#falls off my soap box and when you come to check on me i’m babbling about how i want fox mulder’s gender

[totopopopo]

stands up on my soap box. so i think that dana skully and fox mulder ARE both lesbians and that they have a weird codependent platonic situationship going on the likes of which no one on earth can comprehend. taps the mic a few times. hello hello can anyone hear me. i said fox mulder is a butch lesbian who is madly in love with his best friend in the world. who is also a lesbian.

[writingsofmyimagination]

Conjecture |7|

Yoongi x Reader

Idol Reader Au, Enemies to Lovers AU

Summary: Your management refused to renew your contract unless you collaborated, so you ending up working with Min Yoongi. A guy you’d disliked from before both of your debuts. There is more to their past than meets the eye.

Links to all other parts in my masterlist :)

Words:3293

Warnings: SMUT!! Domme ReaderxSub Yoongi. BDSM themes.Oral (F receiving). Slightly Soft Yoongi.

if you want to be tagged let me know :)

Reblog, Like, Comment pwwwweeasse :)

//For the second time that day you made Yoongi choke on his drink.

“You just look like you’ve received the filthiest message” Jin teased observing the pink flush Yoongi’s cheeks framing the grin plastered on his face.

“And who exactly would I receive those messages from?” he returned without hesitation with Jin going back to checking his own phone in defeat. Observing the proximity of the other boys around him he re-read the message taking more time to hang on to every last word before his concentration of his surroundings dropped completely off the radar and painted himself in your picture.

 His chest already falling and rising in rapid tides trying to recover from practice, his skin slick with sweat hoping the next time it was at your doing. Your delicate fingertips tracing his every outline, down his side, up his thigh…Your nails marking his skin as you came around him.

Stop! He scolded himself feeling the stirring of his cock.

His pulse skyrocketed.

“Hey breaks over” Jungkook nudged him.

“Yeah, one sec” Yoongi replied typing in the only response he had.

-Fuck-.

Your message completely knocked the sincere talk he’d been rehearsing nervously in his mind straight to the back burner.//.

 Your insides where a whirl of excitement they had you nauseous, the vocals were done and edited. You had the overwhelming excitement of a puppy; as an artist to get this rush without any clouding of doubt was rare and it was to be cherished in its entirety. You’d rushed round the apartment rendering it acceptable. The large open plan living area enabled you to observe your handiwork from all angles. Charlie’s toys were chucked into a box in the corner by the window next to his excessively large bed you’d thought would be a good idea even when the little guy lives curled into your legs or next to you given every opportunity; you spared a thought and wondered if Charlie would approve of Yoongi. You had the largest TV that would mount on the wall opposite the just as large 8 seater deep corner sofa that was worth every penny of the 3000 pound you’d spent on it. It still looked brand new apart from the corner seat which was blanketed with one of Charlie’s blankets; you didn’t have an issue with his fur anywhere but if it was at least localised it made cleaning slightly easier.

It was gone 10pm by the time the knock kick-started your heart at 50 miles an hour. It soon stopped dead when he walked in looking as equally comfy as he was gorgeous. The grey-blue hoody sat loosely on his frame, his phone weighing down the front pocket. A long lighter blue shirt peaked out over running the length of the hoody resting mid-thigh and longer at the back; his pale knees drawing your eye through the slits in the black skinnies accessorised with a red bandanna. His dark hair sat fluffy and slightly damp strands holding on to his forehead and shading his eyes making them all the more endearing. There was something off in his expression which sunk your heart to the bottom of your stomach.

You beckoned him with a graceful gesture, he slumped the large holdall which had been clinging at his side.

“The drive was okay?”

“Yeah, the hour flew by” he responded

“Because you had something good at the end of it I bet” you slowly encroached on his space.

“Mmhmm” he mumbled past the kiss he received, his lips weren’t quite as responsive as they had been.

“You okay?” the pang of concern hitting your chest harder than it needed to.

“Yeah, just can we talk a minute” the words that left him were hesitant, his hand rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish eyes unable to settle anywhere.

