin?”

What’s so secretive about Chip? He figured it would be some stupid inside joke with chocolate chips, like Sug with the salt mix up. Richie swallows, frowning just a bit. He clearly does not know how to answer this question, which just makes Carmen even more curious.

“S’ not dark, kinda, it’s just, y’know. Personal.” Since when the fuck did Richie have respect for personal? Probably since he sent him to stage. Goddammit.

“Did you not coin it?”

“Mikey did.”

Oh.

Huh.

Mikey got to do that first, too, eh?

“But, y’know, ask her, she likes you well enough to tell you, I think.” Richie shrugs, palms out. “Kinda tells stories like that better than me, anyways.” That's high praise— Not in the sense that Richie's a great storyteller, but that he's willing to admit it, for you.

“Oh, she doesn’t bury the fuckin’ lead?”

“Oh, fuck you.” But it’s true, so Richie’s amused. There’s something nice, about being known. Even if it’s to tease.

There’s a lull of silence. Quite frankly, Carmen’s hoping that Richie’s general disdain of silence will force him to confess your nickname backstory, just to fill the void. It doesn’t. Instead, it just gears him up, in the worst way, able to read the look on Carmen’s face.

“You really wanna fuckin know, huh?” Richie tilts down his head, teasing. Carmen groans. Oh dear god, why him. “Oh, fuck, you fuckin’ like her, don’t’chu, cousin? You fuckin’ dog.”

“Shut the fuck up, Rich—”

“Aye, Chip’s a real catch, I gettit— Works hard, plays nice, cleans up good— Y’have my blessing.”

“Didn’t ask for it.”

“Aye,” Richie snaps his fingers, pointing at Carmen like he could smite him. “Don’t gimme no talk back, she was my boy first, a’right? One bad word from me, n’ your lil’ fantasy—” He gestures an explosion with his hand, making a ‘pop’ sound with his lips.

“Gone, cousin.”

Carmen leans back in his seat, playing with the sharpie in his hand. He’s essentially Kubrick staring down Richie, but the guy is unaffected. “Friday, 4:30, two hours. If Fak fucks up, you’re on deck.”

“Heard.”

“Jeff, can I please get an all day, baby?” Baby is Tina’s new HR approved version of ‘for the love of fucking god’ She’s definitely at her limit, meaning Syd’s definitely at her limit on expo. Richie starts to step out, walking backwards.

“You comin’ cousin?”

Carm scratches his nose, straightening up back to his desk. He wishes he could go back to the kitchen, where he knows he’s good, instead of in here, with some goddamn spreadsheets that he cannot comprehend beyond bad. “Uh, one sec, I just need to finish this fuckin’—” He shakes his hand in the air, “Whatever the fuck this is.”

Richie nods, tapping the doorway on his way out. “Heard… g’luck.”

Carmen does not look at the spreadsheets. No. He thinks. He doesn't think about business.

That wasn’t true, was it? A phone call from Richie wouldn’t be the end of him, end of you, would it? Carmen is on the losing playing field here, practically everyone here has more history with you than he does. If he had a… lapse in behaviour, and it got back to you, would that ruin him? God, even his work family ruins things for him. Or could. Which means they will. Catastrophizing.

Whatever. What the fuck ever. He needs to find your invoice. After some flipping through last month’s file, he finds a sticky note from Sug between loose pages.

‘reminder: ask carmy 4 tony invoice’

He squints. You said Nat took care of it. Maybe it’s an old sticky note, he’ll text her about it, it’ll be a solid forty hours before he’ll get a response, anyways. Mom stuff. He really needs to go visit his niece again, soon. Maybe this weekend. Take Richie’s car. But then he'll probably will be forced to take Richie, too. Maybe he should just ask you, instead. Let Nat thank you for the heating pad she’s been loving, properly. Have dinner, all together, in an actual family home, instead of just each other's apartments. That'd be nice.

Yeah. Yeah. He’ll ask you on Friday, when you come for dinner. He grabs a pad of paper, biting the cap off his sharpie. He’ll make you something off menu, on Friday. You’re coming before the rush, anyways, he’ll have time to play, on Friday.

He’s gonna do right by you, this Friday.

Tomorrow, you’ll be getting dinner with Richie, and it’ll be the worst Friday of your life.

But right now, it’s Thursday night, and you’ve finally finished Carmen’s piece for The Bear. You know you told him if he didn’t like it, he didn’t have to put it up, but admittedly, if he doesn’t like it, you will be crushed.

One big white canvas.

Nine perfect squares, perfectly equidistant from each other at all angles.

Each square a snippet, a photo transfer. The squares themselves are messy, sun damaged, bleach stained, light flared. All twinged blue and yellowish. But so perfectly cut and curated.

Each image, something new. Starting at the top left, it’s The Original Beef. Then, the inside. Then the booths.

Then the second row, the sandwiches, held in hands.

The center photo. You've taken almost all of these photos on a disposable from yesteryear, but this is the one you like the most.

Mikey. The only transfer completely unbleached, unaltered, unruined. He’s holding two cut outs. One, Food & Wine and the other, a small section in the off off off pages of the New York Times.

Both specifically the one’s that mentioned Carmen, winning Best Chef and the James Beard.

Mikey was so proud. So so proud, silently, just with you— Couldn't look soft. Carmen does not know this photo exists. No one does. You hope this piece will act as the catalyst for you to be able to talk about the elephant in the room you’ve yet to open for him.

Right next to Mikey, is a balloon on a pipe— A photo you grabbed from Sydney and printed. You can only imagine the stress you could’ve eased, during their fire safety test. C’est la vie. Fak got to prove himself.

And on the last row, the new, ritzy, booths. The Seven Fishes dish— Also a photo you stole from Sydney. And finally, The Bear’s sign. Taken at night, lit up in all its neon glory.

Though the images are disconnected, starting from Mikey in the center— Clean, the flaring and staining grows more intense at the pictures in the corner. Just bordering on illegible. It all feels interconnected, woven.

It’s Carmen. Or, at least, you think it is. That’s what you were trying to achieve. You took inspiration from the way his brain works, the way he cooks messy but produces orderly, the way he’s grown something out of what was barely more than nothing. The way love and grief is at the center of everything. He’s awfully inspiring.

You’re excited, to show this to him tomorrow, on Friday. Hopefully all goes well, on Friday. You’re coming before the rush, you’ll probably have a little time to talk, on Friday. You won’t be able to get into everything, no, you’ve promised most of your bandwidth to Richie, but you’ll make a good start, on Friday.

You’re gonna do right, by Carmen, on Friday.

Tomorrow.

HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE

i've still got 2k of beats to cover for the next chapter, and have 7.9k already written out, for it. This is going to be fun. lmao. I'm genuinely very very excited for you to see it, when it comes out. Cannot believe I thought like 4 chapters ago that'd this next chapter would be the one to be released next. I almost briefed over all of these past few chapters to be nothing more than snippets in a chapter, I would never forgive myself if i went through with that plan, fr.

Anyways, no time for the future, this is NOW!! I hope I described Tony's paintin' good. I think it'd be nice. MBMBAM reference in the intro, are you fucking HAUNTED? ARE YOU FUCKING POSESSED? Love griffy, had to. Carmen CANNOT stop having anxiety attacks, someone get him on prozac frfr.

Tell me your thoughts or I'll eat my hat, I'm gonna need some words to chew on while I write, anyways. Hitting a wall choreographing this back half of chapter ten my GOD. Also oh yeah, silly aesthetic thing. I dunno if anyone noticed or cared, but i do a different ombre banner when it's carmen's perspec-- Did it last chapter too, aint that cute?

Also, I must finally give in, I was lazy to do taglists, but have folded, so here u are mfs. If you'd like to be added, you gotta leave me an essay somewhere. It's the RULES! Well, leave an essay and also ask to be added to the taglist that is but IT'S THE RULES!!

@anytim3youwant @navs-bhat @whoknowswhoiamtoday @gills-lounge @slut4supersoldiers @sinceweremutual @itsallacotar @catsrdabestsocks101

fully added people that never asked to be on here, you're just like, top fans, so i thought it would be nice, but if you WANT TO BE TAKEN OFF LET ME KNOW I'LL DO IT IMMEDIATELY ALSO IF I'M FORGETTING ANYONE WHO ASKED PLEASE DO REMIND ME

Next Part

[ezlebe]

If you're still doing prompts - the roys and greg are all vampires but tom is not

“Are you nervous?” Greg asks, turning over the black and gold half mask in his hands, as he paces down the length of the room. “Like. You’re prepared, you know. You shouldn’t be nervous.”

Tom rolls his head back and forth, not quite looking back, and definitely not responding to the question. He threads a cuff link through his shirt, a flash of gold between his fingers, then reaches for the next.

“I mean, it’s…” Greg swallows, thickly, lifting and spinning a hand with a weak lift of his shoulder. “It’ll be easy?”

“What makes you say that?“ Tom asks, in a bright, biting chirp, as he reaches now for the cravat pooled on the vanity. “You didn’t have to go through the wringer, proving to every fang for seventeen generations that you’re worthy of low blood pressure, solar allergies, and eternal hunger – you just hatched.”

Greg grunts low under his breath. “Sort of? But they still tried to drown me when I was born.”

Tom looks up with a blink through his lashes. “What?”

“Because my mom like did it in secret, I guess?” Greg says, looking down while digging his fingernail into the leather edge of his mask. “So you know, I technically did have to pass a test. By like not dying from that.”

“What the fuck – ? No, I did not know that,” Tom says, voice pitching, as he wraps the silk around his neck with a derisive grimace. “I thought that… Jesus, Roman’s said as much, but I thought it was a fucking turn of phrase.”

“Oh,” Greg intones, briefly letting his eyes sweep the ground in discomfort. “Yeah, I mean – No? Obviously, it turned out okay. I don’t remember it?”

“And neither the fuck will I. You’re really not making me feel like I’m standing on any more solid ground,” Tom says, as he looks up, then he sighs, offering a jerk of his chin to gesture for Greg to step close. “Come here. The little chain is all looped across – ” He lifts his hands, gently tugging at the collar chain Greg is using in place of a tie. “There. Now you’re respectable.”

Greg peeks down at the edges of the antlers framing his throat. “It doesn’t look lame?”

“You’re insulting me, Greg,” Tom says, fussily straightening the rest of Greg’s shirt, down his lapels, then flicking at a closure on the vest. “I might not remember you, in an hour, but I think some part of me will just know I’m the reason you don’t look like a schlub.”

“That would be weird,” Greg says, though he’s got his own hopes about cracks in the spell.

