#i was convinced I had Soy Sauce at home

[horsechestnut]

If you ever want to have the grossest fried rice of your life a good place to start is by not realizing there’s a difference between Sesame Oil and Sesame Seed Oil. I then recommend following that up by mixing up the Soy Sauce and Worcester Sauce bottles... 

[h4nj1sunggg]

𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒 ( l. minho x h. jisung ) - 03.

warnings: y/n is pretty turned on by what she listened, she mentioned it a lot, reader has tattoos. words: 1.9k

The faint hum of the hallway lights buzzed in your ears as you nervously adjusted the strap of your bag. y/bsf/n trailed behind you, carrying a dish she insisted on making because, as she put it, “We can’t show up empty-handed and look like hooligans.” You still weren’t entirely sure how the two of you ended up here—invited for dinner by Han Jisung and Lee Minho, of all people.

It had been a day since your awkward first encounter, and just as you’d begun convincing yourself that you wouldn’t see them again for a while, Jisung had texted you, asking for dinner. And right after that you heard from your small room sounds of making out session and probably something more, your mind still try to process that since. You were fairly certain that Jisung didn’t mean to sound as flustered as he looked. And Minho, who had poked his head out of their doorway to silently stare, didn’t help matters.

And now here you were, standing outside their door with your nerves threatening to turn you into a puddle.

“You good?” y/bsf/n whispered, elbowing you playfully as she balanced the glass casserole dish.

“Totally fine,” you muttered, though your voice betrayed you. “I mean, it’s just dinner. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Don’t say that,” she teased. “Now the universe is listening.”

You shot her a glare, but before you could retort, the door swung open.

Jisung stood there with a grin that was far too bright for the dimly lit hallway. His hair was slightly damp, as if he’d just showered, and he wore an oversized sweatshirt that looked far too cozy for its own good.

“Hey! You guys made it,” he said, stepping aside to let you both in.

Minho appeared from the kitchen a moment later, wiping his hands on a dish towel. He wore a plain white T-shirt and black sweatpants, and you could tell he’d been cooking from the faint hint of soy sauce in the air. Oh those black sweatpants, showing perfectly his thick thighs- maybe that's what jisung was riding yesterday and whining about. Oh shut up, mind of yours.

“Welcome,” Minho said, his voice smooth but casual. His eyes lingered on the dish in y/bsf/n’s hands. “You brought something?”

“Of course!” y/bsf/n replied with a proud grin. “just a tiramisù. Family recipe. Where do you want it?”

Jisung grabbed the dish eagerly, practically bouncing on his feet. “Food! You already win points for this.” He gestured toward the small dining table near the kitchen. “Come on in. Make yourselves at home.”

You followed y/bsf/n into the apartment, glancing around as you stepped inside. Their space was cozy, much like your own, but far more lived-in. A worn couch sat against the wall, with blankets and pillows scattered across it. The coffee table was littered with notebooks, stray pens, and a controller for the gaming console that blinked faintly from under the TV stand. A casual playlist settled up on the Tv. The kitchen, however, was surprisingly neat—something you suspected was Minho’s doing.

The walls had small personal touches—a calendar hung next to the fridge, scribbled with dates and notes in messy handwriting—and still in Korean, which is a language that you still are managing to learn. A corkboard above the counter held Polaroid pictures of their bandmates, and a small sticky note read “Don’t let Jisung near the stove—Minho.”

“Do you guys live here alone?” y/bsf/n asked, her voice light and conversational.

Yes, they do.

“Yep,” Jisung replied, already setting the dish down with a satisfied hum. “We got this place a while ago. Small, but it works. You knew, every fan knows about the Minsung apartment—you got crazy all over it when it came out the news years ago.

“Small apartments seem to be the theme around here,” you joked softly, earning a laugh from Jisung and a small, approving smile from Minho.

“True,” Minho said, picking up a pot and placing it on the table. “But it’s all about how you use the space.”

“Wow, look at you. Wisdom from Chef Lee,” Jisung teased, pulling out a chair for Y/Bsf/N. “Sit. Seriously. You’re guests. You get VIP treatment tonight.” Your heart skips a beat when your eyes meets his, a small shiver runs down your spine.

You exchanged a glance with y/bsf/n, who stifled a grin, and the two of you took your seats at the table. It was small—only meant for four people—but the atmosphere was warm and inviting.

Jisung and Minho started placing dishes on the table with casual ease, like they’d done this a hundred times before. There was a steaming pot of kimchi stew, plates of fried rice, sautéed vegetables, and grilled meat. It smelled incredible, and your stomach growled quietly in approval.

“You guys really went all out,” y/bsf/n said, clearly impressed. “I didn’t expect such a feast.”

“It’s nothing fancy,” Minho replied, brushing off the compliment with a wave of his hand. “We just threw some things together.” Is not like Minho and his boyfriend stood there in front of the meat section fighting over which one could be better for that dinner.

“Don’t listen to him,” Jisung chimed in, sliding into the seat next to Minho. “He’s being humble. Minho’s a cooking genius. I just help by, you know… existing.”

“You burned rice last week,” Minho deadpanned, earning a cackle from your best friend, a giggle left your throat as you try to cover it with a cough.

“IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!” Jisung wailed, throwing his arms up dramatically. “Hyung, don’t expose me in front of our guests.” Minho's eyes soften at the view of his boyfriend all worked up by a tease, he grins.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “So Minho does all the cooking?”

“Pretty much,” Minho replied with a shrug. “It’s easier that way. He eats, I cook.”

“Sounds like a fair trade,” your friend teased.

Your chopsticks starts to peek out the meat that got grilled, a smile on your face seeing the playful manner between your friend and the two guys, and for some point you even forgot about the fact that they are really your two biases. You move your hair behind your ear and the tattoo on your neck exposes a little, Jisung's eyes glance at it silently, he swallows.

He tries to get is focus somewhere else, everywhere expect your now exposed next with a dragon tattoo that he swear it could be out from spirited away, the head of the dragon goes behind your ear and it trace down until your shoulder. His pants tighten. Jisung leaned forward with a dramatic sigh, chopsticks clutched in his hand. “Okay, okay. I have to ask: who’s the better cook, you or your best friend here?”

Your friend gasped in mock offense. “You have to ask? Obviously me.” You snorted. “She boils water and thinks it’s gourmet.”

“hey!” she shrieked, slapping the table lightly as everyone burst out laughing. “I made tiramisù tonight! Show some respect!”

“I’m just saying… it’s one dish,” you teased.

“you’re cruel,” Jisung said between giggles, pressing a hand to his chest like the dramatics were contagious. “We’ll just pretend you’re both chefs. Peace restored.” The way that he said your name makes your stomach drops a little, your eyes moves on his for a brief moment.

Minho cleared his throat, clearly trying to suppress a smile. “Don’t encourage her delusion, Jisung.”

As the laughter died down and you reached for your water glass, you caught Jisung’s eyes lingering on you again. This time, his playful expression faltered slightly. You raised a brow in silent question, but he quickly looked away—focusing on the stew in front of him as if his life depended on it.

You frowned, a little puzzled, but let it go.

The meal slowed as everyone began picking at the remnants on their plates. Minho leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he surveyed the empty dishes with satisfaction. “I’m impressed,” he said. “You guys kept up. Usually, Jisung eats enough for three people.”

“I DO NOT!” Jisung protested, mouth still half-full of rice. “Hyung, don’t expose me—again!”

Your friend laughed, pushing her plate away. “I can see it. Jisung’s got that ‘always hungry’ energy.”

You bit back a smile as you grabbed your water glass again, catching a glimpse of your reflection in its polished surface. As you shifted slightly in your seat, the neckline of your shirt moved just enough to reveal a faint glimpse of the tattoo ink on the side of your neck, again. It happened so fast that you didn’t even notice—but Jisung did, he's counting how many times that shirt moves, showing your tattoo.

His chopsticks froze mid-air.

At first, you were still talking with your best friend unaware that his gaze was now glued to the delicate design inked into your skin. It wasn’t bold or flashy, but it was beautiful—a small, elegant piece that seemed both subtle and personal.

Jisung swallowed hard. Heat crept up the back of his neck, spreading to his ears like wildfire. Minho caught on almost immediately.

“What’s wrong with you?” Minho asked, raising a brow as he looked between Jisung and your very oblivious form. “You good?”

Jisung blinked, startled, and quickly shoveled food into his mouth as if to distract himself. “I—I’m fine! Just... just hungry.” His voice was small, almost a whisper for only his boyfriend to notice.

Minho gave him a suspicious look but said nothing.

By now, Jisung had already stolen a few more glances at you, hoping you wouldn’t notice. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen tattoos before, he has and a lots of them all over his body—but something about you having one caught him completely off-guard.

It was unexpected. Cool.

And it made his heart race for no good reason.

Minho eventually announced that he was starting on the dishes, leaving you, your best friend and Jisung lingering at the table. Jisung still hadn’t fully recovered, though he tried desperately to act normal.