“Sure, go make yourself comfortable, want anything to drink?”

“No I’m good thanks” he made his way and perched on the sofa and watched you sit beside him, you tucked your legs under you and rested your palm at your temple, elbow resting on the top of the chair. He didn’t say anything, the silence stole the oxygen from the room, you decided you hated seeing him nervous or in any kind of emotional turmoil. You placed a supportive hand over his, he squeezed it and then stood and proceeded to pace in small shuttles.

“Okay so…” he began and then paused rehearsing the words in his mind for a moment. “I just have something to say before anything more happens between us, for my own sanity I need you to hear it and I don’t want to keep anything from you”

He paused again, you did nothing but wait patiently for him to continue with reassuring eyes.

“Like I really like you, and I have for years. When you stopped talking me and made it more than clear you hated me it destroyed me; there was nothing in my mind I could think of that I did and I had no idea how to fix it.”

You’d never thought until now how he’d felt after you’d so harshly cut him off, and now you did and it hurt, it hit you like a steam powered engine.

“I’d never stopped thinking about or wishing you all the success in the world that you truly deserve. When you finally agreed to collaborate I was ecstatic, I didn’t care that you’d be difficult or awkward I was just happy to get to see you up close again.” The words were rushing out almost in a babble.

“I can’t even begin to explain the relief when we realised it was a horrible misunderstanding, things became so much more natural between us again. I guess I just wanted to say how I felt before anything else happened because I can’t really do casual, I need real connections and the thought of sharing you with Wonho or anyone else destroys me. I guess I just wanted to know where you stood or if you feel…” You crashed your lips to his, eyes scrunched and weeping tears at their sides.

“I’m soo sorry I put you through all that, I had no idea. I was such an assuming jerk.” His eyes has glazed over as he willed no tears to fall. His hands were holding yours at your sides, you never wanted him to let them go, they felt so warm and perfect, interlocking fingers to their rightful place. “I’ve always liked you too” you admitted.

He eyes narrowed a sarcastic ‘really’ look.

“Okay, obviously before I hated you like a dick for years” you corrected.  The pair of you sat bleary eyed gazing at each other with such focus. “Remember that night of your accident?” you asked, he replied with a small nod.

“You fought me hard on not telling your parents or anyone remotely to do with BigHit. I saw a guy who was literally willing to hide a serious shoulder injury out of fear of not being able to carry on being a trainee. For one that was incredibly stupid, but two the passion I empathised with and I saw myself in that. I wouldn’t have stayed with you the whole night at the hospital if I wasn’t fond of you and even then you were more worried about what my mum would say. From then I saw nothing but this sweet and passionate guy what wouldn’t I like about that?”

“Your mum is terrifying!” Yoongi added, his cheeks were flushed an adorable pink colour.

“You say that, she has a right soft spot for you. She calmed right down after I told her what guy I was out all night with. I’ve always wondered how you managed to get on that woman’s good side.”

“Remember your dads face” Yoongi chuckled, his laugh was infectious and you became symptomatic immediately.

“Yeah, he didn’t believe me for one second until he saw us at the hospital”

“Well you’re his little girl. What dad wouldn’t be a bit defensive at their 18 year old staying with a boy all night?”

Yoongi was right of course.

“Yeah I know, anyway back to now, of course if we’re going to do ‘us’ properly of course I wouldn’t see Wonho in that way anymore, I told you we’re just friends. I’d be yours and yours only”

A content peacefulness overtook his aura, the sweet smile that ached to be kissed. You were powerless and kissed him softly saving him from having to talk anymore about his feelings.

“Shouldn’t you be super smiley right now?” you asked perplexed as his expression had grown thoughtful and pensive.

“Sorry, just thinking of all the time we’ve missed out on, we could’ve been together all this time”

“Well I can tell you we haven’t missed anything” his gaze puzzled.

“I had a no dating clause for 2 years when I first signed and at 18 it should've bothered me but after what happened there was no way I wanted anything to do with guys” He didn’t seem to surprised at this revelation.