“The whole ritual is weird,” Tom says, pulling away with a wide eye roll. He looks in the mirror to straighten his own outfit; it’s an antique silver one, so the space is empty next to him, proving it as little more than a costume piece for anyone else in the manor. “Forget your partner just to choose them, again? In masks? It’s a rigged carnival game – one of truest bullshit, considering the 100% divorce rate in the Roy cauldron.”

Greg feels a tight pull at the corner of his mouth, somewhat ducking his head with a weak lift of a shoulder. “Okay, so you – you’re ready, right? You, um – ”

Tom loudly sucks at his teeth, looking away from the mirror while stuffing his silk cravat into his vest. He stares for a few long, heavy seconds at Greg, then straightens, as he clears his throat. “If you ask if I’m ready one more time, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

“I-I only want you to pass,” Greg mutters, somewhat irked, and he feels like somewhere over the last couple weeks, as the final test snuck up, he started being the only one to care if Tom went through with it. He shouldn’t even be the one here with Tom getting ready. “Do you want me to go see what Shiv is wearing?”

“It doesn’t matter, bud. But hey, corner me about the rules, after they’ve lobotomized me, will you?” Tom says, rather than answering the question. “I don’t feel like getting sabotaged by the old ghouls on a technicality.”

Greg tips his head back and forth, imagining how it might go meeting Tom a second time; it’ll be different, at least, since he won’t know Greg’s a vampire, so he can’t – probably won’t make a joke about asking for a bite. “Will you… be nice?”

“I cannot possibly promise that, buddy,” Tom says, picking up the last of his outfit for the masque, a gold phantom mask, from the settee with a crooked smirk. He reaches out and claps Greg atop the shoulder. “You’ll just have to get over it.”

~

It turns out that Greg doesn’t have to explain it at all, because the basis is given to an enthralled Tom and another dozen mortal hopefuls at the masque. They don’t get the truth, since no one is told they’ve been put under a forgetfulness spell, only simply that they’re there part of a singles event and everyone is to exchange a token with their choice of partner at the end of the night. The tokens that Tom and Shiv share are a pair of fine bracelets donated by Caroline, which had been something of a contention, since Tom repeatedly emphasized a desire for a favor more like a silk ribbon.

Or Tom had said as much to Greg, anyway, who admittedly isn’t sure he told this to Shiv, or anyone else.

The whole pronouncement of the ritual by Ewan at the start makes Greg somewhat inexplicably queasy, a feeling that just worsens when Tom and the others are announced and file in at the entrance, so he’s relieved not to have to actually talk to Tom after he begins mingling among the party. He chooses, at first, just to watch Tom from some distance away, but then it starts to sting not to have Tom look back at him, so he begins looking for places that Tom wouldn’t be able to see him from to pretend that it’s just a coincidental sort of disregarding, not that Tom has no clue that Greg is his friend.

He does start to worry, almost an hour into the masque, when he catches on that it seems like Shiv is also in places that Tom won’t happen to see her. It actually seems as if she is outright avoiding him, and Greg grudgingly works himself up to asking about it, after catching her slipping away a second time from a room that Tom happens to step into in an evident wander.

Shiv is easy to catch when she doesn’t know she needs to be watching, though it does mean blood wine nearly ends up down Greg’s black and gold vest. She lifts her unoccupied hand, palm up, in exasperation. “What the fuck, Greg?”

“What are you doing?” Greg says, then winces, as the question emerges a little more sharp than he intends, if not particularly as harshly as he means it. “You’re, like – you’re setting him up to fail.”

Shiv stares back for a pair of tense beats. “I am not,” she says, primly lying, as she takes a quick sip of her wine. “The point is for him to find me.”

“The point is for him to fall in l-love with you, again,” Greg says, clearing his throat, as his voice threatens to break around the reminder. “But he can’t like do that, if you’re totally avoiding him. The whole mask and spell apparatus is the finding part, not like, uh, like a really mean hide-and-seek.”

“He’ll find me if he’s meant to,” Shiv says, a marked tic in her jaw, as her eyes dart away and then back up. “Maybe he’s not meant to.”

Greg feels something lurch behind his sternum. It’s not a fresh memory, exactly, but Tom had made some roundabout… metaphor in a stressful moment that seemed like he was perhaps out of love with Shiv, but that’s not particularly the point at hand. “Do you seriously want him to die?” He asks, because it only really matters that Tom qualifies to be turned before it’s too late. “For Tom to get old, or just sick, and… he’ll just to be gone?”

“No, you dick, but – ” Shiv exhales a harsh breath and glances down with a quick sweep of her eyes on the other side of her mask. “I don’t need you to understand. Fuck off, Cousin Lurch.”

Greg crosses his arms, scratching at his elbows while he shakes his head. “I want to, actually, be-because I suspect that – ” He clears his throat, “I think you don’t even love him, do you?”

“Fuck you,” Shiv snarls, fangs briefly emerging from her gums in furor. “It’s not about love. You don’t fucking get it, do you? How when you turn someone you’re fucking conjoined to them; you’ve got this pulling thing hooked into your fucking soul like a leech.”

“It’s only until they’re… better, or whatever,” Greg says, hunching into his shoulders, as he looks around toward the rest of the party, though no one seems to be paying them much attention. “It never sounded that bad to me?”

“So do it yourself, then,” Shiv snaps, offering a goading jut of her chin. “Shocked that wasn’t your first instinct.”

“I can’t!” Greg says, hearing his voice pitch, tightening his hands around his elbows while feeling his own fangs threaten to rush his gums. “You know you’reTom’s only – ”

A familiar tut sets lifts hair at the back of Greg’s neck. “I hate to interrupt.”

Greg peeks over with a wince to find his mom loitering under a nearby painting.

“Were neither of you listening to my dad?” Marianne asks, typically sarcastic, scratching at the scarf she has tied around her neck in a gaudy crimson. “Or is it just totally wrong impression?”

Shiv rolls her lips tight together, turning them exceptionally pale. “This isn’t your business, Marianne.”

“He said…” Marianne continues, then trails off, as her eyes roll and she tuts, “Not to quote, because I wasn’t listening that close, but I know it was something like ‘should Thomas Wambsgans court an attendant of the masquerade, they may take him as mate’, right?”

Shiv shifts her jaw, then sends a sharp glance up at Greg, as if he’s got any control over his mom. “So?”

“So, Siobhan,” Marianne says, using her wine glass to gesture in a condescending circle between the three of them. “He didn’t say: ‘should Thomas Wambsgans court Siobhan Roy’ did he?”

Greg focuses briefly on Shiv, wetting his lips before looking back to Marianne.

“Hell, our Tommy could court…” Marianne pauses, again, eyes lifting with some too-obvious weight on Greg, then hums a pair of notes, lifting her thumb over her shoulder to wag at the milling party. “Any dolled-up fang, and they would be able turn him tomorrow morning under the decree.” She takes a sip, sucking at her teeth, unashamed about showing her fangs. “You two are still young, but the whole point of these stupid parties was to be a meat market that trapped members of royal families in mildly compatible matches and add their blood to the mix.”

Greg furrows his brow, then rolls his eyes over his mom’s head.

“And Dad would just love to piss off duplicitous Uncle Logan with a technicality,” Marianne says, then gestures with the glass at Shiv with a slight dip of her shoulder. “No offense, hun.”

Shiv sneers while she takes a sip from her own glass.

Greg weakly cocks his head, because… that’s true, except Grandpa Ewan is also steadfast when it comes to digging in his heels to disappoint everyone. He chews at his lower lip, not particularly comforted, but that is fairly typical for getting advice from his mom.

“Now don’t get me wrong,” Marianne says, as her eyes settle and narrow toward Shiv. “I don’t think anyone will especially approve that you brought a potential this far into the fold only to turn chicken.”

“It’s not like I just – ” Shiv all but growls, then visibly swallows, jaw tightening beneath her mask. “That isn’t what happened.”

“Uh-huh. The whole kit and kaboodle isn’t for everyone, obviously,” Marianne says, gesturing at herself while rolling her head back and forth, then exhaling an ugly snort with a short lean forward. “Hell, I’ve heard a lot of stories out of the last year – very surprised m’ athair got the invitation to this masque.”

Greg feels a tightening in his shoulders. “Mom, shut up.”

“I’m just saying that a lot of trying got us to this point, so clearly there’s some forces here that want Tom in the cauldron, alright?” Marianne says, as she takes a step out of their small circle. She gestures away, down the hall beyond the milling guests. “Now, I’m off to go eat my ego and try to convince daddy dearest that changing some parameters here is his idea. You better thank me,little cousin.”

Shiv peeks up at Greg, then focuses hard on Marianne, defiantly cocking her chin. “I will when it happens.”

“Oh, ever the doubter,” Marianne says, as she turns away with a lofty scoff. “Tata.”

Shiv throws back the rest of her wine, then looks up at Greg. “Now you just need to find him someone he could want,” she says, tone rolling in a mocking lilt around the words. “How very convenient for you.”

“Me?” Greg says, hearing temper flare in his voice, ugly from the back of his throat.

Shiv narrows her eyes, staring back for a solid beat, then seems to literally swallow her words, as she shifts a long look to Greg’s right arm. She eventually exhales a sigh, as her shoulders roll back to square. “Yeah, Greg. You.” She throws her hair across her shoulder with a low, embittered laugh. “You’re the one… who cares so much.”

“But I can’t – ” Greg shakes his head, lifting a hand, and nearly knocks his mask off when he unthinkingly attempts to run his fingers through his hair. “I don’t want to set him up with anyone else.”

“Other than me?” Shiv says, flatly, while her mouth lifts in a crooked sneer. “Right?”

Greg wets his lips, feeling his gut clench. “Yeah, uh -yeah, obviously, I meant you.”

Shiv is predictably the first between them to lose her patience. “Are we seriously going to fucking do this, Greg?”

“I guess?” Greg stiffly resettles his mask against his nose with a shrug. “I can’t like imagine to what it is you’re addressing.”

“Oh, you can’t?” Shiv sneers, voice lifting mockingly, as she leans forward on the balls of her feet. “That’s a load of bull. Look at what you’re wearing, Greg.”

“Okay, maybe, but not like…” Greg clears his throat, lifting his nose a little while chewing at the inside of his lip. “You know, like you brought a concubine to your commitment ceremony, anyway, making you seem like not particularly committed.”

“A concubine?” Shiv repeats, while fangs frame a sharp upturn of a hostile smile. “You’re barely three hundred, you don’t know what the fuck a concubine is.”

Greg drops his chin. “I obviously do, because – ”

A throat clears. “Excuse me, gentleman and lady?”