“So…” he blurted, leaning on his elbows as he looked at you. “I, uh—what made you get a tattoo?”

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “What?”

Your friend perked up immediately. “Ohhh, he noticed. I told you it was pretty.”

Your hand instinctively moved to your neck, fingertips brushing the ink. “You saw that?”

“Uh… yeah,” Jisung admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, I wasn’t staring or anything—”

“You definitely were,” Minho’s voice called out dryly from the kitchen, though he didn’t even turn around.

Jisung shot him a look. “Baby, shut up.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, your cheeks warming as you shrugged. “It’s okay. Honestly, I forget I have it half the time.”

Jisung tilted his head slightly, his flustered energy replaced with genuine curiosity. “What does it mean? Or is it just for the vibe?”

“It’s… personal,” you replied softly, though your tone wasn’t guarded. “A reminder of something important.”

He nodded slowly, taking your words to heart. There was something about the way he looked at you—gentle, unassuming—that made you feel oddly at ease.

“I get that,” he said quietly. “It suits you.”

You blinked, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. Your friend grinned knowingly, elbowing you under the table, but you ignored her.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, unable to stop the small smile tugging at your lips.

For the rest of the night, Jisung seemed just a little quieter than usual—still full of jokes and laughter, but his gaze lingered just a moment longer whenever you spoke. And whenever you absentmindedly touched your neck, you swore you caught him blushing all over again.

ᯓᡣ𐭩　  ( masterlist )  . ᯓᡣ𐭩　  ( masterlist roommates )  .

taglist ! @estella-novella @fackeraccount @ihrtlix @hanji-coffee

[gallusrostromegalus]

So, I am begging you here, pls tell me that Ikkaku and Yumichika are still bffs on this AU. I need the violent miss- and yet perfectly matched bastards to still be forever ride-and-die with each other.

Also, all the dropped tidbits relating to Yumichika are gold and I am hoarding them like a squirrel hoards his nuts for winter.

They are actually, for real, legally married.

Ikkaku was 500% ready to fight the entire Gotei-13 when he took the 628-year old marriage certificate he and Yumichika had gotten in 72 North to the Seireitei Records Office to be honored.

Instead, the sole hiccup in the process was the young lady behind the counter asking him to spell Yumichika's surname for her as this document seems to have been... stained, at some point.

"-That's not... Blood, is it?" She asks, concerned.

"Uh. It's actually. Um. Soy Sauce." Ikkaku mumbles.

It would have been less embarrassing if it had been blood.

Turns out, Gay marriage- and indeed, divorce, or changing your name, or gender, or becoming the third, fourth or seventeenth parent/legal guardian to a kid is a nonissue in soul society, because someone complained *once* and Yamamoto declared that, one, he didn't care, and two, the rest of the military commanders were hired off death row, and *this* is what you're complaining about? Fuck off.

But here are some Yumichika Fun Facts:

Everyone in the 11th division has really, really good personal hygiene and well-cared for hands, feet and nails because Yumichika's mother was a doctor at a rural hospital and put the fear of dysentery, cholera, pneumonia, tetanus, sepsis, trench rot and necrosis into him even more than fear of the gods, and he very much continued this sanitary evangelism.

Yumichika's other mother was a drag queen at the brothel that adjoined the hospital and taught him all about hair, makeup, poisons, manners, alley fights, how to play the shamisen, how to make a knife out of anything, flower arrangement and how to curse the hell out of a motherfucker of it comes to that.

Kubo was wrong Yumichika looks out for all his sisters not just his cis-ters.

Kenpachi was friends with Yumichika before either of the ever knew Ikkaku. He met Yumichika shortly after adopting Yachiru when Yumichika saved him from drowning in the river that ran through his home village.

Kenpachi asked Yumichika what he could do in gratitude for saving his life, and Yumichika, seeing his sword, asked if Kenpachi could "give him a real fight, for once"

They had a jolly little scrap that left Yumichika in the hospital for three months, an almost insatiable lust for battle, and a permanent bald scar on the edge of his eyebrow, which is where he glues the decorative feathers he wears.

It also got him (lovingly) told to move out and make his way in the world.

Yumichika met Ikkaku some years after that, when the theater/brothel he was working at hired Ikkaku on as an Emcee and a comedy act in his own right.

Ikkaku loves making people laugh and is damn good at it.

Yumichika was already considering making a move on him when a heckler pulled a sword on Yumichika during his act and Ikkaku beat the shit out of him with a chair without a second thought, and Yumichika decided he was going to seduce and marry this bald little maniac then and there.

It still took the better part of six months, because Ikkaku was convinced that Yumichika was "Way out of his league" and "He's just being friendly to a coworker!".

Things finally became clear when, having reached a boiling point of sexual frustration, Yumichika challenged Ikkaku to a duel, beat the hell out of Ikkaku with Kujaku, and screamed his feelings directly into Ikkaku's face.

"Oh." Said Ikkaku. "Why didn't you say something?"

"I'VE BEEN SAYING THINGS AND SHOWING YOU THINGS AND SITTING IN YOUR LAP AND KISSING YOU FOR SIX MONTHS YOU FUCKING MORON."

"...I may be stupid."

"At least you're also cute. C'mere you sexy cueball."

-and they have been blissfully if dramatically wedded since.

It was many years after that that they had moved on to a different brothel as a duo floor show act, when they got to talking to some of the other working girls about their travels and Yumichika tells the story of how he got his eyebrow scar saving a real freak of a guy from drowning after he got stabbed by a river stingray, but then he challenged him to a fight because- well, he was young and cocky and a small fish, but in a tiny pond- and promptly got his ass beat.

"That's wild!" Says Ikkaku. "I also challenged a random freak with a stingray scar on his leg to a fight because I was bored and- all due respect to you and Kujaku, my beloved - but he gave me a thrashing the likes of which I'd never had before or since. He had his daughter with him was the weird part- he was a real big bastard, face like a cliff, but his girl was this adorable little pink thing."

Yumichika sits up, frowning. "-seven feet tall in socks, big vertical scar on the right side of his face?" He asked, gesturing to his own.

Ikkaku put his drink down and pointed at Yumichika "-and bells in his hair! You fought Zaraki Kenpachi too??"

"Yes! What the hell?" Yumichika laughed. "I wonder where he is now..."

"Oh Gods, he had the WORST sense of direction! He's probably managed to walk in and back out of the Soul King's palace on accident!" Ikkaku giggled

"Well, if he's the same seven foot tall sword bastard with the scarred face and pink little girl on his shoulder as the seven foot tall sword bastard with the scarred face and the pink little girl on his shoulder standing out in the street looking lost as hell, you can go ask him." Said their coworker Sachiko, pointing to the giant standing not a dozen feet away.

"Look Ken-chan! It's YuYu and Baldy!" Yachiru giggled.

"Yachiru!" Yumichika gasped, delighted.

"I TOLD YOU NOT TO CALL ME THAT!" bellowed Ikkaku.

"YOU AGAIN!" Zaraki bellowed, ecstatic. " BEEN A FEW YEARS, LET'S SEE HOW MUCH YOU LEARNED!!"

Ten minutes of incredible violence, twelve minutes of evading the police and twenty-one minutes of getting lost on the way back to the brothel, a bloodied but still standing Yumichika was explaining to the Madame that the giant bastard carrying the unconscious half of her prized floor show duo behind him was, in fact, an old friend of theirs whom she should absolutely hire as a bouncer, you can see how effective he is!

Madame Tsubaki, who recognizes incredible spiritual power and fighting potential when she sees it, and who is still very petty about the divorce from her husband the Shinigami Captain-General, allows herself to be persuaded.

[mirthlxss]

Hello my dear, I was so sad when this blog went a little AWOL due to the gross anons, miss mam you can't leave me hanging like that... seeing you slowly coming back made me SOY excited, I hope you find the time/strength to get back to Off To the Races... In the mean time, could I please request some general Price content? I love how you depict him, do you have any general headcanons for the big guy > :£

Sincerely, your Tumblr stalker... Haha, just joking!

You’re lucky I have a few of these knocking about, here are some random Captain Price headcanons. I’mma be zesty in saying they align with the John we know in Off to the Races. 

Captain Price understands and appreciates the humble goodness of simplistic food. The man will stand in the safe house kitchen and harp on about how a well-timed egg with lashings of pepper and salt is practically gourmet when done to perfection. As much as this is true, he is also the sauce king. How can the two exist simultaneously? When it's his own cooking: hearty, jejune in a very English stew type of way. But at base? God, he hates the canteen food, only the right balance between various sauces can smother the tin taste of inadequately drained brine tuna. Has an extensive collection of bbq and hot sauces. Won’t share them. 

Thought that if he hadn’t gone into the army that he would’ve become a carpenter of some degree, appreciates the intricacies of woodwork and likes to let his fingers draw over the ridges of a well-carved decor. Would love to take a few classes in his spare time though he’s never committed to it, always finding one excuse or another. That doesn’t stop him from buying certain wooden trinkets, favouring darker wood, he has an ornate hand-carved box to keep his cigars. Often gazes thoughtfully upon it as he smokes in the office. 