“Come on, come and see what I’ve worked on today! I’m sooo happy with it. Just our duet to record now.” You beamed switching back to non-serious mode and dragged him into the studio.

“It’s incredible, I love it so glad you put the vocals in from the other day” you shot him a look feeling defensive of his tone.

“But?” you asked, you were in the chair dials and knobs at your fingertips, Yoongi was leaning over your right shoulder a headphone to his ear. You tried not to get too lost in the scent of soap and just him radiating of his body; it enveloped you in cotton wool and you wanted it to be home. He leaned closer to you turning a few of the dials and clicking away with the mouse.

“Here” he handed you the headphones back and you slipped them on and listened to the edited section. It was even more incredible than before.

“Okay, okay you’re a genius. Now it’s done”

“Now it’s done” he affirmed. You wasn’t sure if it was the way his eyes swamped over with a playful, needy sparkle or the way he bit his lip under a smile but you were done, he was yours. His mind must have had the same thought process driving his actions when he yanked you out of the chair and pulled you flush against his chest, his hands finding their way underneath your tank top to knead at your chest. Blood rushed southwards as the air around you became saturated with hot and heavy breaths.

You grappled at the hem of his shirt until he let you pull it over his head exposing the opalescent skin of his own chest which felt like heaven underneath the trail of your fingertips.

“Wait…wait” you breathed “not here” you directed as much as it pained you to break up the atmosphere.

You pushed him on to the bed and straddled his waist, pulling the back of his hair exposing his neck for you to mark lightly, his quiet moans conducted the grinding of your hips into his groin. You stripped off your shirt and unhooked your bra and disposed of them somewhere on the floor. Yoongi’s head turned side to side trying to take in the surroundings, you redirected his face forward to yours.

“Let’s play a game” you pulled the bandanna from his belt loop and blocked him from seeing your grin grow anymore wicked. You stroked under his chin his head obediently followed the direction to your lips.

“If you want to stop at any time for any reason say ‘Red’ okay?” he nodded. You ground in to him, hard and pulled the back of his hair eliciting a groan which spoke directly to your core.

“You will also always use words when spoken to or asked a question okay?”

His grin returned “Yes, I got it. Can I call you noona please?” his words escaped as a whine. You halted your movements of unhooking his jeans and just took a moment to adore the view beneath you with an un-received warm smile.

“Look at you being all good for me already” the jeans ended on the floor in a heap. “I like my queen, I’ve never let anyone else call me that but honestly the thought of you calling me noona … so yes you can” You left him pouting on the bed as you went over to you walk in wardrobe, doors doubling as body mirrors, immediately on the left beneath your jackets and coats you went into the draw and retrieved what you needed.

“So we’re going to play a traffic light game. I’m going to give a sensation on the palm of your hand and If you like it you’re going to tell me where to put it on you, your cock is not included. If you don’t like it just say also you must keep your hands to yourself, no touching” You watched his face become the epitome of excitable anticipation.

I can’t even, when he bites his lip

“Aren’t you going to restrain me?”

“One thing at a time, besides I want to be cautious of your shoulder and I want to see how much self-control you have without the assistance of restraints” You noticed the slight sulk and exhale of air  through pouted lips. You’d let the sulk go, this time.

You started with a simple kiss at his palm

“Neck”

Good choice you thought. As directed you sauntered your lips around his neck delivering heavy kisses, his chest hitched upwards as he swallowed hard. You loved how reactive he was.

“Sides” you danced the delicate feather in elegant brushes at his sides, flicking the end gently towards his hips bones.

His face creased slightly as the spikes of the pin-wheel dragged across his palm. He paused a beat, lost in thought.

“Ne..no thighs” he requested

Necks a weak point then you noted for further utilisation

Towards the apex of his thighs you increased the pressure of the wheel, you took the reaction of his fisting at the sheets as a positive one. You battled with the urge clawing at you to just take him as he was, riding him until you both stopped being able to form words.