Greg stumbles forward and nearly straight into Shiv, who offers a small, shocked yelp, hands lifting up in his direction with a wide, startled expression flashing across her face. He makes sure his mask is straight, as he looks back, seeing Tom looking bemused between them.

“Are you two in the middle of – ?”

“Cousins!” Greg interrupts, tightly, shaking his head and briefly catching an aghast grimace beside him. “We’re just cousins. The, uh – the totally non-kissing kind.”

Shiv exhales an exaggerated gag. “What the fuck, Greg.”

“Glad to hear it,” Tom says, brightly and bewilderingly, then thrusts out a hand, first to Greg, then to Shiv, nodding between them with a friendly, polite sort of smile. It is odd to be on the other side of it, since this isn’t really an expression Greg gets very often, or ever, and a glance over confirms that Shiv is just as discomforted by it. “Nice to meet you. I’m Tom Wa – Or, just Tom, right? No surnames.”

Greg nods with a weak hum to echo the sentiment. He is very quickly confirming that he doesn’t particularly like Tom not recognizing him; it’s been two blatant missed opportunities for heckling, and the air feels a little empty for it.

“I just have been seeing you around, actually, and I want – ” Tom pauses, oddly shaking his head. “I wanted to – ” He abruptly inhales a sharp breath, interrupting himself while lifting a hand to his forehead in evident pain. “Fuck.”

“Tom?” Greg says, feeling his voice pitch tight against the back of his throat. He can’t remember Grandpa Ewan mentioning any side effects, but no one really tends to pay attention to how magic affects mortals.

“Is your head okay?” Shiv demands, her voice rising urgently between them.

“Sorry, hah,” Tom says, voice tight, as he stiffly attempts to dismiss the question. “I’ve had this little ache starting up since I got here, but it’s nothing.”

“Does it feel like you’re having a stroke?” Shiv asks, tensely, as she lifts her empty wine glass and curls close to her chest. “Or is it more like a migraine?”

“O-or an aneurysm?” Greg says, flapping his hands up near his own head with a high lift of his arms crooked at the elbow. “Like, your head is actively exploding?”

Tom glances between blinks to Greg and Shiv, slowly pulling his hand from his brow. He offers a crooked, bemused smirk. “I really think it’s just that purple liquor, but I’m… flattered at the concern.”

“Sure,” Shiv says, reaching up and scratching at her brow. She looks at Tom for a beat longer, then back to Greg, expression tightening and conflicted, then it smooths out. “Fuck, Greg, I – ” She shakes her head, as she takes a step away, plainly again hesitating on her heel, but eventually does take a full stride away.

Greg slowly, carefully looks back at Tom, only to see he’s staring at him, rather than at Shiv’s retreating back. He blinks and feels his face color, scratching at the base of his jaw. “I’m, uh – I’m sorry? Did you… were you trying to ask to dance with her?”

“Not quite…” Tom winces, making a toothy, near-parody of a grimace, before he peeks back up as his lips shift into grin. “Actually, I was talking to you.”

Greg stares back for a pair of beats, feeling heat prickle more sharply under the mask. “You were?”

“Is that okay?” Tom asks, raising the brow not behind his mask, seeming more wry than particularly concerned.

“Yeah? Y-Yes,” Greg says, exhaling a brief stutter. “Of course, that’s – ” He should like probably chase Shiv back down, but… Tom is looking at him. Just him. “Yeah. It’s totally fine.”

Tom stares for a markedly charged beat, then his head tilts, as he wets his lips. “You still haven’t told me your name?”

“Oh, sorry,” Greg says, sweeping his hair awkwardly across his ear. “Greg?”

“Greg,” Tom repeats, in a fond, familiar sort of lilt – and a bit of a shock, since he’s not supposed to remember him. “As in Gregory, then? Suits you.”

“Does it?” Greg says, lifting his brows, as he looks away with a jerk of a nod. “I-I mean, thanks.”

The main ballroom swells with music, as they approach, and is filled with dancers of varying talent; slow and clumsy, to quick and spinning. It’s a comfort not to feel pressure to perform well, since Greg isn’t a hugely talented dancer, despite the cauldron’s best efforts through exposure, and Tom can’t remember that means he has had centuries to fail to practice.

“Would you like to – ?” Tom gestures his hands in a position further up than expected.

“No, no… Um, you can lead,” Greg says, hesitantly reaching out to wrap his hand at Tom’s shoulder.

“I thought so,” Tom says, breezy yet pointed, while he tips his head with a marked smirk. His hand settles solid and wide against Greg’s ribs, holding there in a way far different from the usual poke and prods he affords in general. “You look like you prefer to ask where to point.”

“Hah,” Greg mutters, rolling his lips together with a jerky nod. He feels something unspool beneath his ribs, as he realizes it’s definitely Tom underneath all the polite action. He is, briefly, a bit irked that he’s never really experienced polite Tom before; he definitely should have been given the opportunity the first time, but it… is what it is, and sometimes the deep end is the best place to fall.

“The costume really flatters you, Greg,” Tom says, voice low, in plainly some, fairly successful, attempt to flatter, as they begin to move with the music. It’s as close as they’ve ever been without some pretense, so distracting and unexpected, and the degree of their touch almost, somehow makes Tom hard to hear. “I don’t mean the mask. The brocade here… it was a superb choice – it’s like we came all ready to match.”

“Oh yeah, I know,” Greg says, absently, as they glide and step around other dancers, only to quickly find himself stiffening under a dubious stare. “I – I mean, thanks, but I didn’t actually pick it out? I’m mostly ever worried stuff won’t fit.”

Tom narrows an eye. “Your date?”

“No,” Greg says, shaking his head, feeling a harsh croak at the edge of his voice. “No date.”

“Just making sure,” Tom says, quirking a brow, then he tips his head, as he glances around them at the rest of the dance floor. “You’ve been talking to a lot of pretty masks tonight.”

Greg feels his face color, again, and worries he’s going to have to find somewhere to feed at the waste of energy. “I guess… you know, it’s important to blend in.”

“It’s definitely a formal fucking event, like playacting one of the paintings in this badly decorated museum,” Tom muses, as the music slows, prompting them to move slower and somehow closer, as piano gradually swells around them. “But you agreed to a dance with me, didn’t you?”

Greg offers a small lift of his shoulder. “You’re pretty, too,” he mumbles, then immediately wants to swallow his tongue. “I-I mean… You’re handsome? From, uh – from what I can see.”

“I’ll take either,” Tom says, smirking, as he offers a cocky tilt of his head.

The song blurs into another, and they keep going, easing Greg into some space where he can pretend the masque is going well, rather than having totally fallen apart. He catches Roman and Connor at the edge of the floor, but ignores them, turning his head while instead concentrating on counting the warm puffs of breath across his neck. He can imagine that it’s actually going to work out, standing so close, hands clasped together, like it was supposed to turn out this way.

The tactic doesn’t quite work for long, as his thoughts regroup to form another attack. What if Tom gets pissed? It would be okay, maybe, if he wasn’t going to remember tomorrow. It’s not a lot of time to come up with an excuse for what’s happening that doesn’t just make it more obvious that Greg leapt at the chance to essentially ruin Tom’s chances at becoming part of the cauldron.

“Hey,” Tom says, as his hand lifts across the back of Greg’s shoulder with a squeeze. The music around them is fading quickly, and his voice is consequently barely a mutter, as he lifts his chin to speak in Greg’s ear. “You need a breather, there?”

Greg feels a bit like that’s giving up, but he manages a jerking nod. He looks down, when Tom tugs him by the hands they had been holding to dance, and sees Tom’s is squarer than his, but just as large, and realizes with a hard swallow that he’s got a lot of thoughts racing that he’s been trying to avoid.

It turns out that Tom had actually meant air, not simply stopping their dance, as he leads Greg out onto a stone patio. He even takes a deep breath of the cool air, remarkably literal, as he lets go of Greg to lean on a stone half wall.

Greg stares at Tom’s back, rubbing absently at the lingering warmth in his hand. He lets his eyes trace across Tom’s broad shoulders, then down the seam of the jacket to his waist. It feels a little more lecherous than it normally might, more one-sided, since Tom would usually look back, then they’d both look away and pretend they hadn’t shared a thing.

“This is going to make me sound like some hopped up stalker,” Tom says, after a few moments of staring out across the green; he doesn’t see it though, it’s just dark for him, and now always will be, which feels like another point of failure. “Or a fucking moron addled by romance novels, but I… I’ve been drawn to you all night. Like a super powered magnet.”

Greg feels his jaw actually drop somewhat open. “You have?”

Tom hums a low confirmation, then he turns around to face Greg with an exaggerated, puffing sigh. “But maybe you’re just that tall.”

“Hah,” Greg mutters, dropping his head with a weak tilt of his chin. “Maybe.”

“Honestly, though,” Tom says, stepping closer, pushing away from the wall with a frustrated gesture of both his hands. “It was like my eyes went right to you whenever we were in the same room.”

“Oh, I – ” Greg shakes his head, but he really can’t remember Tom looking back at him. “I didn’t notice?”

“I hoped you wouldn’t,” Tom says, mouth flattening, as he offers a dismissive, flapping gesture. “It was…” He laughs, low, “It made my head hurt just a little. Literally.”

“I thought it – ” Greg takes a frustrated breath, as he shakes his head. “You said that was the, like – the plum wine?”

“I haven’t had that much,” Tom says, really seeming not to care enough, though he might if he knew about the spell. “But I really don’t think it’s a fucking aneurysm. I just keep… thinking about Romans, for some reason, as in the emperors.”

Greg briefly forgets about his own concern, as a croak of a laugh escapes him. “Really?”

Tom hums a confirmation. “Did you know the emperor Nero had a legion of men over 6 foot?”

“No,” Greg says, shaking his head while biting at his lower lip. He wonders if Tom had been saving that up and has accidentally just ruined it for himself. “I thought Romans were… sort of short?”

“They were a bit prejudiced when they were writing about Gauls, yes,” Tom muses, rolling his head back and forth, as a familiar condescending sort of smirk curves his mouth. “But Nero is a hundred years after Caesar kicked them hard.”

“Right,” Greg says, nodding with a weak lift of a shoulder. “I, uh… I really only know the history I live through.”

“That’s a pretty narrow window, bud,” Tom says, raising a brow, as he offers a plainly judgmental tilt of his chin.

Greg feels a wry smirk pull at the edge of his mouth. “…Sort of, yeah. But it’s getting wider.”

Tom holds his dubious expression for a beat, then breaks into a laugh with a shake of his head.

Greg can’t help when the smile grows wide and unwieldy across his lips.