His father had cancer when he was quite young, he felt extremely guilty leaving for the army at sixteen but he knew he’d be more use put to work than he’d be causing trouble around the town. John had a lot of pent-up emotion and no positive place to put it, aggravated at life and the lot he was given. It stressed his parents to no end, mostly his mother. Between his sisters, father and himself, she was strung out and tearing at the seams. Sometimes he questions whether he did it for himself or his family, he often concludes it was for both. He was given leave in his early twenties to go say his goodbyes at the hospice, doesn’t think he’s ever really recovered from that moment. It seems like every death he’s experienced after that felt innately personal, he carries each one and hasn’t figured out how to put any of them down to rest fully in his mind. 

Loves his mother dearly, more than his sister though he’d never admit that. Sends her postcards when he can, doesn’t talk much to his siblings but remembers to buy them somewhat last-minute gifts at Christmas, mostly pre-wrapped toiletry sets he’s grabbed a the pharmacy whilst he’s stopped along the motorway home. Doesn’t go to family gatherings as much as he should, with each bit of war that stains his consciousness he feels more and more detached from his former self, like a ghost in the room with his family as he watches them with their children and wrinkles slowly forming from smiling over the years. 

Soap has tried, and failed miserably, to set John up with blind dates. He outright refuses, or somehow, already knows who he’d be going with and then refuses. Somehow always finds some overthought, finicky excuse, convinced he is destined to be a little lonely. He’s had partners before and has dated around but as the years pass by he’s given less and less thought to actually pursuing anyone, more time given to ruminating on the life he could’ve had. One somewhat like his siblings, smile lines, Christmas and cheeky children. 

Is hilarious at team 141’s karaoke nights when they all get too drunk and stumble back to the shared common room. Gaz bought a second-hand karaoke machine from a charity shop and they’ve had endless fun with it. Price likes Nickleback, won’t hear anything else about it. Is surprisingly good at singing How you remind me, has the rasp for it. Also surprised the boys with his rendition of Poker Face, particularly in response to catching Soap training to it. Won’t admit that he sang it, claims they were all drunk and delirious, which is completely true but that doesn’t explain the video.  

Thank you for the support, I am slowly coming round to another chapter, just gathering the mental agility needed to volt over the potential of new anons ;)

[littleragondin]

Love in the Big City - A bite of rockfish, taste the universe

I am still enjoying this book a lot. I have some notes/comments about it I guess - not very organized but they have to go somewhere so here goes!

.｡.:*☆*:.｡.

It was there already in the first part, but somehow, I keep getting hit in the face by the way Young seems to dislike himself. There is little sympathy or compassion for his younger self when he tells us about this part of his life, in the way he keeps berating himself for making the “mistake” of falling for his hyung. in how he tells us “I had a mirror at home, I knew all too well that I wasn’t worth a whole cup of coffee”.

See, I don’t know much about going out and partying, about sex, or being in love, but I know about being lonely and I know about hating yourself, and that part of Young’s life has been the most relatable part for me so far (it's the point where the first person narration is getting to me the most tbh). I’m not the first one to say it, but when you don’t like yourself it’s so hard to accept that anyone could see anything worth loving in you. Young’s first instinct when his hyung gives him a compliment is to wonder about all the way this could, actually, be an insult or a lie (“What the hell is he saying, this guy, that I’m faggy? That I sound gay? Or is he just saying stuff for the hell of it? Am I being paranoid?”). Often, you tend to project yourself onto them, convinced that if you think about yourself like that, so do other people of course, even if they don’t. Especially if they don’t, it sometimes feels like, as if it was easier to accept that you’re being played than that you’re being loved. It’s unfair to everyone. There is an edge of awareness in Young’s voice, too, regarding the way he considers himself, but this is only the first of many steps toward, well. Not hating yourself so bad anymore, and I hope by the end of the book he gets to take a few more.

It’s also true of his hyung, who is so weighed down by his internalized homophobia and the general paranoia that comes from his past (@doyou000me has an excellent summary of the historical context of the story, which gives a better understanding of the character) that he, too, seems unable to properly invest himself in the relationship.

On top of that, they are always out of step with each other, it seems. Where Young keeps to himself and listen, Hyung opens himself and talks and talks and talks. Young is reluctant to share but Hyung never seems that intent to learn more about him either. Hyung will say romantic things to Young (“It’s like we’re the last two persons on Earth.”) that Young will dismiss (“Oh hyung, enough with that.”), but will barely accept to walk by Young’s side when Young wants to hold his hand, and run away when Young wants to introduce him to his mother. In this like in their respective views of the world, they never manage to match.

And yet, somehow, they still find something in each other, something that makes them cling to each other. Something that is enough to starve off some of the loneliness.

“[…] he was simply so lonely it was either talk to me or talk to the walls. I knew the temperature and the smell of such loneliness all too well. Because back then I was exactly the same kind of person.”

.｡.:*☆*:.｡.

There were a few quotes I really liked in this part that I just want to highlight here.

"I tasted something on his lips that I had never tasted before. The fishy, chewy taste of rockfish. Maybe the taste of the universe." because I am always, at heart, a huge romantic

"It gave me joy that food I had made with my own hands would become part of his body." I am not immune to the love that goes into cooking for someone.

"I think that's why I was so terrible to you. I was scared. I wanted to keep you in my tiny soy-sauce dish of a world forever."

And then what ended up being probably my favorite, closing the part and the last mirroring of Young's relationship to his mother and to his hyung.

"I used to feel that I'd been given the whole world when I held you."

"I used to feel like I'd been given the whole world when I held him. Like I was holding the whole universe."

I hope the end of this part is a first step for the narrator toward grieving those painful relationships properly and, maybe, healing from it. Even if I suspect it would only be the start of a long journey.

[pickledpascal]

Hold Me Like Water

Chapter Six: Not Quite An Ocean Away

Warnings: none! pure fluff !

Word Count: 2.2k

Hold Me Like Water Masterlist

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

July 2016, 

Maya had a bunch of free time seeing as she had just finished filming for another film and recorded a few voice lines for another project. She appreciated the time but she was bored. There were only so many times she could hear her sister play Hozier’s album front to back. Sakari was hoping that Maya had an “in” to see him somehow. She did not. 

Hugh was hard at work for his last film as Logan. He said she was welcome to visit him on set if she wanted. At first, Maya declined. She loved his work and didn’t want to be spoiled if she went to see him. She was his friend but she was also a huge fan of all the X-Men films. 

But she missed Hugh. It had been months since she had seen him last. He called her every so often but it wasn’t the same as his comforting presence in front of her. So she decided she’d visit for a few hours. 

Maya was in the middle of cutting up some frozen fish. She had already packed some soy sauce and some rice because she had a feeling Hugh would need the carbs. 

She thought it would be nice to introduce him to the food she would eat at home. She didn’t eat it all the time seeing as they didn’t always have the supplies and they didn’t want to kill off an entire population. Her people only hunted what they needed. 

But Hugh had been wanting to learn more about her culture so she thought something more hands-on would be a great way to do it. It was also within the restrictions of his diet, it was one of the ways she convinced him to try it. Though, he didn’t need much convincing in the first place.

Sakari slipped into the kitchen, stealing a piece of the fish for herself which promptly got her slapped by Maya. “What? Aren’t the elders supposed to cut for the young?” She teased.

Maya slapped her again. “This is for Hugh.” She glared at her sister. 

“Ah, then he should be cutting for us.” Sakari went to try and grab another piece only for Maya to slam the knife into the cutting board to block her fingers. “Hey! Don’t break that ulu, Dad made it.”

“Stop eating something that’s clearly not for you then.” Maya hissed, continuing to cube the fish.

Sakari rolled her eyes, “Fine. Whatever.” She turned to grab a Pepsi from the fridge. She opened it with a soft hiss. The sound always reminded Maya of a space station door opening. But maybe that’s just because it was from the movies. “Does he know this is what you’re bringing and not some PB and J or something?”

Maya put the fish in a small tupperware and set it in a chilled, insulated bag. “He knows,” She nodded, “He said he was excited to try it.” She zipped it up.

“Damn,” Sakari hummed, taking a sip from her can of soda. “Wish I found a white man like that.”

“Don’t lie, you’d rather steal their money than be in an actual relationship with one.” Maya laughed softly, sliding a light jacket over her shoulders. It might have been July but she couldn’t go anywhere without some sort of covering. She was used to wearing something over her arms after living in Nunavut for so long.

Sakari sucked her teeth, a breathy laugh escaped her. “You’re right about that.” Her tone got softer as she looked at Maya. “But Hugh is a rare find.” It was one of the only times she was sincere when talking about him. 