“You look so beautiful for me, it’s hard to not just fuck you right now” you admitted. He fidgeted ever so slightly at your words. “Bet you’d like that though right?”

“Yes noona” he pleaded.

Fuck

You’d never been much for the noona thing but holy hell coming from him in the deep husky whine.

The bullet reverberated against his palm.

“Chest…please” he struggled over the last word, apparently your mouth encircling his cock took him by surprise.

“You asked so nicely”.

You rearrange yourself, at his waist again, your restraint was tested with his cock so close. It twitched when the buzzing and vibrations toyed with the skin at his chest, his hips bucked.

Your hands flooded to grip at his hands to stabilise yourself as his cock went straight to your spot. The volume of your cry amplified from surprise almost shrouding the groan tearing from Yoongi’s throat.

“Did I say you could fuck me?” you warned when you’d adjusted to him.

God he felt so good

“No, but…” he tried, while forcing himself not to move anymore even though every fibre of his being was telling him to do so.

“No buts!” you scolded testing your own will power to not move, you waited and waited. The frustration quickly built up to be unbearable, you took yourself off him, leaving you feeling empty.

“I think you can wait a bit longer for that now and I was so looking forward that, but you had to be impatient”

He squirmed beneath you “I’m sorry, please don’t make me wait I can’t…”

“You can and you will, there’s only one more round left ready?” he surrendered the fight and his body sighed sulkily.

“Yes I’m re…”

“My tongue” he managed as he gasped, his fingers guided by yours stroking at your arousal

Keeping your breathing calm, filtering the strong breaths past your lips.

“Well, I was hoping you’d say thighs but I mean that’s much better” His lips creasing at your approval. You slipped the blindfold off him and were met with famished eyes. You let him sit up

“You can use your hands now”

You were victim to a hard drawn out kiss which threatened your capacity to breathe, his hands desperate to make up for lost time glazed everywhere they could as you laid back. Your neck and chest were quick to break out in small petal blemishes; he had you twisting your fists at the sheets. The amount of times his lips ghosted past where you needed them the most creased your brows and the frustration translated into ignored whimpers and writhing for literally any contact.

“Now who doesn’t have self control” he teased looking up at you, eyes not yet content.

“Trust me if I didn’t self-control you’d be in a whole different situation right now” you replied strongly.

“Lucky for me then”

Your hand shot to grip his hair when his lips finally answered your need for contact. His arms hooked under your thighs, palms securing your hips. The way his tongue adeptly caused your undoing, dipping into your entrance in between firm circular swipes of his tongue. The aesthetic of his head between your thighs deepened every time his eyes snapped up to lock with yours, it was becoming harder and harder for your eyes to stay open, your eyes were forced closed as you neared your end.

“Come up here” you panted, he replied with a hesitant look before moving, you pulled his lips hard to yours and guided his hand desperately back to your clit.

“I just like to be close” you explained as his head nestled at your neck; the hot breath skimming your skin. His needy cock pressed at your thigh. His fingers navigating to your g-spot with blissful accuracy, palm applying pressure to your bud. Your hips took a moment to fall in sync with the movements of his finger, when they did, every muscle below your waist built tensed. Your nails locked onto his shoulder blades as you stilled under him, body convulsing whimpering his name. The heat completely engulfed you both, his lips also spilling out moans as hips jerked against you, the humidity leaving a pair of breathless bodies.

“Did you just cum without me doing anything?” you enquired with nothing but a triumphant smirk etched on your face.

“Hearing you like that just fucking did me over, sorry” he admitted rolling over slumping back into the mattress.

“Hmm well I don’t remember giving you permission but if you go and make me a drink I’ll forgive you”

He planted a kiss on your cheek

“You got it”

Your drink was gone in seconds, your body was crying out for some serious hydration.

“So what do you want?” you asked Yoongi your fingers tracing a delicate pattern across his chest.

“What do I want?”

“Yeah, you’re always entitled to some form of aftercare after you’ve subbed for me”

“Is that so?” you nodded.

“Like what?”