“Look,” Tom says, taking a step back, then forward, lifting a hand oddly across his chest with a short lean into it. “You can take it or leave it, but I feel like I’ve got…” He exhales a weak puff, dragging his teeth hard across his lip. “I have to ask if you’ll take the stupid thing I’m supposed to give to someone I like, as if this is some rose exchange in middle school.”

Greg feels his expression collapse with surprise, hurriedly closing his mouth before his instinctually erupting fangs are visible along his smallteeth. He can’t help but think that it’s only been a dance and a conversation to Tom, and barely that, yet he already wants to exchange tokens? Greg isn’t sure if that … Is that normal? It can’t be.

“I know, I know, it sounds like I’m taking the cart here, and the rules said at midnight, yadda yadda,” Tom says, pacing a few steps one way down the patio, then turning and walking back, his hands spinning between them in a fussy gesture. “But I already know you’re the only could-be I’ve met tonight that I want to see again.”

Greg wets his lower lip, offering a weak turn of his head. “Are you sure?”

“I am,” Tom says, a sincere, tight sort of smile pinching at his mouth. “I really am, but… My ego can take it, if you want to do a little more looking.”

“I don’t, really,” Greg admits, scratching hard, then yanking into the small hairs on the back of his neck. “An-and I do feel the same, really, about like knowing you and looking at you, but… It’s just, uh… It’s complicated?” He shakes his head, slumping down onto a stone bench that the night makes cold through his thin trousers. “I didn’t even… I didn’t think I’d meet anyone.”

“Look, how about – ” Tom kneels down, which is absolutely awful, and then he makes it worse by pulling the actual tokenout of his inner jacket pocket. “We just do it, then figure it out later?”

“I – I don’t have a – ” Greg gestures, at a loss, as he stares at the bracelet with a tightness growing at the back of his throat.

Tom spins the bracelet around his fingers. “You really didn’t expect to meet anyone tonight? You’re hardly ugly, Greg. I can’t see enough of your face, but I think you’re probably put together just perfect.”

Greg bobs his head while he exhales a weak croak to clear his voice. “Okay, uh-uhm – ?” He lifts a hand, clumsily tugging at the pins holding the chain across his shirt collar. He looks down at the antlers, then up, offering them. “Is this okay?”

“Only if you’re willing to part with it,” Tom says, quiet and sincere, then he breaks the tension with a small snort. “Those’re definitely more your style.”

Greg answers with a weak huff. He only has them because of Tom, who he had been shopping with when he had seen a similar set in a display apart from the other jewelry. He had been interested, but concerned they were silver, so waved off the offer to pull them from the case; he’d gotten a surprise weeks later, when Tom presented him a near identical set cast in platinum.

He weaves the antlers between the chain and leaves them bound at Tom’s wrist. The points dig into his skin, leaving little rosy scratches of pressure, but Tom doesn’t seem to notice. “You can give them back.”

“Sure, I can,” Tom says, then he wets his lips, as he seems to hesitate with the token in his hand. He narrows his eyes at it, then throws it onto the bench. “You know what? I hate that.”

“Um?” Greg says, staring at the bracelet on the bench.

“If we’re using whatever, you can take this,” Tom says, as he begins to pull at his cravat, yanking it from his throat and leaving it somewhat indecently exposed for company. Of Greg. “A traditional sort of thing, like a knightly favor. I can’t even remember why I have that… bracelet.”

“Oh,” Greg intones, nodding in a jerky drop of his chin.

“No, no – Up,” Tom says, as he shakes out the cravat, only to just as quickly twist it back up. “You’re looking naked now.”

Greg slowly tilts his head back, anxiously wondering if he can have a heart attack, because it feels like it’s making a go for crawling up his throat. The feeling becomes especially bad when Tom straightens his shirt, as he ties the silk around it, because it feels… just like it had earlier in the night when he straightened the antlers.

“That’s funny,” Tom says, quietly, as he finishes tying the knot.

Greg hums a confused note.

“I thought it was just your hands, but you run pretty cold,” Tom says, as his knuckles gently press against Greg’s jaw, swiping up to the point of his chin. “Are you chilly?”

Greg feels his eyes widen. “Uh – ?” He slowly drops his head, wincing while he looks into Tom’s openly curious face, as he fails to come up with an excuse. He finds himself swallowing hard, thud getting worse, then he leans in and clumsily presses his mouth to Tom’s before he can think any more about it.

Tom inhales deep, pushing back with a rock forward on the balls of his feet. He seems to nearly lose his balance, as well, hand flattening on the bench beside Greg, while the other that had previously been across Greg’s jaw settles heavily onto his neck. He turns his head, seeming to try to deepen the kiss, mouth opening in a gasp between them, only for their masks to clatter together with dull thunks of leather and metal.

Greg pulls away with a small duck of his head, a flush in his face that’s probably the worst he’s ever had it.

“God, these things really get in the way, don’t they?” Tom says, reaching up and knocking a pair of knuckles against the cheek of his own. He stands from the ground, shaking out his hands with a shuttering sort of a laugh. “I’m glad to have met you and all, Greg, but I must have been real lonely and schnookered to sign up for this costume party.”

~

Tom jolts awake to a sharp series of honk from a car outside the window and covers his face with a groan, only to feel a dragging weight across his wrist. He peeks open his eyes, staring blearily at a pair of familiar platinum antlers locked across their chain. “Oh,” he chokes, shoving himself up on the mattress in a fumbling hurry. “Shit. Shit.”

The hazy memory filters in and what happened, how it happened, is all good, in a way – maybe even edging into great – but it’s so totally fucked. He let his heart get in the way of a plan he’s suffered and bled over for half a decade; how goddamn romantic.

He slumps back, playing with the chain, and manages somehow not to immediately reach for his phone. It eventually rings, anyway, as he’s spiraling with his eyes following the spinning ceiling fan, and it nearly startles him into the other side of the bed.

“Thomas,” greets an aged voice, once the line connects, tinged with ever-present gripe.

“Sir,” Tom says, closing his eyes for a few beats; evidently, his failure is worthy of a personal boast from the great hermit himself. “Good morning.”

Ewan grumbles out a rasping sigh. “Congratulations. I have been…” He pauses, exhaling another lengthy breath. “Convinced that you’ve passed.”

Tom peeks up at the shifting shadows of the curtains and the fanblades. …He what? Wait, does that mean he’s –

“I do not envy your position,” Ewan continues, “Gregory is not particularly… accountable, so you will likely have to be very explicit with him during the acclimation period if you want your needs met.”

Tom covers his face with a hand, breathing hard into his palm, then cracks his fingers open across his mouth. He’s pretty sure his smile would put the Joker to shame. “Shouldn’t be any trouble.”

“I’ve been convinced of that, as well,” Ewan says, in a way that might be wry, if it contained any particular humor.

Tom taps his fingers heavily against the side of his cheek. “Could I risk it all by asking why the special case?”

“No special cases,” Ewan says, sternly, setting hair up on the back of Tom’s neck from miles away. “The masque was used this way for centuries, not wasted on a single potential.” His voice resettles into an apathetic note. “And Marianne is to be head of the family, eventually, she’ll need backing unrelated to my brother, when the time comes.”

Tom raises brows with a bitten back choke of laughter. He thinks Logan must love that succession plan, after spending centuries grooming his own spawn. “I can… understand that position.”

“Good,” Ewan says, decisive, “She will also schedule and handle your conversion.”

Tom thinks he hears a protest in the background, just before the line goes dead, which explains a lot – he’s a test in responsibility, how fun. He’ll be shocked if the upcoming most-painful-experience-of-his-life-bordering-on-actual-death is any more formal than her showing up at the door with Greg at some random time between today and two months from now.

He rolls the phone in his hand, then tosses it up, grabbing it, and switching between apps until he finds the right name to tap. The phone rings in his ear far longer than usual, and that’s to be expected, but it finally connects on what must be the final ring.

“Gregory, hello there,” Tom says, raising his voice over a familiar mumble attempting to greet him down the line. “Tell me, did I suffer a wet dream, or did you really kiss me like a damsel under the moonlight?”

“Um, I…” Greg sighs, and it’s too easy to imagine his conflicted expression while he weighs his options. “It was a new moon?”

Tom exhales a quiet laugh through his nose.

Greg continues to hem and haw, to some concerning degree. “Sorry.”

“Are you?” Tom asks, pitching his voice in a taunt, trying to cover the small lurch in his gut.

“Yeah? I… I want you to be one of us, too, but I –” Greg exhales, rasping and harsh, down the line. “I didn’t try hard enough to…” He pauses, again, then clears his throat. “To shift your, uh – your amorous attention.”

Tom shoulders the phone, looking down and toying with the chain at his wrist. “Have you talked to your esteemed head of bloodsucking bastards?”

Greg is quiet for a beat. “Like, ever?”

“Like today,” Tom says, rubbing hard between his brows.

“Oh,” Greg intones, then clears his throat, preemptively weedy in the act. “No. My mom said she would. I-I don’t think he’s… he’ll really care about what I have to say? I can try, though – I should try, I mean. Yeah.”

Tom can hear the same note that Greg had in his voice last night, as he’d put the chain around his wrist. “I’m getting offended by how much you sound like the world is ending, bud,” he says, quirking a brow with a short click of his tongue. He knows Greg kissed first last night, which is doing a lot to bolster. “Was it that bad last night?”

“No, Tom, but if you’d… You know, pursued Shiv, then it wouldn’t matter, because after the setting period, we’d – ” Greg stutters into a pause, somewhat hissing into the receiver. “We could’ve probably worked it out sometime in… you know, essentially forever, but you didn’t, an-and now…”

Tom scrubs his face and is astonished how Greg can be both naïve and an absolute viper at the same time.

“Shiv was… really lame, too,” Greg continues, low and as derisive as he ever gets, being an enormous, centuries-old killing machine ever concerned someone might overhear him being unkind. “She likes you, she said, but she couldn’t do it. She said it would be – be like, a suckling on her soul, or something, like she was scared of having a mate like that. She didn’t even want to give you a chance.”

Tom drags his lip harsh against his teeth, a bit stung, a bit annoyed, too, but not exactly surprised. “Would you?”

Greg is quiet a few beats, then exhales a sullen, offended grumble. “I gave you a token.”

“And…” Tom says, slowly, dropping his voice into what he likes to think is a fairly friendly sort of patronizing developed just for Greg. “I didn’t give Shiv a second glance when you were standing next to her.”

Greg is quiet for a few seconds. “I guess.”