She saw her sister grow more confident over the years. Maya had known Hugh for only three years but Sakari could see the difference and she loathed to admit a lot of it was due to him. Whenever Maya had a problem or was nervous about something, she would call him and they would work it out together. She would explain what was bothering her and he would coax her to answer why it bothered her so they could come up with a solution. It could be for acting or a personal issue. 

Even though she didn’t outwardly show it or tell Maya often, Sakari was glad she had someone like that to lean on. Someone who gave her unconditional support who wasn’t a family member. Or someone from their village. 

“I know.” Maya sighed, a light smile on her lips. 

She always felt lucky to have met Hugh. She couldn’t believe there was someone as kind and as sweet as him in the industry. She heard all these horrible things about actors in Hollywood growing up, and she had some experience with those people now, but she was glad Hugh was the first actor she met. He was the complete opposite of that. 

She arrived to set just in time for lunch break without much hassle from security. Hugh told them he was expecting her. Maya looked around at all the busy PAs and extras as they milled about. For a moment, she wondered where Sir Patrick Stewart was. She wasn’t able to meet him on Days of Future Past because her scenes were mostly set in the 70s where James played the Professor. 

She was able to find Hugh’s trailer with a little help from the director. She quite literally bumped into him.

“Thanks again, Mr. Mangold. And I’m very sorry for running into you.” Maya apologized, clasping her hands together. 

He shook his head and waved it off. “Don’t worry about it. Please, call me Jim.” He offered his hand to shake. “It was lovely to meet you. I can see why Hugh likes you.” He smiled. 

Maya nodded and shook his hand. That was the second time someone said something like that. Maybe the third. “It was nice to meet you too… Jim.” Her lips quirked into a polite smile as well. 

As Jim left, Maya took a breath and looked at the trailer. She hesitantly raised her fist to the door. She wasn’t sure why she was so nervous all of the sudden. She rapped her hand against the door a few times before she could chicken out. 

After a few seconds, the door opened. “Maya!” Hugh greeted her warmly and pulled her into the trailer, hugging her. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.” He smiled brightly as he closed the door. 

Maya took in Hugh’s appearance, a smile on her face as well. His hair was tinted grey and he had a full beard. She wondered if this would be what he looked like when he got older. He thought he already was old but he wasn’t even fifty yet.

“Yeah, well, I was filming for a while and then when I got back you had to start this,” Maya scratched at her neck as she looked down at the floor. Her eyes snapped back up, “But I’m happy to see you again.” She offered him the lunch bag. “This is for you.”

Hugh took Maya’s hand, pulling her to the table. He sat down on one side. “I’m lucky. I get a special meal no one else does.” He said in a cheeky tone. 

She chuckled, shaking her head as she sat down on the opposite side of the table. She unpacked everything and took off the top of the container that was filled with fish. She was glad everything was still frozen. 

“So,” Hugh looked at everything, clearly interested. He clasped his hands on the table. “How are you supposed to eat it?”

Maya grabbed a napkin and glanced up at Hugh to do the same. She set it over her side of the table in case any of the soy sauce dripped. “For something like this, we usually eat with our hands. But I wouldn’t blame you for using a fork for the rice.” She chuckled.

“Great, because I’m not the best with chopsticks.” Hugh laughed as well, grabbing a fork.

Maya let out a soft laugh. She took a piece of the fish, dipped it in the soy sauce, and put the whole thing in her mouth. She felt Hugh’s eyes on her through each motion and smiled bashfully as she chewed. She knew he likely just wanted to get it right but it made a bit of nervousness creep onto her spine when he watched her so closely like that.

“Simple.” Hugh hummed. 

He copied what she did. He chewed thoughtfully as Maya hoped he wouldn’t hate it. After being friends for a while, she was able to pick up on some of his mannerisms and how he spoke. She could tell when he was lying because he wanted to be kind. 

“It’s delicious,” Hugh eventually said, his eyes sincere. “It’s a bit like sashimi.” He sucked a little sauce off his thumb. Maya tilted her head at that, eyebrows furrowed. He smiled before he explained. “It’s raw fish but it’s not frozen and you usually eat it by itself,” He paused, “Actually, do you eat this with anything else?” 

Maya grabbed another piece but she didn’t dip it in the sauce this time. She enjoyed the taste of it by itself. “We have bannock occasionally,” This time Hugh looked confused, “Er, fry bread. Bread. But you don’t really eat it with it.” 

Hugh hummed softly as he took another piece of fish, dipped it, and popped it in his mouth. “I can see why. It’s amazing without any starch. The flavors really pop on the tongue and the fish melts in your mouth.” He sounded astonished and passionate. 

“Welcome to Inuit cuisine.” Maya laughed softly, “Wait till you try beluga.”

“Beluga whale?” Hugh asked, surprised. He had shoveled a bit of rice into his mouth so his speech was muffled. 

Maya nodded. “We don’t hunt them often and we use pretty much every part of the animal. Obviously, we freeze them too so they last over a longer period of time.” She explained with her hands. “It has a bit more bite than the Char because we eat it with a bit of the fat still on it.” 

“God, Maya,” Hugh breathed, “You must take me home with you next time.” 

Hugh knew a lot about her parents but he had never met them. He knew her parents were about ten years older than him, in their later fifties. Maya mainly took Sakari or Arlo to preimeres with her. He knew it was because they were busy with things back home—fighting for lower prices on groceries in the province, every day duties tribal council members had, and, generally, being a Native in Canada wasn’t the easiest—but he wondered what it would be like to be up there.

Surrounded with the snow and the culture, it sounded wonderful when Maya described it. Bea and Nick were supportive parents who clearly cared about passing down their traditions and instilling them in their children. Maya shared that sentiment of sharing her culture because of them. 

Maya rolled her eyes at Hugh. “Are you sure you could handle that? It’s much colder than New York. And you would still have to wear sunscreen, more even, the sun bounces off the snow.” She teased. 

“I’m sure I’ll survive if you’re there.” Hugh smiled softly. 

“I don’t know, I might be convinced by Sakari to let the polar bears maul you.” She added, narrowing her eyes playfully.

Hugh gasped, feigning offense. “What an awful thing to say!” He frowned dramatically. 

They broke into laughter a moment later. The rest of lunch was spent catching up. Hugh especially wanted to learn more about Maya’s work, he knew a film she was in was going to come out in a few months. She was playing a historical Native figure. He teased her about being her date to the premiere. 

As Maya cleaned up her bag, she was a bit surprised there was none left but Hugh assured her it was delicious. He wasn’t lying. 

He hugged her tightly as she realized she might have overstayed her welcome. “Thank you again,” Hugh murmured against her shoulder. Maya quickly found he appreciated that they were the same height so he didn’t have to bend over so much to give a hug. “You know I love your company.”

Maya smiled softly, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne. It was warm and comforting and matched Hugh’s personality well. “You’re awfully sweet, Jackman.” She chuckled as she pulled away from his shoulder.

“I could say the same for you, Imik.” Hugh winked. He pulled her closer again to press a kiss to her cheek. “I love you.” His breath was warm against her cheek.

Maya felt her chest swell with affection. Maybe it was needed for him to say those three words. He was the best friend she ever had and she already felt loved but him saying it made it feel more real. Like he would never, in a million years, let her go. 

“I love you too.” She whispered. 

She wanted to remember this moment forever. It was so simple and almost forgettable but it showed that Hugh cared. It was one of many moments that showed it. Maya couldn’t wait to experience more.

Who knew what the world would throw at her? Maya didn’t. But she knew Hugh would be there to help. She just hoped she could return the favor somehow. She felt like she wasn’t as big of a support for him as he was for her but she was trying.

[fff777]

reaction part 1 to rainbow dream stay ep 1

before starting the clip, this looks like some kind of hostel roleplay lol. because you know the dreamies love to roleplay.

while the others are reading the sign about rainbow dream stay, chenji have their own local broadcast in the back

so the theme is that they have to prove their friendship level is at 825% (whatever that means lol)

jeno is here to listen to the lecturer

while mark is explaining the agenda you can still hear chattering. dreamies love chattering huhu

they are dressed as a rainbow on purpose :o mark probably loves this

chenle: jisung your hair looks so pretty jisung: why does that sound sarcastic

dream: *wrists tied together* jeno: wait let me scratch my ass first mark: LOL

they're seated in their colour order how cute <3

they get 50 points deducted if they get mad 😅

LOL the way they counteract every angry sentence with "oh my you look handsome today 😏." jisung was getting frustrated over being stretched and mark immediately saved him by being like "omg you are my pretty babies"

nahyuck flirting in the wild

so the reason they're being stretched is because jaemin at the end doesn't want to get up so they're trying to convince him with pretty words lol

mark: hey should we do the wave IS NOW THE TIME?!?!?!?!? and yet they did it anyway lmao

the way donghyuck is trying so hard to talk in his kindergarten teacher voice because otherwise he's going to beat the kids lol

this is one of those times that jeno is mischievous

me? mad? do i look mad? oh not at all!