“Whatever you want, massage, bath, cuddles, watching tv, food”

“Can sleep be on that be on that list?”

“If that’s what you want” you laughed, internally kicking yourself for not suggesting that to the guy who happily wants to be a rock in his next life.

“Can I hold you?” he asked, smile drowsy and satisfied.

“You don’t even need to ask”.

[gwaciechang]

Love Run (4/10?)

“Welcome to my table, bring your hunger”

Yes, I know that line’s from The Horror and the Wild. Deal with it.

Once again, trigger warnings for Bobby Hayes’ life and everything involved in it. This chapter also involves a character with OCD whose rituals lead to an argument with the POV character, the discovery that an addict is keeping drugs in a recovering addict’s living space (a brief line that will be discussed later), and a heavy discussion of the POV character’s past drug abuse and recovery. Read at your own risk below the cut.

“Home sweet home,” you breathe a sigh of relief. Behind you, Bobby is tense and unhappy. That doesn’t change when he steps inside. You wince when you notice the mess. God, why didn’t you clean up before?

Well, missing the bus, making a friend, and killing a hitman might have had something to do with it. You shake yourself out of the memory before it can overwhelm you. You're literally too tired to have a panic attack, how sad is that?

You start scrubbing the dishes you left from breakfast that last morning into the sink. The handle falls off the mug, and you curse. That had been your favorite, too, because it’s the only one your ex didn’t give you when you two moved into this place. The only glue you have in the house is a children’s gluestick that couldn’t hold two pieces of paper together, assuming you could even find it. You resign yourself to a trip to the store. Bobby would probably insist on his own set of dishes anyway, and you do’'t blame him, you're the one who let this place become a sty, after all.

“D-do you mind if I help?” Bobby asks shyly.

“No, of course not. Just, um, just let me know where you put things later, and, uh, try to keep similar things in the same place. That’s dish soap in the handsoap dispenser next to the faucet, by the way. I have a gallon jug of dish soap under the sink next to the trashcan that I refill it with, it’s just easier.” When you realize you’re babbling, you shut your mouth with a click.

“That's smart,” Bobby’s smile is pained. “That’s normal person smart.”

“Normal?” you hold up your hands, which are still covered by his gloves.

Oddly enough, this actually makes him smile, and he gets to washing the dishes with his bare hands, even though it means having to touch four-day-old egg, or whatever that yellow crusty thing is. You go to your bedroom and try to organize your clothes, or at least get them off the floor. And that’s when you realize.

“Shit!”

“What is it?”

You poke your head out to say, “I don’t have a couch, and there’s only one bed.”

His face is grim and he fidgets when he says, “If you don’t mind, I could take a spare blanket and sleep on the floor.”

”I can’t let you sleep on the floor, Bobby, shit.” You take out your thickest blanket anyway, and go to the gaming room your ex set up to dump on the reclining chair. “I’ve fallen asleep here before,” you lie, you’d never used this room before. Bobby’s not paying attention, he’s too busy staring at your ex’s computer.

Right, he’s a fucking computer expert, and your ex, for all his uselessness, was very much into getting the latest technology for League of Warcraft or whatever it was he played.

“Yes, it is most likely whatever model of computer you’re thinking of. I don’t know exactly, since I’ve never used it,” you roll eyes and busy yourself with trying to figure out how to get the reclining chair to actually recline.

“I thought you said you’ve fallen asleep here before.”

Ah shit, you need to be more careful. “Um, yeah,” you hide your face carefully. “When my ex would fall asleep here, I’d usually come join him.” That actually isn’t a lie. “I hate sleeping by myself in that big bed.”

Bobby makes a sound, and for a second your heart beats fast with the hope he’s going to offer to sleep in the bed with you. But then he opens his mouth. “Have you considered getting a large stuffed animal?”

The idea is appealing. You hadn’t held a stuffed animal even close to your size since you were maybe five, but you’d be damned if you let Bobby knew that.

“I will throw this chair at you,” you threaten.