“Honestly, I…” Tom shakes the chain back around his wrist with a tut. “I think Shiv and I might like each other about the same.” He rolls his eyes across the room to the door, then over toward the window, exhaling a humorless laugh. “We don’t even sleep in the same room, anymore. It was iffy that we even applied for the masque.”

Greg mutters something tiny and unintelligible down the line, but it sounds a little derisive.

“But I’m ecstatic to hear you’re not wary of having a suckling babe on your soul,” Tom says, spinning the antlers around his wrist, delicately trying to unwrap them without further turning his skin patchwork or bending a delicate chainlink. “Because I have spoken the grand poobah treant – I passed.”

“Y-You did?” Greg says, voice pitching through the speaker, plainly blindsided by the news.

“He also implied it was mostly so I could white knight your mother, but that’s…” Tom feels a wide grimace pull at his mouth. “Pretty far out, one can hope.”

“No, but he – ” Greg exhales a breathy, hitched laugh. “Like, with me?”

“Yes, Gregory,” Tom says, leaning his head up and wedging his forearm against the pillow beneath it.

“I, like – I’ve never totally drained anyone,” Greg says, in a quiet, thoughtful mutter. His voice pitches, “What if I can’t stop… What if I like kill you?”

Tom rolls his eyes, as a bark of laughter edges around his voice. “Could we have a single good thought this morning?”

“…Sorry.”

[dragonmuse]

I had so much fun with your scenario in which Izzy becomes a writer! Do you think there's any chance of a universe somewhere where he'd become a professional chef? Maybe one that makes a name for himself making food that's both gourmet and allergen-free... I love all these possible AUs that you write, by the way <3

( Thank you so much! <3.

soooo this one became a full on fic. no bulleted list. Because of that, there was no place to put it, but Eddy in this timeline comes out in her teens and is already out when she meets Izzy. CW: There is an old-fashioned Izzy allergy attack in this one. Brief mention of a hospital, but no one stays there.

Let's call this one 'bottle of red, bottle of white' )

“Boss?”  Fang appeared at Eddy’s elbow. They were trying to sort out the reservation system that Hornigold had foisted on them last week. It was a fucking mess. 

“What?” Eddy snapped. 

“There’s an emergency.” 

Eddy whirled on Fang, who did have a wild look about him. 

“What kind?” 

“Ivan already called 911. It’s Izzy.” 

“Did he stab someone?” Eddy asked with a groan, heading back towards the kitchen.

“No, boss-” 

The kitchen was silent. The kitchen was never silent. It was a place of flames, banging pots and yelling. If Hornigold was back there (rarer and rarer these days) than it was even worse, with barks of ‘yes, chef!’ following his shouted order. 

No Hornigold today. But also no banging, no leaping cascades of fire. The rapid ‘clack clack clack’ of knives had fallen off. The entire staff seemed frozen, eyes glued to the floor. Eddy looked down and there was Izzy, sitting on an overturned bucket. Izzy who rarely let anyone touch him, had Ivan’s hand on his back, as he tried to draw in air. 

“Iz,” Eddy dropped into a squat, fear seizing her. Israel Hands didn’t sit during meal prep. He was a shark from 4pm until midnight, moving from spot to spot to ward off death.  

Izzy didn’t look up. His hands were planted to his knees and his breath was staggered. The hands were covered in furious red bumps. 

“Did he get burned?” Eddy demanded. 

“No, boss,” Blue Toby was looming over them. “All of a sudden he started wheezing.” 

“Ambulance is on it’s way,” Ivan provided. 

“Fuck,” Eddy closed their eyes, sucked in a breath than nodded sharply. “Ivan, stay on the phone. The rest of you, get the fuck back to work. Dinner service is still dinner service.  Iz...Izzy, can you hear me?” 

A slow faint nod. 

“Fang, tell Sam he's on front of house until I get this figured out.” 

“Yes, boss.” 

Industry sounds started up again, but not nearly as loud as usual. Ivan went on talking to the operator. 

Eddy put a hand over Izzy’s shoulder. Listened to the way his breath strained. 

“Don’t you dare die, you mother fucker,” She hissed. “I will dig you out of your grave and make sure you never have a moment’s peace if you die.” 

Izzy’s horribly broken out hand groped for hers. He held it tightly, eyes pressed closed. 

Eddy could hear her pulse in her ears.  

Cooking was not Eddy’s thing, really. Eating was fun though. When they’d been offered a gratis summer class on cooking at some underprivileged kids' bullshit school, Eddy had taken it figuring that at least there’d be some extra meals. It had been a condescending, terrible fucking experience, except for two things: 1. She’d met Hornigold, celebrity chef, who frequented the school to find young, cheap labor and 2. She’d met Izzy, who actually liked all the ridiculous classroom stuff and had attached himself to her like an angry limpet. 

It had only taken a two years of doing Hornigold’s bidding that Eddy realized that maybe only one of those two things had actually been good. Not that Eddy wasn’t fucking aces at her job. Restaurant management was made for her. Three years in, she ran the Ranger almost single-handedly. Hornigold’s flagship restaurant only turned profit because Eddy was at the helm. But it was miserable work. Hornigold would never unclench his fist fully around the place, swooping in to make a mess of what Eddy had finally cleaned up and taking them to task for things that no one could control for. 

No...no. The only goddamn thing worth having that she’d gotten out of that ridiculous class was Izzy.  Reliable, loyal, workaholic, Izzy, who turned all of Hornigold’s tired old recipes into something at least palatable. Izzy, who terrorized the kitchen staff into a peak efficiency, uncaring of what they said about him on smoke breaks.  Izzy, who no matter how late he’d been up the night before, was awake before Eddy and handing them coffee when they stumbled out of the bedroom. 

Her roommate, her partner, her sometimes fuck that once let her choke him in the pantry and he’d made such sweet sounds around her fingers. There were no moans today, no penetrating eye contact. Izzy was fighting for his breath against the world instead of her and that was fucking unacceptable. 

“Don’t die,” she ordered again and he squeezed her hand harder. 

“Back here!” Ivan guided in EMTs. Eddy was shoved back, but that never stopped them from staying where they needed to be. When they loaded Izzy into the ambulance, Eddy was right there beside him. 

The phone in their pocket was already buzzing with recriminations from Hornigold, some asshole probably tattled. Eddy didn’t give a single fuck. It was a restaurant, fully-staffed. Everyone would survive one night without peak service. 

Whatever they gave to Izzy in the ambulance seemed to start working. His breathing became a little less labored though nowhere close to normal. In the E.R., they get him laid out and an I.V. hooked up, but there were no rooms available, so they were just in the hallway. Eventually, Izzy groaned and sat up, head in hands. 

“What the fuck?” Eddy demanded of him, even as she rested her hand on the back of his head, brought in close enough to kiss his stupidly over gelled hair. 

“Peanut butter,” Izzy muttered. 

Eddy froze. They knew Izzy had some shit about nuts. He wouldn’t eat them. Wouldn’t cook with them either.  Seemed like one of his many weird twitches and Eddy had let it alone. What did she care if there were nuts on the menu?  But Hornigold had insisted that his latest ‘innovation’ (a dish he’d served twenty years ago and was hoping everyone had forgotten about) needed a dollop of peanut butter in it. 

Izzy hadn’t said a word as the instructions had been rattled off. But he had been wearing latex gloves all week. 

“Are you fucking allergic?” They bit off, furious they hadn’t realized before. 

“Yeah.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Did,” Izzy’s voice was raw. “He didn’t give a shit. Hadn’t had a reaction in years, figured maybe I’d gotten over it.” 

“Well, you didn’t,” she growled. 

“Yeah,” Izzy agreed. “Noticed.” 

“Should’ve told me. I can’t do shit about what you haven’t told me.” 

“You had other things.” 

It had been a bitch of a week. Eddy had been furious for most of it. Izzy never minded their temper, seemed even to enjoy it sometimes, but he wouldn’t have brought them a problem when they were like that. 

“You could’ve died, moron,” Eddy snapped. “Then what would I do? Out half the rent and a head chef? I’d have to find like ten new people to replace you.” 

“Sorry.” 

“Fuck. Hornigold legit almost killed you because he doesn’t know how to spice a stew,” Eddy realized. “You probably had like three alternatives, right?” 

“Four,” Izzy agreed. 

“Shit.” 

It took some time, but eventually Eddy was allowed to take Izzy and his shiny new Epi-Pen home. The apartment was a disaster, usually was Tuesday through Sunday.  Mondays, Izzy would tidy and Eddy would do laundry for them both. Sometimes, if Eddy was lucky, those cleaning sessions would end in Izzy cooking something just for the two of them. Something new he’d thought of while churning out ancient classics of someone else’s cookbook that would be spectacular.

Tonight, Eddy ate cold mac and cheese from a box, watching Izzy sleep in her bed. She had steered him in here when they got home and he hadn’t asked a question, just kicked off his shoes and fallen against the sheets. 

It was one thing for Hornigold to treat Izzy like shit. Hornigold treated them all like shit. But it was another to almost kill the man. Izzy belonged to Eddy. No one got to take him from her. 

After they were done eating, they got into bed and curled around him, listening to him breathe.

“Eddy,” Izzy pushed at them. They startled awake. 

“What?” 

“I need to piss.” 

“Come back after,” she demanded. 

To their surprise, he did come back and let himself be reeled in close. They didn’t cuddle usually. They didn’t ever actually sleep together, but Eddy wasn’t letting him out of her sight if she could help it. 

“We have to get out of there,” she whispered in his ear and Izzy didn’t argue. 

It took two years. Two more painful years to scratch up what they needed, to do it quietly. To find the place, to shake money out of investors that weren’t keen on handing over cash to two people in their twenties with thin resumes. In the end, all they were able to secure was a hole -in-the-wall place in a rundown neighborhood. 

“It’s gorgeous,” Eddy determined. 

“It’s a shithole,” Izzy contended, but he was smiling. Not the feral one with too many teeth that some staffers saw right before they were fired. Just the real one that he got sometimes when Eddy complimented his food. 

“We’ll make it gorgeous,” Eddy allowed. 

“You will,” Izzy walked straight back into the kitchen with a pile of cleaning supplies and a gleam in his eye. 

It took weeks of elbow grease, and a clever manipulation of funds to get the place into opening shape. Eddy sourced tables and chairs from curbsides, bringing them back to clean and paint until everything was black, purple and blue. On a whim, she even painted the horrible linoleum flooring a matte black, sealing it in with satisfaction at 2 AM on weekday. 

“Huh,” Izzy had said as he stumbled in to find them slumped over a rescued table the next morning. 

“You like it?” She challenged. 

“Should do the ceiling too,” he offered. 