mark: i made that beef chenle: chenle: ...then it must be SO GOOD this is just an exercise in getting the dreamies to LIE lol

haechan and jaemin are similar yet opposite people and it's so funny to watch because they are both wacky but haechan cares about winning games and jaemin doesn't care at all and the fact that they're literally at opposite ends of the spectrum just drives that point home. actually the fact that haechan and chenle are on one end and jaemin is at the other feels a bit purposeful lol.

renjun and haechan finally broke and had to yell lmao

jaemin wanted to get drinks so haechan was like ok all y'all just stay put and i'll get the drinks. he's basically that guy in the group project who does all the work because he refuses to let his group weigh him down.

eating is not as big a problem since they're all right-handed

they all have to get up since one of them needs napkins lel

while haechan was getting napkins, jeno and jaemin were eating from his plate so haechan threatened jaemin's plate by holding soy sauce over it 😭 this is really boiling down to a haechan vs jaemin war

this show is a bit trickier to film because they have to be connected by the wrists. so sometimes they have their backs to the camera and have to rely on these overhead shots. and also why i have to put in so many screenshots because it's kind of hard to explain what position they're in.

the staff gave them an option to get lobster but the guys are like "...we don't like lobster that much" because they don't want to get out of their seats again lol

jeno was like what if we just straight up pushed the tables and the rest of dream were like yeah let's, except jaemin was like guys we still have to get out of our seats to get the lobster

success via brute force, even if jaemin lost points for being grumpy

haechan losing hp because the guys didn't get their chairs

to be fair i feel like haechan and jaemin have an easier time because they only have one arm bound

jaemin got mad for getting food on his pants lol...jaemin really doesn't care about the game at all, he's just doing what he wants to do

this marksung timing was so good 😂

jaemin: MARK OPPA mark: wut jaemin: can you give me tissues pls

this corner is just having so much fun eh 😆 jaemin was saying that he'd been asking for napkins for a long time and you know he normally speaks in a very sweet tone but obviously he was miffed and markno here are laughing their little socks off

now is a dessert game? donghyuck and jeno have their eyes covered but what is jisung doing on the right

i think jisung has to prepare dessert? anyway he couldn't even put his apron on 😭😭

is chenle going to supervise :3c

jisung rejected chenle's help lol, he wants to do this on his own

chenle came back to help/tell jisung what to do but jisung's like nah i got it

chenle keeps hovering but jisung keeps telling him to go away but chenle keeps telling him what to do i love this dynamic for them lol

by the end jisung was just trying to look like a chef lol, it's all in the ✨performance✨

jaemin is NOT playing around today 😅

ok so there's one croffle made by a chef and the one made by jisung and the guys have to guess which is which

chenle was feeding haechan and jeno but he'd say "ahhhh" and then not say the person's name so they wouldn't know who he was talking to until he said their names 😅

[ashketchumseleventhbirthday]

Burst Dumplings

Summary: Arven and Juliana are cooking at his new home. She is not very proficient at the kitchen.

Rating: K+ - Suitable for more mature childen, 9 years and older, with minor action violence without serious injury. May contain mild coarse language. Should not contain any adult themes.

Words: 1300

Notes: Hawkish grandmothers gauging whether you’re a good match or not... War flashbacks coming on to me...

The smell of soy sauce, garlic and chilli spread in the air as Arven stirred the sauce with chopsticks and grabbed a spoon to taste it. It is the first time in many years that the space blooms to life, as he and his girlfriend had spend better part of the day cleaning the house and moving his stuff into it.

Director Clavell had arranged for all the research material, machines and notes of his parents’ moved into the Academy, as well as fixing any leakages or structural damages that may be entailed in its abandonment. While his guardian had helped a great deal, it still has spent almost five years completely shut, collecting dust and deteriorating, needing a good scrubbing to become liveable again.

For their first meal at his new home at the lighthouse, he picked a dumpling recipe he learnt from a gym trainer at Cascarrafa City that showed a lot of promise. He had tried it at the restaurant, but the filling was a bit of a novelty for him, as he had never made it himself. More importantly, it seemed so easy that, as long as one follows the steps correctly, there is no chance for it to go wrong.

As he searched for where they put his sesame oil on the kitchen island, his eyes landed on Juliana standing beside him and chewing on a nail whilst she stared at the bamboo steamer. He could not remember the last time he had seen someone who did not know how to cook so concerned about making dumplings.

Then again, his partner was not just anyone. She always exceeds expectations, even in being the worst cook ever.

“Juli?” He calls.

“Yeah?” She replied absentmindedly.

“Are you trying to cook the dumplings faster with the power of your mind or do you have laser eyes?”

Juliana looked back at him in confusion. The ingenuity in her eyes almost made him feel guilty for teasing her about it. Almost.

“What do you mean?” She asks.

He chuckles. “Why are you staring at the steamer?”

“Because you said it can’t be overcooked.”

“It’s not going to overcook. You set the timer, remember?” He picked up the Pidgey-shaped kitchen timer and lifted it to her ear. “It’s still ticking. There’s still eight minutes on them before they’re good.”

The girl smiled sheepishly. “Heh-heh. I forgot about that. Sorry.”

Arven, then, returned to his station, adding the sesame oil and stirring the sauce some more.

“Love?” She calls, suddenly, after a couple of minutes in silence.

He raises his eyes to her again. “Yes?”

“Do you think the dumplings will taste good?”

“Of course, they will.” He assured her.

She does not seem too convinced, though. “And you’re not saying it just to make me feel better, right?”

He put the small bowl down on the counter and turned to his partner. “Why are you fussing about dumplings?”

"I don’t know…” She shrugged her shoulders. “I think it reminded me of cooking with my grandmother. You’re a kinder teacher, of course, and you never said I’d be a lousy wife for not knowing how to cook.”

Ah. There are shuddering tales about Señora Franco, if what Arven heard from his mother-in-law, from Nemona’s parents and even Director Clavell, who seemed to have met the imperious woman in the social circles at Mesagoza City, were anything to go by. Though, they all concur with the notion that she has never touched a hot pan in her long, long life.

The blond stepped closer to his partner and took her hand in his. “Your grandmother had a different concept of what a good wife is. While she wanted you to be the perfect housewife, you became the best life partner I could ever wish for and it has nothing to do with any skills you have.”

She looked at him expectantly. "Really?”

He nodded. “I want you to cook with me because this is something we can do together to have fun. Regardless of how the dishes turn out, I want you here.”

She rose on her toes to kiss him softly. "Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He replied with a smile. “Besides, no one makes popcorn and ramen like you.”

The girl pursed her lips. “Please, I just dump stuff in a hot casserole pan.”

“Lots of recipes are just dumping stuff in a hot casserole pan. We can host thousands of dinners with a bunch of ‘dumped everything we found on the fridge’ dishes.”

Juliana chuckled softly.

“Can you promise me you won’t beat yourself over this?” He asks, earnestly.

“Okay…”

The couple was about to share another kiss when the kitchen timer rang.

“It’s ready!” She beamed.

He lets her go as he moves to the kitchen isle. “Let’s take a look.”

As they opened the lid of the steamer, she frowned pronouncedly at the mess that the thing had become.

“My dumplings…” She bemoaned, feeling as if she could cry.

“It happens, Juli.” He said, picking up the dumplings that burst with tongs.

She harumphed. “Then why only the ones I did burst? Yours look perfect.”

“I know. Don’t they look great?” He marvelled at his handiwork. “I think I should post these on the internet.”

He fished his phone from his back pocket, arranged the dumplings in the steamer and snapped a few pictures.

“Are you done yet?” She frowned, folding her arms.

“Hold on, I’m looking for a good filter.”

“Arven!”

“Oh, sorry…” He placed his phone back in his pocket and looked back the burst dumplings. “Maybe there was too much filling and when we put it in the steamer, the heat made them burst.”

Juliana slumped on a stool by the kitchen island and pouted as she reached for a bottle of wine. Arven sits down next to her, holding on to the bamboo steamer, as he tries to console her.

“That’s it. No more cooking for me.” She declared.

“But why? The dumplings won’t taste bad because they burst.”

He closed one of the burst dumplings with the chopsticks, dipped into the sauce bowl he prepared and laid by the counter, lifting it to his mouth as he was done.

“So good!” He said after a few bites. "The sauce needs more chilli though.”

“You’re lying,” she scowled.

“I’m telling you. They’re great. The burst dumplings just means that you were extra generous with the filling.”  He took another of burst dumplings with a chopstick and fed her. “Here, try it.”

Juliana hummed in approval as the chicken and vegetables blended with the sauce. She had to give it to herself, the recipe Arven got for her to follow was pretty good.

“Okay, I admit. This is great. Do you still have teriyaki sauce?” She asked, cleaning the corner of her mouth with a napkin.

“I told you.” He grinned as he opened the fridge to search for the teriyaki sauce and placed it on the island. “If we keep cooking together, you’ll get the hang of it in no time.”

“Are you sure you don’t want another sous-chef?”