He honest-to-god smirks. “You can’t even lift it.”

You do your best and succeed at tipping the chair over right into the window. The headrest smashes into the blinds and starts to go through the glass as well, but Bobby catches it at the last second and very carefully tips it back.

“Well, fuck,” you say, examining the crack in the glass.

“I don’t usually sleep at night,” Bobby says suddenly. His fingers are tapping that nervous pattern against his elbows again. “We could take turns sleeping in the bed?”

“Actually, that might be a good idea,” you remember what Harry said. “One of us should be on alert, just in case somebody tries to break down my door, too.”

Bobby tenses at the reminder, and his eyes flick toward the door like somebody’s about to jump out right now. “I will,” he promises, rubbing the sores on his arms. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I can stay awake for a long time.”

“Well, so can I,” you think ruefully of being so high on meth you wouldn’t even realize a week passed by until the high ran out and you crashed, starving, hallucinating, for days.

“Don’t take anything, please. Don’t take anything that’ll keep you awake, and I promise I won’t take anything,” Bobby’s eyes are fierce.

“I won’t,” you promise. “I’d rather die. I’m not joking, I’d rather die.”

He gets closer to you, one inch at a time. “Well, don’t do that either,” he lays a reluctant hand on your shoulder.

“I think I’ve done a pretty good job of not doing that,” you try to force some levity into the situation. “Now come on, you barely have any clothes, and my groceries have probably gone bad.”

It turns out to be a mistake, because you forgot it was Friday and not Monday, and the shop is crowded.

“I don’t need anything,” Bobby says sullenly. He flinches every time someone brushes past him.

“Is it because the police took your money? That’s fine. I can afford it for a couple days,” you walk in front of him so you’ll deal with the crowd and he can avoid people in your wake. You also fail at trying not to think about work. You’re missing almost a week’s worth of income, and you don’t even know if Bobby has a job.

“No, I brought the box. I don’t like it here. It’s too loud.”

“Okay, let’s go home, and then you can make a list for me of things you need, and I’ll get it,” you start to turn him to the exit.

“No,” he takes your hand. “I’m not leaving you alone.” Does he realize he’s humming to his usual six beats?

That gives you an idea. “Here,” you take his gloves off and hold them under his face so he can see them.

“They’re yours,” he still doesn’t meet your eyes. “They keep you from scratching.”

“I’m not scratching, they worked. Now put them on.”

He does, and with his hands covered, he doesn’t stop tapping, but nor is he flinching when people pass by him. You’re not arrogant enough to believe it’s because you’re holding his hand now.

He closes all the blinds once you get home, then opens them to close them again.

You leave him to it, opening up the refrigerator door to toss the rotten carrots and a bag of things that could be kiwis or apples out. The cherries are a little soft, but they look edible, and so do the wrinkly oranges, so you put the green bananas in between them to help them ripen faster.

“I’ll do it,” Bobby yanks the groceries out of your hands and starts rearranging your food.

“Can you leave the fruit where it is? I want the bananas to ripen faster.”

“You could’ve just bought ripe bananas,” he says.

“Yes, but I don’t eat them that fast,” you try to keep your temper in check.

He takes the bag of cherries. “These are old.”

“They’re still good,” you argue, trying to keep him from throwing them out.

“They’re old,” he insists.

“You’re not the one who’s eating them!” your voice is getting higher now.

“I don’t want them in the refrigerator. They get old and they become breeding grounds for bacteria.”

“It’s my refrigerator!”

He throws the cherries at you before storming out of the room, and you just barely catch them. He’s tapping his fingers so hard against the wall that you’re afraid he'll break them.

“Bobby-”

“SHUT UP! STOP TALKING!” he screams. His eyes are clenched shut and he’s doubled over. You wonder if his injuries are still bothering him, and all your anger drains out.

You drop the cherries behind the bananas so they’re hidden from view. “I’ll leave the groceries to put away how you want,” you say as you walk off to your room. You close the door quietly to avoid disturbing his rituals, turn around, and find his box at the top of his dresser.