They did that. Strung fairy lights up over it so it glistened like the night sky. The walls got covered in bric-a-brac, paintings that Eddy found in Goodwill, seascapes where she could get them. 

And in the kitchen, Izzy built a menu like an architect, scaffolding up dishes. Eddy’s stomach had never been fuller as she happily tucked into his ‘failures’. 

“Need a name,” Eddy said one night as they both chewed through egg-free pasta noodles drenched in garlic, oil, and oregano. 

“Choose whatever,” Izzy gestured loosely with a fork. “You’re good at that shit.” 

“You’re the executive chef,” Eddy grinned. “Just call it Hands.” 

“Fuck that,” he snorted.  

“How about Nutless?” 

“Yeah, that’ll go over.” 

“Dizzy Izzy’s?” She suggested and then cackled as he threw a noodle at her head. 

In the end, the white on black lettering on the sign says ‘Freedom, a fine dining experience’ in Eddy’s own loopy and writing and underneath in Izzy’s spiky letters ‘nut-free, egg-free, soy-free, full of flavor’. 

Running a restaurant together, without Hornigold’s interference, was both easier and harder. Eddy had complete control, but there was also no one else to blame when things went wrong. Izzy stayed in the kitchen like someone had chained him to the stove, despite have a half-decent kitchen crew. He’d even gone back to the fucking horrible school and plucked a sous-chef from their ranks. Roach swore even more than Izzy, had a pathological attachment to his meat cleaver and made the world’s most gorgeous quiches. Thanks to Roach, they expanded into brunch service on the weekends. 

“You don’t have to go in,” Eddy would remind Izzy on Sundays. “Roach has it.” 

“Busy today,” was all Izzy would say and then disappear. 

The hookups in the pantry were off the table once it became their pantry and was no longer a rebellion, but a liability to the shelving. Nights in one of their beds fell off as they both came home too tired to do anything more than sleep. 

And Eddy....they found they didn’t miss it much. It was easier to be Izzy’s business partner than his life partner. 

So they didn’t talk about it and that part of their lives died on the vine. Withered up and went cold.

“I found a place,” Izzy told them, not making eye contact. They were eating their own dinners, hurriedly over the sink as the kitchen buzzed around them. It was one of Eddy’s favorites, seared scallops, which they rarely served. That should’ve made them suspicious. 

“What do you mean?” 

“To live,” Izzy stared harder at his place. “Closer to here.” 

“Iz...” 

“I can’t stay,” he muttered. “I can’t- we can do this. Here. But I can’t be in your space all the time if we’re not...” 

“Yeah,” Eddy choked. Fuck. “Yeah, okay.” 

**** 

Izzy hadn’t lived alone for more than a few days in his entire life. Gone from home to his shared apartment with Eddy. At first, he relished the quiet. The control. No one else's things cluttering up his precious few hours of free time. But it quickly dulled. He missed Eddy desperately some days, even when...maybe especially when, he was around them for hours anyway.  

If it hadn’t been for the restaurant, maybe Izzy wouldn’t have had the balls to go. Maybe he would’ve hung around the apartment for the rest of his life, waiting for Eddy to want him again. 

But there was Freedom. There was the kitchen where he ruled with an iron fist and could spend the day elbow deep in food prep. Yes, there was still Eddy swanning in and out, poking and teasing him while they made sure the money flowed in. 

And it did. Reviews came out and Izzy read them late at night, memorizing criticism and recalling it at horrible moments, but they were generally good. People liked the food, like the atmosphere Eddy had curated with their inane knick-knacks and charisma. They were good at being partners on the steady black floors of their tiny kingdom. 

So Izzy poured himself into the restaurant. They hired more staff. Oluwande, who was a good host, came with Jim, who wandered into the kitchen one night and never went back out on the floor again and Frenchie, who made divine pastries light as air. 

“Iz,” Eddy circled up around him one night, their eyes alight. “The place next store closed.” 

“The pharmacy or the antiques place?” Izzy glanced up. 

“Antiques,” Eddy reached down, plucked up one of the bits of beef  dancing around the pan that Izzy had been cooking. Izzy had given up even pretending to threaten them about that a long time ago. Eddy had asbestos fingers and no sense of kitchen hygiene, it just was what it was. Anyway, the appreciative noise she made when she had a bite of his food had always been his favorite compliment. 

“Good,” he determined. “Hated that dusty window display.” 

“Yeah, but...” Eddy hooked her chin over his shoulder. A few years of working together, living part had left her physically affectionate again and he never shook her off. “Iz. Next door.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Space, Iz. Two stoves.  More tables. The walk-in freezer I know you jerk off too.” 

Izzy’s eyes went wide, “We can’t afford it...can we?” 

“We can,” Eddy said delighted. “We fucking will.” 

It required meeting with some rich dude that owned the building, but Eddy came back from that meeting very merry and an agreement in hand. 

“You’d like him.” Eddy declared, then wrinkled her nose. “Actually you’d probably hate him, but I like him. Anyway, he gave us a sweetheart deal.” 

They had to close for an entire month which was heart-stopping, but Izzy didn’t have time to obsess over it because he was handed a sledgehammer. To cut costs, they did a lot of the labor themselves and it was like the beginning all over again. The whole staff pitched in and the wall came down. 

“What if we didn’t do the floors black?” Eddy floated as they stood between the two spaces, only the demarcation of paint to say where one had once started and the other began. 

Izzy crossed his arms over his chest. He loved the black floors, Eddy’s first tender foray into making their mark on their space. But whatever they chose it would still be Eddy’s. That’s what mattered. Eddy out front, facing the world, Izzy in the back, making it taste better. 

“Do what you want,” he said and it wasn’t dismissive. He hoped Eddy knew that. 

The way they caught his eye suggested that they did, so he left it there. He had a walk-in freezer to stock anyway.  

He didn’t count on the chandelier. 

“What the fuck?”

“It was Stede’s idea,” Eddy said gleefully from beneath the actually very tasteful fall of crystal. 

With a bigger space, they finally put in a decent size bar. It was made of mismatched reclaimed wood, homage to their now retired mismatched furniture. Eddy hired a bartender and then informed Izzy,

“No allergies, omnivore. He suggested if you guys did a tasting he could build out a cocktail menu to match. Told him you’re shit at wine pairings.”

“Thanks,” Izzy rolled his eyes. “Cocktails though?”

“People pay through the nose for specialty cocktails,” Eddy shrugged. “Stede knew the guy, says he’s good. Works rich people parties sometimes, apparently.”

“Great.” Izzy prepared himself to spend an hour listening to a pretentious peacock pick apart his menu. He made the tasting platter as perfect as he could because that’s just how he was and brought  it out to the bar at the appointed time. 

The guy was waiting, already seated at the bar and he was a knockout. Long legs in skinny jeans, shirt so wide necked it threatened to dip off one shoulder and a creamy bit of fabric wrapped around his neck. His hair looked intentionally mussed, a fucked out look that only came from gel.

“You Spriggs?” Izzy asked, pleased that it came out nearly normal. 

“That’s me. You must be Israel.”

“Izzy,” he corrected.

“Izzy,” Lucius repeated with a lingering look. “Lucius, please”

He set the tray on the bar. “Won’t all stay at the right temperature but I don’t have my staff in this early in the day to make as we go.”

“That’s fine,” Lucius studied the tray. “This is…this so beautiful. You didn’t have to make it…wow. Sorry I feel like I asked you to do a lot of work. I just needed some quick bites.”

“Eat with your eyes too,” Izzy did not flush. Absolutely not. 

“Yeah I’m devouring,” and that sounded lewd as hell. “Where do I start?”

“There’s the hummus,” Izzy pointed to it. “Has some heat if you mind that kind of thing.”

“I like a bit of spice.”  

Did everything this guy say sound like a double entendre?  Lucius dipped pita into the hummus and took a bite. Then he made a low, throaty noise that went straight to Izzy’s dick. 

“It’s so creamy! Holy shit, it’s like a mousse.” 

“Yeah,” Izzy said vaguely. “That’s the point.” 

“Wow, okay, and this is the eggplant stack thing, right? Gotta say I like that you don’t do any dippy names. Everything is what it says it is.”  Lucius took on the mouthful with another one of those noises. It took everything in Izzy not to turn around and look for a camera. This felt like a setup. 

“Never liked playing cute. Eddy tried it early on, but it didn’t sit right.” 

“Mhm,” Lucius picked up his glass of water and took a sip. “There’s another appetizer?” 

There were fifteen small plates on the tray. Three appetizers, ten entrees, two desserts. Tight menu for a tight space.

Izzy answered Lucius’ questions, watched him basically make out with each dish, and decided he didn’t care if he was being punked, his ego had never been this well stroked without any apparent agenda.  

Lucius licked the back of his dessert spoon, then asked, “Mind if I get behind the bar? I think better if I mix as I go. Kind of like sketching.” 

“Yeah, go ahead,” Izzy said roughly. “Sketching?” 

“Uh huh. Okay, so the vibe this gives me is like...summery? Which is pretty cool because you’re mostly using winter vegetables.” 

“Yes,” Izzy nodded.  “Mostly. The farmer we source things from grows some out of season things in a greenhouse, so it’s still fresh.” 

“Into that. So I’m thinking I can keep a base of four cocktails, then rotate two in seasonally to match what you do with the menu.” 

“How’d you know that we switch things out?” Izzy hadn’t told him that yet, figuring it was enough to work with the winter menu that they were currently dealing with. 

“I read some reviews,” Lucius admitted, taking down various bottles. “Got a favorite liquor?” 

“Vodka. I hope you didn’t read that twat from the Sun.” 

“Was that the guy who bitched about the ambiance? Came off pretty petty.” 

“It was,” Izzy said darkly. “He hit on Eddy and they turned him down. So.” 

“Oh ew,” Lucius wrinkled his nose. He dug out a shaker and shoveled ice into it. “Eddy get that a lot?” 

“Yeah, it happens.” 

“Stede is mega into them,” Lucius laughed. “I’ve known the guy for like two years? Never seen him like that. Twitterpated.” 

“Yeah,” Izzy shoved down the bile that threatened to rise. “What are you making?” 

“Mmm, not sure yet. Eddy said you hate wine.” 

“I do,” Izzy sighed, waiting for the judgment. 

“Me too,” Lucius snorted, plucking something off one of the small plates. “I never got what the big deal was, it all tastes the same to me. I thought chefs were required to like it though.” 

“It’s got its uses, but I don’t go looking for it. Didn’t go to one of the fancy cooking schools or anything, never ‘refined my palette’ whatever the fuck that means.” 