“Absolutely not. What’s a good and handsome chef to do without his beautiful and moody sous-chef? And who’s going to make popcorn while we wait for the main course to be ready? Besides…” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “You know sous chef means under the chef, right? There’s one person I want under me.”

His lips dotted down to her neck, with her pushing him away.

“That’s a terrible pun, Arven.” She giggled in response.

“I still made you laugh.” He bragged, kissing her once more. “Now, let’s eat before you make me hungry for more than just food.”

With that, Arven took a seat across from Juliana and they continued to dig into their meal.

*_*_*_*_*

9th Gen Masterlist

[akehoshimystar]

Kamiya SSR

The Boundary to Protect

Part 1

I parked my car in the designated corner of the parking lot and let out a tense breath.

Ito: (…It was just as Onda-san's prediction.)

To help out the ST Dept.,I was assigned to work on a special request. My role was to protect the client's daughter in the car as soon as Kamiya-kun called for help. After checking the presences of Kamiya-kun and the daughter in question through the side mirror, I unlocked the back seat.

Kamiya: Watch your step.

Accompanied by Kamiya-kun, a woman in a suit entered the car. Her profile was pale.

Kamiya: Deputy, do you have a blanket or something…? Ito: Here.

Kamiya-kun accepted it with a smile before spreading the blanket so that her knees were covered.

Woman: ….Ah, sorry Kamiya: You're welcome. Oh. Can I ask you to report to Tomose-san? Ito: No problem. (Above all… I think it would be more reassuring if Kamiya-kun stayed behind.)

I quickly got out of the car.

Ito: Neither of them seemed to be injured. However, the client's daughter seemed to be in shock. I think she may need some further care. Tomose: [You don’t really need to worry about that.] Ito: (Huh?) Tomose: [Kamiya’s ability to sense the delicate sign is worthy of trust.] Ito: ! (Onda-san is usually a person who doesn't hesitate to speak, but… It sounds like he trusts Kamiya-kun from the bottom of his heart.) Tomose: [As for the situation here, Yu has repelled the attackers. I'll go and help him with the aftermath.] [Kamiya and Yashiro will escort the client's daughter to her home. After that, you are free to go.] Ito: Understood.

Ito: Sorry to keep you waiting. We’re going to take you hom-…

I quickly swallowed what I was about to say after hearing a sobbing from inside the car.

Woman: I'm…. sorry… I was just about to calm down, when suddenly…… Ito: It’s okay. Kamiya: …….

Kamiya-kun’s gaze signaled me that everything is fine, so I went back to the driver's seat in silence.

Ito: (I didn't hear the details, but at the very least, I know she’s completely an outsider.)

Her father, who was the client, had unexpectedly been caught up in a "dispute" at work, and had turned to Aporia, which had been introduced to him by an old friend.

Ito: (To be suddenly attacked with malice and violence… It must have been really scary.)

Kamiya: …Hey.

A gentle voice suddenly shook the atmosphere in the car.

Kamiya: Can I leave my seat for a bit?

Part 2

Kamiya: I'm back.

After a while, Kamiya-kun returned with a convenience store bag in his hands.

Kamiya: It's getting late, so I was wondering if you might be hungry. Sasaki-san, do you prefer onigiri or sandwiches? Woman: Ehh… I prefer onigiri, but I'm not sure if now is the right time for that…… Kamiya: Then how about something light or sweet? Woman: I…. guess…? Kamiya: Great! Here, chocolate, cookies, candy… Hmm? Would the gummies be too sour? Ito: …I think it depends on the flavor. The fruit ones are sweet, but there are also carbonated ones. Kamiya: Ah! I see. But I’m not quite sure which flavor I bought. …….Eh!

Kamiya-kun froze after he took a peek into the bag.

Ito: W-What flavor was it?

Kamiya: Tomato. Ito: That's… quite a unique choice. Kamiya: I think the red packaging just convinced me that it was strawberry flavor. Seriously, I messed up big time.

Woman: ……Pfft…………Hahaha…

Sasaki-san laughed, her eyes were still red from the tears.

Woman: It's surprisingly easy to mix them up, isn't it? I've been there before. Kamiya: Ah. We're the same! How about something else? Rice crackers and potato chips… Yep, they're soy sauce and salt flavored. Ito: (He even got a salty one.) Kamiya: As for the drinks… Water, tea, coffee, black tea… and carbonated ones. Ito: (I see. He bought all that because he didn't know her preferences. How considerate of you, Kamiya-kun.) Kamiya: And then a jelly drink… and the last one! The best one, I dare say! Ito: (Why do I know what it will be….)

As expected, what Kamiya-kun held up high was….

Kamiya: The embodiment of happiness, donuts! I couldn't find Happy Dough so I bought the one from the convenience store, but the dough here is also chewy and so filling that it wards off your hunger.

Woman: ……. Kamiya: Hmm? Oh, maybe it isn’t to your liking? Don't worry, I'll take responsibility and eat them all. Woman: Oh, no… Well… I'm just glad…

Sasaki-san was in tears again, but unlike before, a smile appeared on her face.

Woman: You really prepared a lot for me.……. Thank you so much.

Kamiya: …….

As Sasaki-san bowed deeply, Kamiya-kun looked a little apologetic, then he smiled again.

Ito: (Kamiya-kun…?)

Kamiya: ………………I'm glad you’re pleased! Feel free to eat whatever you like. Oh. And if there's any leftover, you can take it home. Woman: Fufu. I'll take you up on that. Ito: …….

I slowly started the car, listening to a friendly conversation coming from the back seat as if it was a BGM.

Part 3

On the way home after safely dropping her off at her house.

Kamiya: ……

Kamiya-kun rested his chin on his hands and gazed out the window.

Ito: (Maybe he didn't want to talk about it, still…)

I couldn’t get rid of my worries, so I waited for the light to turn red and looked at him through the rearview mirror.

Kamiya: Hmm? What's wrong? Ito: …No, it’s nothing. Kamiya: Haha. Deputy is a considerate person after all. Ito: Huh?

Kamiya: Even though it’s all over your face that you're worried, you're not trying to force it out of me. I'm sorry for staying quiet the whole time and making you feel uncomfortable. Actually, I’ve been reevaluating myself. What’s about to come out of my mouth is going to be quite pathetic… Will you hear me out? Ito: Sure. I don’t mind at all.

When I told him that, Kamiya-kun lowered his eyes and started talking.

Kamiya: My role was to take her and run away if something happened. But… It was too late. A knife had already pointed directly at her face. I feel frustrated because if it had been Tomose-san or Yu-san, they would have noticed it in advance and wouldn't have made her feel so scared. Ito: (Ah… That explains why he looked apologetic when she thanked him…) Kamiya: I mean… I know it's absurd to compare myself to those two! Ito: (I understand what Kamiya-kun wants to say.) What I'm about to say is purely my subjective opinion, so please just take it as one of many opinions. I strongly believe that it's thanks to Kamiya-kun that Sasaki-san was able to go home with a smile like that. Kamiya: !

Kamiya-kun's consideration and attentiveness are really something else, I could tell even from the snippet I have seen today.

Ito: …..”Kamiya’s ability to sense the delicate sign is worthy of trust.” Kamiya: ? Ito: When I reported Sasaki-san’s condition to Onda-san, that’s what he said. He also assured me that there was no problem as long as you’re there.

Kamiya: ……..

Ito: Kamiya-kun…. Not only did you evacuate her to a safe place, but you also protected her heart so that she could move forward. Kamiya: …….Both Tomose-san and deputy really know what to say.

With a big sigh, Kamiya-kun relaxed himself on the back seat. Then, the next moment, he used his abdominal muscles to forcefully raise himself up.

Kamiya: Thanks, I'm feeling a lot better now. I'll do my best again tomorrow! Oh! Ito: (…To be honest, I was really surprised to find out that someone like Kamiya-kun is part of the ST Dept.)

Every time I caught a glimpse of their work, it somehow felt strangely fitting.

Ito: (I'm sure there are many people who have been saved by Kamiya-kun's presence. Both in the past and future.)

Looking at his carefree smile, I couldn’t be more certain about what I felt.

[the-whispers-of-death]

Poor Bear

Stone you can't just leave your husband :c

Also here's the recipe for the sauce I dipped my chicken tenders in

Sriracha

Honey

Soy sauce

Paprika

Adjust ingredients to taste because measurements are for losers (you have to measure with your heart)

Stone you could atleast send a letter to the guy

-🔮

Ooh, you're so kind, giving me the ingredients to the sauce you made.

Stone does not in fact send a letter to Bear. It's been six years (why'd he stay away for that long, only God knows), he's convinced he just hadn't gotten the divorce papers from Bear. In his mind, surely Bear moved onto someone who is more emotionally available. (Bear did not.)

The worst part is that Stone is living in the house that they both moved into when they got married. Bear left a letter in the house (because Stone had left him via going on deployment) saying that he could keep living in the house since he knows Stone's paranoia would only worsen if he had to move into a different house and that Bear would be waiting for the phone call from the landline to come home when Stone was ready.