You know this is invasive, but you need to know. You of all people know how tentative the hold on sobriety is, and if someone has hard drugs that you know is triggering for you, you have to protect yourself. Still, knowing that doesn’t make you feel any less awful to start singing Bonnie Tyler again to hide the sounds of you opening the box.

Well, that’s a lot of cash and not a lot of heroin, maybe. You can’t smell it like this, but you know what it looks like.

You leave everything where it is and close the box in favor of something you can control: sorting the laundry. That’s how Bobby finds you, and he lets out a little sigh of relief when he sees his box hasn’t been disturbed.

“There was so much noise,” he says harshly, and then he winces.

“I understand,” you try to reassure him. “Your life just got turned upside down, you lost your apartment, you’re in a whole new living situation with another person, your life is in danger by people you don’t know, and shopping in big crowds can be stressful. You’re trying to get your control back.”

“So are you,” Bobby insists. “You’ve got a new roommate, that roommate’s reminding you of the worst time of your life, and you’ve still got nightmares of that man you killed for me. I should let you have your comfort food, it’s not my comfort food.”

“Which is why I put the cherries somewhere harder to see,” you say. “And if there’s anything else I can do, let me know, alright? We can compromise as long as we talk to each other.” You take tentative steps toward him. “Thank you for being honest with me. Thank you for not hiding or getting high to avoid having this conversation.”

“You shouldn’t be proud. I'm just doing something you’ve been doing for years.”

“Well, too bad, because it's my feelings and I get to feel whatever I want,” you say, standing up. “Now, I’m going to make myself some food. Coming?”

He does, like you hoped. Honestly, that boy needs some meat on his bones.

“What do you like?” you ask, getting your cooking utensils out and leaving the doors open so he can rearrange them the way he likes. He’s doing you a favor, really, you don’t have any organizational system for most of your kitchen.

“I want to know how to make your favorite.”

You can’t help yourself from clutching your chest. “Lu mian it is,” you say, taking out the yellow bean sprouts from the fridge so you could snap the roots off. “Could you take the shredded beef out of the freezer and put it in the microwave to thaw?”

He obeys immediately, the sweetheart.

“Great. Now get me the big metal bowl and a plate from the dishwasher. The bowl’s on the top shelf, the plates are on the bottom, and you can organize it however you like after that.”

“Okay, you see that big three-layered pot in the corner? Take the top two pots off, fill the bottom pot about halfway with water, and then put it on any of the stoves and turn the heat to medium.”

The water turns on, then off, and the pot clinks against the stovepot. Only once.

“What else?”

“Get a porcelain bowl from the dishwasher, top shelf. And then you see the sauces next to the stove? One of them says ‘light soy sauce.’ Pour about a tablespoon of it into a bowl. When you're done with that, there's garlic in the fridge in the same place you keep your butter in your refrigerator. Dice five or six. The cutting board is next to the sink. Then mix the garlic in with the sauce, and when the beef’s thawed, pour it into the bowl and mix it again.”

The microwave dings, and he pours the beef into the bowl. “Like this?” he asks.

“Exactly, perfect.”

Is that a blush?

“Alright, what’s next?” he asks when he finishes.

“Next? Next you listen to me thank you for following my directions perfectly.”

Bobby blushes. He’s so beautiful.

“Is the water boiling yet?” you ask as you wash the sprouts.

“Um, it’s getting close, it’s bubbling.”

“Okay, take two chunks of noodles out of the freezer and put them on the plate. 30 seconds in the microwave should thaw them out enough for you to separate them.” The microwave dings right as you pour the water out of the sprouts. You leave the sprouts next to the sink, separate the top two pots, and walk up to Bobby as he takes out the noodles. “Okay, do exactly as I do,” you say, taking one chunk of noodle from him to unravel into one of the pots. He, of course, follows your instructions perfectly and his pot is much neater than yours, the show-off.

“The water’s boiling," he says, looking at the stove.