“Must not mean much because everything I just ate rocked my socks off,” Lucius grinned. “And I’m not just saying that. Like that lamb changed me on a deep level. I'll never be the same.” 

Izzy had made that lamb for Eddy, years ago. Just the two of them in the closed kitchen of Ranger after dinner service one night. It had been too busy for either of them to choke anything down. She’d leaned against the sink, pulled out a flask, and told him that it was the anniversary of her mother’s death. They’d shared the liquor and Eddy had slumped exhausted while Izzy tried his best to make a dish for heartbreak. There’d only been lamb left over, so he’d added all the warm spices that Eddy loved, layered it in tomatoes and carrots, cooking it all until it was tender.  

Eddy ate it without a word, but pressed so close to him that Izzy had to brace himself against the counter to keep from tipping over. 

He’d made it for them both on the regular after that night.   It was the only thing on the menu that had stayed the same from day one of Freedom. 

“Yeah?” Izzy choked.

“Uh huh,” Lucius picked up the shaker and gave it a vicious rattle. His hands were big, fingers almost circling the fat metal cylinder. “You already have a house red and white. Add a few more slightly more expensive options and that’ll be that.” 

“People like a long wine list.” 

“Fuck ‘em,” Lucius said merrily, then paused. “Should I not swear? Am I going to lose a job I’ve had for ten minutes?” 

“I don’t give a fuck,”  Izzy snorted.

“Great,” Lucius poured a clear drink into a martini glass, then searched the bar, coming up with a sad looking lime. He wrinkled his nose at it, but got a peeler and with a flick of the wrist had a perfect curly string of green that he set along the edge of the glass. Then he put it in front of Izzy. “Try that.” 

“Hmm,” Izzy picked it up and, by long habit, smelled it first.  It smelled mostly of lime and...basil? Could that be right? He took a small sip. It exploded over his tongue. Fresh and clean, not too sweet, but with a good edge of it and definitely alcoholic as hell.  

“Basil and lime vodka gimlet,” Lucius explained. “It’s not quite right, really need to let the basil sit for longer. Pair that with the lamb and it’ll cut the richness and compliment all the ginger and stuff. Right?” 

The question seemed in earnest, so Izzy took another sip and then dragged a finger through the remaining dregs of the lamb plate and sucked it off thoughtfully. Yeah it did do that, especially with the vodka keeping the drink warmer. 

“It works,” Izzy confirmed. “Keep that one.” 

“Yeah,” Lucius was watching him with such intent that Izzy wondered if he wanted him to say more. 

“It’s good," he allowed.

“Thanks,” a soft laugh as Lucius re-focused himself, “Okay,  probably want something gin based too. Gin is really hot right now.” 

They talked through the rest of the drinks, Lucius trying a few more things and Izzy approving all of them with only minor adjustments. By the end, Izzy was getting well into tipsy and was starting to suspect that Lucius might be flirting with him. Which was ridiculous. Probably just his way or whatever. Bartenders made good tips by being flirtatious, probably. 

“Should I send you the finalized list?” Lucius asked as he tidied up. 

“Just to Eddy. She’ll get it printed up.” 

“Do you have a graphic designer? I do that sometimes on the side." 

“Eddy question,” Izzy dismissed. 

“What’s an Izzy question then?”  

“Food stuff. Inventory stuff. Don’t give a fuck about the rest.” 

“Yeah? You don’t come out and shake hands?” 

“Hell no. If I wanted to talk to people, I wouldn’t have gone into cooking.” 

“Yeah, bet you hide in the kitchen at parties,” Lucius winked. “Me too. That’s where all the best people are.” 

Hard to argue that. A few minutes later Lucius had cleared out. Izzy cleaned up, then walked home. The smell of basil lingered in his nose until he fell asleep that night. 

Over the next few weeks, Izzy’s hunch about flirtatious bartenders was proven correct. Lucius wasn’t the fastest worker Izzy had ever seen (understatement, but that was Eddy’s problem), but everyone who sat at the bar didn’t seem to care. He flirted, he gently teased, sometimes less gently insulted everyone in the vicinity. Apparently, there was a boyfriend (of course there was) named Pete, who came in once a week like clockwork and sat at the bar, apparently not at all ruffled by the flirtations.  Not that Izzy got to witness any of that first hand, just got word from the waiters as they breezed in and out, and Eddy’s own tickled report. 

“I think he’s a fucking terror,” she confided as they shared one of their now rare cigarettes out back. 

“Yeah? We need to dump him?” 

“We run on terror. He fits right in,” they laughed. “Hey, we should do a thing for the re-opening.” 

“We’ve been open for a month,” Izzy pointed out, taking a drag and then passing it back to her.

“Gotta celebrate though. Maybe do a staff thing. Invite a few people. You know, music and whatever.” 

Izzy gave them the side-eye. “What’s this about?” 

“Celebrating,” Eddy said firmly. “We made it, Iz. Got to stop and enjoy that at some point or what are we even doing, you know?” 

Izzy didn’t know. Every day that he stepped into the kitchen and knew it was his was a goddamn celebration. But fine. Party it was. 

They were usually closed on Mondays, but Izzy came in at noon and made finger foods, set them up around the place, so no one would have to run back and forth to serve. When he brought out the last tray, he was surprised to see Lucius behind the bar. 

“Eddy mentioned what you’d be up to,” Lucius waved when he spotted him. “It’s smart. Figured I’d make some pitchers of things now. By the time those are gone, people will be happy with shots. Like we’re all definitely getting obliterated right?” 

“Most likely,” Izzy agreed. “Made things that won’t rip out your throat if you puke.” 

“How thoughtful,” Lucius grinned. “You’re a real gentleman.” 

“Take that back, motherfucker.” 

Lucius’ laugh was deep and rippled over Izzy’s skin.  “Sorry, chef. You’re a raging asshole.” 

“Damn right,” Izzy nodded. “My prep is done. You need anything?” 

“Want to show off your insane knife skills and do some orange slices? Thinner the better.” 

It wasn’t hard to slice them fine, nearly translucent. Lucius moved around him, to grab something at one point and reached out, gripping Izzy’s shoulder for just a second for balance. The touch seared through him. 

“You know I was kidding about the knife skills, but holy shit!” Lucius plucked up one of the slices. “That’s amazing.” 

“What’re you putting it in?” 

“Rum punch.” But that slice went right into Lucius’ mouth as he set down the glass. “Use up some of the fruit we’d have to toss otherwise and it tastes better the longer it sits.  If you didn’t go to culinary school, where’d you learn to cut like that?” 

“Worked in a fancy ass kitchen for a couple of years. Picked up things there. Rest is just time and practice.” 

“Guess you do practically live back there. Jim says you’re the last to leave, always there when they get in.” 

“There’s a lot to do,” he said vaguely. “You...settling in?” 

“Sure, it’s great here,” Lucius said with apparent sincerity. “Way better than catering gigs.” 

The back door opened, Jim and Oluwande’s voices spilling through the space and that was the end of any quiet. Everyone trickled in and the main room was soon heaving with staff, a few regulars, and some people Izzy wasn’t sure he’d ever met before. Eddy was presiding over all of it with an enormous smile that fully reached her eyes. Music poured out of the speakers and a cleared space in the middle of the room had enticed some people to dance. Or maybe that was Lucius’ punch. 

Izzy had had a glass or two, but stopped there, unwilling to unwind so much in that large a group. So he was the only one with a clear enough mind to notice someone knocking on the door. 

A tall guy with a shock of blond waves and a fancy suit was fidgeting a little outside.  Izzy opened the door reluctantly, 

“We’re closed. Private party.”

“Oh, you must be Iggy!” The guy said with a fumbling smile. 

“Izzy,” he corrected. 

“I’m Stede! Eddy invited me.” 

This was Stede? The guy that Eddy had mentioned like he was a mad genius? Izzy stared blankly at him, then took a step back to let him in. 

“Stede!” Eddy called out delightedly. “Come here and dance with me.” 

“Coming!” Stede’s face transformed with a brilliant smile. He left Izzy behind, still holding the door open like a fool. He locked it back up with a grimace. 

When he got close enough, he could see Eddy clinging to Stede in a messy attempt at ballroom dancing to a song that was far too fast while nearly crashing into Frenchie and his enormous friend.  For about a minute, Izzy watched them. Then he stalked off into the kitchen and gave some serious consideration to locking himself into the walk-in freezer and letting the night go where it would. 

Instead he poured himself a glass of water and drank it slowly.  The door creaked open just as he finished. Another body slipped inside and pressed back up against it, expelling a long breath. 

“You okay?” Lucius asked, stepping towards him. 

“Are you?” 

“Busy out there,” he shrugged. “And the best people hang out in the kitchen.” 

“Don’t have to keep me company.” 

“You ran away pretty fast. Did Stede say something stupid to you? He does that sometimes. His mouth and brain aren’t always sync up.” 

“No.” Izzy watched him warily. “Just done, I think. I don’t do parties.” 

“This is my shocked face,” Lucius said dryly and extended his hand. Izzy registered he was holding two glasses. “Take it.” 

“What is it?” 

“Just a vodka tonic. Well, I did put a little ginger simple syrup in it. You’ve got a thing for ginger, I noticed.” 

“...what?” Izzy took it and had a sip. The ginger was very present, sizzling pleasantly on his tongue. 

“I like that you don’t over use it, but it’s obviously your favorite. When you make staff dinner,  you use it when you’re in a good mood.” 

‘I don’t have good moods.” 

“Lies,” Lucius leaned against the counter next to him. “You know Eddy kind of threw this party for you?” 

“I know,” he took another sip. It was really fucking good, goddammit. 

“So...” 

“So what?” Izzy sighed. 

“Just saying. It’s your party and you can cry if you want to,” Lucius sing-songed. 

“Fuck off,” Izzy barked a laugh. “I’m not crying.” 

“But you’re not thrilled.” 

“Eddy and me...it’s old news. But it’s hard sometimes seeing them with someone else.” 

“Oh. Oh shit, really?” Lucius’ eyes went wide. “You and Eddy? But you guys are like siblings most of the time....or. Or old marrieds. Oh my fucking god, that makes so much more sense.” 

“We weren’t married,” Izzy denied. “And it’s not like that anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time. But yeah. Once.” 

“Fuck. You know she and Stede aren’t actually together.”

“Yet,” he said tiredly. 

“Yet,” Lucius conceded. “Are you guys going to like...implode or something? Because I was serious about liking this job.” 

“No. It was going to happen. Surprised it took this long. Eddy’s magic,” Izzy stared into the drink. He should be angrier, he realized. Or worse somehow. Certainly he shouldn’t be talking this way. Maybe Lucius’ could mix truth potions. “Been waiting for someone else to come along and notice.” 