I'm naming this Stone Runaway!Stone, because it's fitting to me. He's not really a Stone variant (at least in my head), I'm just using Runaway!Stone to differentiate between normal Stone.

[lifewithoutmeds]

February 16, 2023

well well well.

things were just going too well, weren’t they. and i was getting just too comfortable.

what’s happened since last week?

let’s see. lorena .... lorena did this and that. lorena lorena lorena. lorena shaped my week, my days, my activities, how i felt about myself, and i felt about my life in general.

tuesday after the airport run, lorena came back and we went to BJ’s to stake out hot waitress. however her shift was ending and we just caught a glimpse but lorena was able to confirm what i feared, which is that i may have been mask fished, and my beloved was not the beauty i may have thought. oh well. 

wendesday must’ve gone into work. the days are a blur. thursday? work? from home? sure? friday? i dunno. saturday morning i had brunch with amy lee at my favorite local diner foxy’s, and had my usual eggs benedict with hash browns, which i ate completely and enjoyed thoroughly. amy was less enthusiastic about her meal, but packed a lot of it to go, thinking she might be able to reconstitute it later into something more palatable. we had an enjoyable chat/catch up, and resolved to do this more often, possibly even as a monthly regular event.

she then took me home due to the unseasonably cold temperature, and i got home to see lorena waking up on the sofa. she proceeded to convince me to start watching The Last of Us while she power cleaned for a couple hours and washed the many many dishes. afterward we went to los feliz flea where we looked at stuff, she bought some lingerie for v day, and we said hi to vicky at her camera stand. we then went home and we made a really delicious meal of ride, roasted asparagus, and chicken thighs marinated in garlic and a sauce of chili, honey, soy sauce, and rice wine vinegar. i marveled at how good it was. i’m glad i didn’t stop myself from the profuse compliments, because little did i know, that would be my last meal with her.

lo wasn’t feeling so hot so right before she left to work, she took an at home covid test and tested positive, and hence had to call out sick. she decided to go quarantine in Rancho since her aunt had a vacant guesthouse, and took off for the next few days (or so i thought LOL).

we kept in touch, and i learned later that she would not go to Rancho, but rather, to a hotel as she was “too tired”, and afterward, would be “convinced” to go to her gf’s instead, to “isolate” there, despite then being directly in close contact with another human. she “isolated” sun-tuesday, and on valentine’s night decided to move to her aunt’s, so as not to “continue to?” expose her gf as her gf had planned to have friends over later in the week.

so we texted intermittently, from tuesday-wednesday, and she was going back and forth on whether to go home to visit laika since work had indicated that she need not come back the following weekend, and by the end of the day she had resolved to go on thursday or friday. however, on wednesday while i was at work, she “confessed” to having watched/completed the White Lotus season 2 by herself in boredom, though we had been watching it together up until that point. i was a bit hurt, because that was kind of one of “our” things. we watched it together. we reacted together. we waited for each other. and suddenly she was done waiting, and just watched it on her own. i felt left out, and got a bit quiet during the texts, but she didn’t seem to care/mind/catch on, and so we left it at that.

this morning she texted to see how i was doing and i texted to see what her plans were for visiting her home when she dropped the bombshell: not only would she not be visiting home despite having the weekend off of work, and despite having just tested negative for the covid, she would be staying in rancho for the rest of the month, and don’t worry, i could keep the rest of the rent she’d prepaid, and oh, thanks for everything.

i was floored. i had started walking for my noon lunch walk, and was glad i did, because i needed to stay in motion. i teared up a little, maybe from allergies, maybe from emotion, but i teared up for a few blocks and didn’t ask too many follow up questions as i generally would, because that would mean i was invested, emotionally, and i needed to stop being, because she had already decided to take a quick detour out of my very real, very physical, tangible life.

her rationale was that she really enjoyed having her own space and that her aunt was “bribing” her to stay. i didn’t want to counter with a higher “bribe,” so left it at that. later she indicated she would be coming by to pick up her things and leave me the key. as it would happen, fate would dictate that grace and vicky would be coming to the condo later that afternoon, so i asked her to come before 5 so as not to create an awkward run in.

she came around 2:50, packed her things, and was done within 15 minutes. a few hangars, two shelves, two books on the bookcase, and some toiletries. i had prepacked her a bag of her bacon box, cheetos, 2 new packs of altoids, toilet paper, crest whitening toothpaste, penne pasta, her annual fishing license, work-related papers, and an extra tube of her favorite neutrogena water-based sunblock. i had to take a quick call around 3 as she took her bags to her car, and right after 3 i handed her last bag, she said thank you for everything, and she asked if i wanted to talk and i said no, but i could feel the tears sprouting from my eyes. she said something like, she needed a moment to compose herself, and that her least favorite thing was to cry in front of someone, and after a second, i took another swig of my whiskey, and we did a light goodbye hug and she said something like, we’ll hang out right?. if you want to? and i think i nodded. and she left. and i saw her walk out, and i saw her put the bag in her car, and i saw her car drive away. and i saw her little icon move away on google maps and she was gone.

i cried. i cried while she was here, though i tried to hide it, and i wept bitterly when she was gone. i drank whiskey. i texted people. i cried for help. i received some, some strained sympathy, some strained empathy.

i know i’m taking it personally when i shouldn’t. i know this will be better for me in the long run. i know that i had an unhealthy attachment that went longer than it should have, and fortuitously, ended sooner than it was anticipated to. i know i was playing at normal for a not-normal situationship that was probably not good for me.

but i know i’ll miss her, despite it all. and i’ll miss ... just everything. the guitar jam sessions, the attempts at stardom via youtube. i don’t have a ton of faith that we’ll have much of anything now, and i don’t know why. and i know that if it was always that tenuous to begin with, that fragile, that i should just be relieved that it’s gone now and not without its grasp on me. but i will miss her, bitterly, tenderly. why, in her goodbye, would she question a continued friendship? why, if it was a consideration, was it concluded, that i would be left aside.

i watched her location for some time, dodging in and out and through atwater village, to/around a wine shop, to a restaurant, and then finally out and back to reyna’s. i wonder a bit what she’ll say to reyna. if she’ll express sadness. or relief. or whatever. i don’t know .... she seemed to understand/predict that somehow cutting off her stay here was also cutting me off, and yet she went through with it. she was okay with it. she decided to do it. for whatever the reason. i was left on the cutting board. and she’s with reyna, who’s comforting her if needed. and who do i have. vicky, who’ll be coming by soon with her dogs, having just ended things with her much younger bf last night. grace, who low key doesn’t care about me most the time.

so.

she’s with her gf.

once again. i am crying. alone. the other party cares not. wants not. i weep over someone who weeps not, and enjoys the comfort of those who love her.

once again. i am in an unreciprocated situationship. once again, i am giving my best to one who casually shrugs it off, and leaves it discarded.

fool me once, shame on you. fool me for the nth time, shame on me. shame. shame.

[dustofthedailylife]

Perfect Setup

→ Masterlist

Summary: Ayato finds out about your secret crush on Thoma, but will he just let it slide like that?

Characters: Thoma x Kamisato! Reader (gn!) | Side characters: Ayato, Ayaka

Warnings: Fluff! Mild (affectionate) swearing, Ayato is a menace

A/N: Soooo, this idea randomly popped in my head again when I saw a meme on twitter where Ayato teased Ayaka (link) and I got overly excited about it so I decided to write something for it. I hope you will like it, I would appreciate reblogs and likes if you did. Let me know what you think <3

"Oh my god, really?!", you exclaimed in surprise, as you shoved another piece of sushi in your mouth, looking at Thoma in awe. He had been telling all sorts of stories about Mondstadt over dinner and you never tired of hearing about his home country.

"Yeah, it's true, the champion of the festival gets to choose a maiden who at the grand finale of the festival throws the harpastum and whoever catches it, is blessed with a year of happiness and good fortune. I loved Ludi Harpastum as a kid. I should take you to see it one day, too. Now that the Sakoku Decree is lifted we finally could!", he explained and donned a proud smile.

"I'd love to!", you said, feeling butterflies flutter in your stomach from the mere thought of traveling somewhere together with Thoma, or just traveling somewhere with him altogether now that it was possible for you to leave Inazuma again. 

You side-eyed your brother who had been intently listening into the conversation between you and Thoma the entire time, observing if he would object to the idea of you leaving Inazuma with Thoma for a trip. Ayato was the head of the Yashiro Commission's Kamisato clan but first and foremost your brother and he cared a lot for you and Ayaka, so if you wanted to leave, even if it was with someone he trusted like Thoma, you'd probably have to convince him first. But more importantly, despite growing up with him, you could never really tell what was going on in that head of his but you could usually tell by the look on his face when he was scheming something and when you looked over at him and saw that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes hidden behind a polite smile, you just knew he was up to no good again. 

"Thoma! Would you go grab more soy sauce for us? I've just run out.", Ayato said with that same smile on his face, but you knew this was just a facade.