“Perfect,” you put your pot over his and put them over the pot already on the stove. Then you grab a pot and pour about two tablespoons of vegetable oil into it, and crank it up to high. “Okay, pour the beef and garlic in here,” you point.

He’s already brushed the mixture into the pot by the time you realize you didn’t give him the spatula, so rinse it out quickly before stirring the mixture with it. Steam hisses, and you roll up your sleeves.

That was a mistake.

You cover the scars as soon as you can, but Bobby is already horrified.

“It’s not that bad,” you focus on making sure the garlic doesn’t stick to the pot. “They were uglier before they healed,” you try to joke.

Bobby rolls up his sleeves, too, so you can see his bruised injection sites. He makes eye contact the whole time, daring you to call yourself ugly again. You nod in acquiescence, and he takes over stirring for you. “How long do I do this for?” he asks.

“Until the meat turns brown,” you say, grabbing the bowl of sprouts. “Move over, I'm going pour this in.”

“Do I mix it in?” he asks. You’re so close to him that you can feel his warmth.

“Yes,” you squeak with a dry mouth. You don’t want to move. “A little more than that,” you say, peering at the pot. “A little more,” and technically this is good enough, but you don’t want to move. “A little more.”

The dry hiss of the noddle pot tells you that it needs more water, snapping you out of your stupor.

“Take the top two pots off,” you say, filling the metal bowl with water to pour into the bottom pot. Then you take the top pot off and put it on the bottom pot. “Now put yours on top of mine.” Man, you would love to say that in a different context.

When the noodles are done, you mix them into the meat and sprouts, and then you both sit down to enjoy your meal. Neither of you have rolled down your sleeves.

“I can’t remember when the noise really started getting to me,” Bobby says suddenly. “I remember the first time I lost my tooth, I kept counting my teeth. I don’t think anybody knew what I was doing yet. And then I had to do more and more. At some point, whenever I went out, I had to count all the trees, and if they weren’t in six, I couldn’t go to where I need unless I counted enough trees to fit six. So I stopped going out, things were just too scary. I broke my fingers one day, to try to keep myself from counting, and the doctor gave me Valium. It made me feel like I was floating, and when it wore off, I had to feel it again. When I’m on heroin, the world isn’t so scary anymore. But the noise always gets through again.”

You reach halfway across the table and lay your open hand down. “When I was thirteen, one of my friends had expired pills they let me take, because I was tired all the time and I didn’t know why. And I still don’t know. I just had to keep taking more and more of it to just stay awake, and then I started mixing other amphetamines. And then when I was fifteen, one of the people I used to buy from said he had something better than expired pills. He gave me crystal meth. He told me he’d inherited this mansion from his uncle, and it was full of the stuff. It was probably just an abandoned building, but it was always full of people using everything he sold.”

Bobby’s eyes are wet, but they’re looking right at yours, and he takes your hand. “How did you stop?”

You chuckle. “Honestly, my sister. My entire family stopped talking to me after they found out I was a tweaker. And one day, when I was too tired to care how much I took, I ended up having a heart attack. I still don’t know how she found me, but she did, and she called an ambulance and kept me alive until it got there. When I woke up, she was next to my hospital bed. She didn’t speak to me, but she locked me in her apartment while fluids poured out of me from both ends, and you have to really love somebody to do that while they’re screaming about how much they hate you.”

Bobby swallows. “Does your family talk to you now?”

“Yeah, eventually. It took a while to get my dad to come around. But having Chloe around to vouch for me really helped,” your eyes are blurring. You rub the tears away roughly, but they’re soon replaced by many more.

Bobby lifts his fingers and wipes them away.

“Thanks,” you say into your noodles.

“I’m sorry you were alone,” he says with way too much feeling.

“Well, once you get past the ‘Holy shit I almost died’ thing, you stop being so scared of things that aren't likely to kill you right this second,” you try to smile. It feels wrong on your face.

Your ex’s chair squeaks when Bobby stands up. You’re not sure what he's doing as he walks around the table, but his face is determined, so you don't say anything as he opens his arms and covers you in a hug.