“And you’ve been looking for someone?” Lucius asked like the question might detonate. 

“No.” 

“Why not?” 

“Freedom is what I want. I don’t have room for anything else.” 

“Yikes. I don’t think that’s true. Plenty of fish in the sea who wouldn’t mind swimming around a grim workaholic, you know.” 

“Endorsement like that, I should let you write my dating profile.” 

“Would you let me?” 

“Fuck no.” 

“Aw,” Lucius elbowed him. “C’mon, give me another chance. How about ‘talented and chiseled chef with a phone-sex hotline voice seeks flexible in the schedule and the bedroom partner’?” 

“Lucius...” 

“Oh! How about ‘killer forearms, wicked knife skills, and probably not a serial killer’?” 

“What?” Izzy blinked. “I’m not a serial killer.” 

“You have a lot of knives. Just saying.” 

“I’m a chef, we all have a lot of knives. You should...stop. Whatever this is.” 

“Having a conversation?” 

“I don’t need a consolation flirt or whatever you think you’re doing.” 

“It’s a pretty honest flirt,” Lucius said calmly.  

“I’m not...I don’t do that.” 

“Have fun?” 

“Flirt,” Izzy clung to the drink. “I don’t mess around. I don’t play.” 

“Okay, but I’m not playing.” Lucius turned, catching his gaze. “I’d go home with you if you asked.” 

“What about the boyfriend?” 

“What about him? We’re open. Pete knows I’m interested in you.” 

“We work together.” 

“We do,” Lucius agreed. “But Eddy is my boss, right?” 

“Technically.” Definitely. Izzy never messed with the front-facing staff just like Eddy never did shit about his people. 

“I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable,” Lucius even took a slight step back. “And if you tell me to fuck off, that’s fine. But I figured I’d let you know that I’m an interested and flexible fish.” 

Izzy backed off an insane desire to ask what kind of fish. That was an Eddy question, her voice loud in his ear right now. Mostly screaming ‘for the love god, man, jump on that’. But he spent a lot of time saying ‘no’ to the very real Eddy. He could certainly do the imaginary version for her. 

“Fine,” he took as sip of his drink. “You told me. Go back to the party and leave me alone.” 

For some reason, Lucius smiled like Izzy had offered him a compliment. 

“Leaving,” he said cheerily. 

It was only once he was actually gone that Izzy realized that he hadn’t actually rejected the interest. He should probably go fix that. Instead, he finished his drink, cleaned the glass, and walked back into the party. He didn’t join in the dancing, but he sat along the perimeter. Let Jim sit next to him and strike up a conversation about mushroom varieties that they got through with remarkable clarity considering they were clearly drunk as a skunk. 

After that night, two things started happening. 

The first was that Eddy actually took her day off. Used to be it was more of a theoretical thing where she’d wind up at the restaurant anyway, holed up in her office and working because she’d gotten bored at home. Now, he’d go in to ask her something and find the room empty. It was unsettling, but her general demeanor was unarguably better the rest of the week.  Like someone had re-lit the flame in her that he hadn’t noticed had gone out. 

The second was that Lucius started finding reasons to be in the kitchen. He wasn’t helping, wasn’t actually bartending for all that was his excuse (‘Ran out of cocktail onions!’ ‘Do you have any cinnamon sticks?’). He just seemed to buzz around for a few minutes, then go back out with whatever item he claimed to be fetching. When he used to say he didn’t need the staff dinner, he was suddenly hungry every night. 

Reasonably, Izzy should never be making staff dinner, a job for a more junior person, but reality was that he worked efficiently and his people were well-trained enough these days that it was easy to break for a few minutes and put together something for himself and the rest of them. 

“What happened to ‘I ate at home’?” Izzy demanded after the fourth day in a row that Lucius appeared to scoop up some bacon mac and cheese. 

“That was when I was under the impression that the staff meal was leftovers, not first dibs Izzy originals,” Lucius grabbed a fork and stabbed into his plate with vigor. “On catering jobs it was always like dried out and cold stuff.” 

“And you just suddenly realized that I wouldn’t feed anyone cold shit?” Izzy asked, affronted. 

“Eddy mentioned you were making those chicken wings the other night and it clicked,” Lucius made one of his obscene noises at the pasta. “I’m never eating a twinkie before work again.” 

“Those aren't actual food,” Izzy informed him. "They're barely edible."

“Yeah, but they are delicious. Not as good as this though. Fuck me running.” 

“He does burgers on Friday nights,” Jim informed him, edging Izzy out of the way to get their own dinner. “Onion jam.” 

“You can make onion jam.” Izzy contended. 

“It’s boring to make, good to eat,” Jim volleyed back.  

“I’m working this Friday,” Lucius said giddily. 

So now Izzy had to deal with Lucius invading his kitchen, and eating his food with lavish compliments and all his little sounds, almost every night. It was enough to drive a man to the brink.

“Are you complaining that he likes your food?” Eddy asked incredulously, when Izzy finally had to tell someone about it.  The dumpster out back absolutely reeked in the summer sun. 

“He makes sex noises at it!” 

“Yeah, some people do that out front. I never tell you about it because it’s fucking weird.” 

“Wait, really?” Izzy narrowed his eyes at them. 

“Yeah, man. Not a lot, but every few months or so. Didn’t figure Lucius for a moaner, but there you have it.” 

“I have a tall annoyance is what I have,” Izzy grumbled. 

“He’s just eating dinner.” 

“And talking to me. Asking questions. Being nosy.” 

“Like...he’s trying to get to know you?” Eddy’s lips twitched. “Be friendly? Oh no. Run, Iz, run.” 

“He told me he was interested in me,” Izzy confessed. 

“Oh, shit,” Eddy’s eyebrows flew up. “Is he bothering you or something?” 

“No, not like that. He just told me the night of the party.  Now he’s just chattering at me all the time.” 

“Uh huh. What are we complaining about?” Eddy rolled her eyes. “Hot cute guy propositions you. You say no. He pulls back, but tries to stay friendly because you work together?” 

“I maybe didn’t say no,” Izzy told the ground. Fuck, he should’ve grabbed the cigarettes before dragging Eddy out there. Would’ve been something to do with his hands. 

Eddy didn’t say anything and finally, Izzy looked up to find her staring at him. There was a wry twist to her mouth, something contemplative in her eyes. He waited her out until she finally said, 

“Plenty of reasons to say no, but....if you said yes, it’d be okay, you know that, right?” 

Because Eddy had Stede now. Or was close to having him. Or close to telling Izzy that she had him anyway. Eddy took days off now. Eddy whistled again while she did orders. Eddy wore lipstick sometimes in a way she hadn’t in years. 

“What if it isn’t? He’ll still work here.” 

“Then it’ll be awkward for a while. We’ve survived worse than awkward.” 

“It’s not appropriate.” 

“Since when has that stopped us? Hearing a lot of reasons for you to say no that have nothing to do with Lucius, so probably you want to say yes, huh?” 

“Shit.” 

“Time to put on your big boy pants,” Eddy slapped his shoulder. “Tell me how it goes!” 

“I will absolutely not.” 

The words don’t come to Izzy though. Partially because every time Lucius was in the kitchen, everyone else was there too. Partially because they were genuinely busy, news of their expanded dining area finally catching fire. 

One night, Lucius doesn’t come back for staff dinner. 

“Slammed out there!” Oluwande came in for his own serving. “You’d think we’re giving it away. I don’t think I can take more than five minutes, please tell me there’s a plate already.” 

Izzy handed it to him. If the tables were that busy, the bar would be packed in deep and Eddy was probably snowed under. Some of the waitstaff had passed around a cold and called out on top of that.  They all had to keep moving, but Izzy started to assemble something in his head.

Even as busy as he was, he could take up one burner on the stove, tossing in this and that and letting it cook low. It would keep as long as it needed to, would be better for sitting. After all, one of Lucius’ favorite ingredients was time. 

At ten, Lucius burst into the kitchen eyes wild. 

“Someone feed me,” he begged. “I almost gnawed off a customer’s arm.” 

“That’d be good for business,” Roach cackled. “At least put some garnish on it first.” 

“I’ve got a plate,” Izzy gestured him over and Lucius crossed to him quickly. “Just needs a minute.” 

“Might not have a minute,” Lucius told him mournfully. “I might die.” 

“You want pasta or not?” 

“Wait, the handmade stuff?” 

“What else do we have here?” 

He tossed the pasta into the waiting boiling water. No timer required, but the one that ran in his head. Drained it off, centered it on the plate, then carefully ladled the ragu over it. It was the perfect color, dark and rich. Perfect if you’d gone hungry for a few hours. 

“Here,” Izzy handed it over. “Go sit in the corner. We’re still winding down.” 

“Yeah, fine,” Lucius all, but grabbed it and got out of the way as the kitchen ticked onward into the last few plates. It was only when the very final one went out the door that Izzy turned back to the tiny table they kept crammed by the back door for breaks. Lucius was still eating, but he wasn’t looking at his food. He was looking at Izzy. 

With a deep breath and long exhalation. Izzy crossed over and sat in the other chair. 

“Oluwande said dinner was meatloaf tonight,” Lucius said quietly. 

“It was,” Izzy rubbed the back of his neck. 

“This isn’t meatloaf. This is...it’s fucking amazing. Why isn’t it on the menu?” 

“First time making it. Made ragu before, but not like this specifically,” he mumbled. 

“What makes it specific?” Lucius asked, twirling his fork through the noodles. 

“Heavy on the basil, used vodka instead of wine. Added some heat.” 

Lucius ate his next bite slowly, eyes never leaving Izzy’s face. He swallowed and finally said, “You made this for me. Specifically.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Because....” 

“Because I like to cook for someone. Specific. For one person, sometimes.” Izzy wished he’d thought of the words as carefully as the dish. 

“Why?” 

Izzy forced himself to meet Lucius’ eyes. They were beautiful, those warm pools of brown. There was no smile on his face, wry, playful or otherwise. Izzy sucked in a breath and summoned his courage, 

“So you’ll let me do it again for breakfast tomorrow morning.” 

“Chef,” Lucius reached across the table and took his hand. “I can’t think of anything I’d like more.” 

It had been a long time since Izzy served someone wearing only a knowing grin, but he thought he could easily get used to it again. Especially when the review came in the form of a long hot kiss, hand tangling in his hair and a return to the rumpled bed they’d barely managed to vacate. 

Eddy: you coming in today? 

Izzy: no, it’s my fucking day off, isn’t it?

Eddy: hell yeah it is. Details later. I

zzy: absolutely not.