"Of course, my lord. I'll be right back.", Thoma nodded and hastily headed to the kitchen.

Once he was out of hearing distance from the table in the garden you were all seated at, Ayato turned to you, a mischievous grin forming on his face. You expected him to interrogate you about the fact that you couldn't just leave Inazuma for some random festival in Mondstadt but being the brother that he was, he always had some kind of ace up his sleeve and there was nothing that could've ever prepared you for what he was really about to say.

"I can't help but notice you've developed quite the crush on our favorite retainer, isn't it so?", he remarked with a smirk.

The way he just casually figured out and confronted you about your most private and intimate thoughts caused you to choke on your food and violently cough up a storm.

"I will take that as a yes."

"Waka, don't be such a tease.", Ayaka scolded him with a disapproving expression on her face, patting your back as you tried to get the rice grain you inhaled out of your airways.

"I'm not teasing, Ayaka, merely observing and plainly stating the facts as they are. Don't you think so as well?" 

Ayaka threw you a sympathetic glance that let you know she was sorry about Ayato's boldness but ultimately agreed with what he had said.

When Thoma arrived back with the soy sauce, his gaze fell on your form, still violently coughing from choking on your food and gasping for air.

"Archons, are you alright?", he worried and hurried to your side.

"Would you mind getting a glass of water really quick?", Ayato answered in your stead.

"Of course!"

Thoma stormed off right away and you knew Ayato had only sent him away again because there was something else he wanted to add to the matter. You looked at him with annoyance, through blurry eyes with furrowed brows.

"Why don't you ask him out?"

His words made you inhale sharply again, causing the rice grain to tickle your throat and making you cough violently once more.

"Ayato! It’s not our place to get involved, don’t you think?", Ayaka stepped in and before Ayato could add another word, Thoma was already back with a glass of water. You thanked him, emptying it in two big gulps, loudly setting it back down on the table, throwing a death-glare over to your brother who seemed a little too amused about the whole situation. You were sure the final word was not yet spoken on this matter, it was basically written all over his face. Scheming little shit, you thought to yourself.

A couple of weeks later you were surprised that Ayato had left you alone about you crush on Thoma so far, which was really unlike him you at least expected him to tease you further about it - alas he had a lot to do with the planning of the Irodori festival so that was probably why. You'd sure get a never ending supply of teases whenever the opportunity would arise in the future. You knew your brother and he surely wouldn't just let it slip like that.

“I’ll leave these letters here for you on your desk”, Thoma pulled you out of your thoughts.

“Thank you, Thoma!”

“Mhm, I–I’ll see you tomorrow at the festival then, I-I guess?”, he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand awkwardly before leaving your office again. What had he been so nervous about all of a sudden?

You shrugged it off and began to open the letters on your desk. The first few were about public affairs, invitations to meetings or dinners with some businessmen from all over Inazuma that you flicked through boredly before putting them aside on a pile to answer later.

“What is this?”, you quietly mumbled to yourself as you saw a letter in a fancy envelope sticking out at the bottom of the pile.

It looked quite different from the others you usually received and your first name was written on it in tidy handwriting and the paper smelled faintly like flowers. You took out the letter inside, unfolded it and were greeted with the same tidy handwriting that had been on the envelope already.

“My dear,

I hope you will accept this invitation to visit the Irodori festival together with me - by that I mean, not just as a friend or the retainer of your clan. Should you accept my invitation, meet me under the maple tree next to the statue of the seven outside of Ritou. I hope to see you there.

With love,

Thoma”

Your heart began to beat faster with every word you read and you could feel blood rush to your cheeks. Did Thoma genuinely just ask you out on a date? It certainly explained why he had been so nervous when he had brought you these letters just now.

A big smile crept up on your face as you read over it again, soaking up every word. Of course you would be there! You had been waiting for this moment for so long, especially considering you’ve had this little crush on Thoma for the longest time already and now he had finally asked you out. You hugged the letter to your chest with a sigh - you absolutely couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

On the evening of the next day you arrived in Ritou together with a few of your guards who had escorted you here. Ayato and Ayaka had already gone a few hours earlier without you, due to having to take care of preparations and making sure everything went according to plan. Usually you’d have joined them but this year you could luckily stay behind and take care of replying to some correspondence that urgently needed to be dealt with before the festival - and it had also given you more time to mentally prepare for your date with Thoma. 

The festival was already in full swing when you arrived, people were chatting, enjoying the food and the paper lanterns wrapped the scenery in a cozy yellow light. You excused yourself from your guards and went to find the maple tree Thoma had mentioned in his letter.

Outside of all the hustle and bustle of the plaza you found the exact spot. Thoma was already standing under the tree and at that moment your heart threatened to jump out of your chest the second you spotted him. The moon perfectly framed his figure and he looked so ethereal you were petrified, unable to take your gaze off him. As soon as he noticed you he shyly lifted one hand to greet you before coming over to you, taking one of your hands in his, placing a soft kiss on the knuckles of your hand.

“Hi”, he whispered with a soft smile, brushing over your hand softly with his thumb. “You look beautiful.”

“I can say the same.”, you replied, feeling yourself melt like snow in the sun under his loving gaze.

After a brief moment of silence he took out a small satchel out of his pocket. Fiddling around with it nervously, you could see that his hands were shaking a little and his cheeks were tinted in a light rose hue and you couldn’t help but think how cute it was that he was so nervous because of you.

“I got something for you earlier, when I saw it it immediately reminded me of you. I hope you will like it.”

He took out a bracelet and slipped it over your wrist with trembling hands. The rhinestone on it had the same color as your eyes and glistened beautifully under the dim moonlight and at that moment your emotions completely overwhelmed you. A swarm of butterflies erupted in your stomach, making every nerve in your body tingle and you almost felt lightheaded.

"It's beautiful!", you exclaimed, smiling widely. You brushed over the bracelet with your finger before looking back up to Thoma who returned the smile with an almost starlike glow in his eyes.

"I wanted t–", Thoma began to speak, shying away from your gaze before both of you were interrupted by some screaming children that were running towards the plaza out of the building nearby.

"The fireworks! The fireworks are about to go off. Hurry! Hurry!!!", they screamed.

"What did you want to say?", you chuckled following the children with your eyes before shifting your attention back to Thoma.

He smiled, still holding your hands, slightly shaking his head as he intertwined your fingers.

"Do you want to go see the fireworks as well?"

"Hm, yes – I'd love to."

You made your way over to the plaza and decided to sit down together on the wall near the waypoint overlooking the harbor. You had the perfect view on where the fireworks were about to go off. 

Looking around you saw Ayaka and Ayato standing not too far away from you and Thoma as well just as a loud bang drew your attention back to the main event. The first fireworks exploded into a million colorful stars in front of you and created all sorts of shapes and forms. You looked at Thoma, seeing the reflection of the magical lights in his eyes and you felt your heart skip a beat right then and there. The shine in his eyes, his beautiful smile and the small dimples that formed whenever he laughed looked even more intoxicating in this atmosphere. You had loved all that about him from the very beginning. Overwhelmed with joy you squeezed his hand a bit tighter and leaned your head on his shoulder, making him turn to you with that same smile you loved so much.

"Thank you for asking me to go to the festival with you. I've always dreamt of this, you know."

"Thoma, that's so–, wait a minute?", you paused, lifting your head off his shoulder in confusion about what he had just said. Why did he thank you for inviting him here? He wrote a letter asking you out - or did he?

He looked at you in confusion with furrowed eyebrows.

"Is something the matter? Did I say something wrong?"

"No – nothing, it's nothing, Thoma. I'm still just a bit overwhelmed, is all. I'm glad you're here with me tonight."

You smiled and squeezed his hand a little tighter again. As soon as he shifted his focus back to the fireworks you looked over your shoulder back to where your siblings were standing. More precisely, you were scanning Ayato’s face in suspicion and even though he did make it seem like he wasn't looking at you, you could see him peeking at you both from the corner of his eye, smirking slyly, winking and giving you a thumbs up.

Unbelievable! He set you up! You should've known that he wouldn't forget your talk over dinner from weeks ago. 

You sneaky little shit!

Although, looking back at Thoma, you had to admit, you probably couldn't be mad at your brother for long.

TAGLIST

@irethepotato @euphierosyne @x-zho @stygianoir

Do not repost, copy, translate or edit - © dustofthedailylife

Maple dividers are mine - do not copy.

[smoochkooks]

—christmas cream(pie) ; (m.)

⟶ pairing: jeon jungkook/reader

⟶ genre: established relationship, smut, fluff

⟶ word count: 3.6k

⟶ summary:  a day before christmas dinner with your boyfriend's parents, you discover another alternative way to use the chocolate cream you’re making. jungkook is more than willing to indulge in your little fantasy.

⟶ warnings: explicit sexual content, food play, finger-sucking, spit kink, dirty talk, oral (f) receiving, slight choking but nothing too extreme, unprotected sex, creampie, jungkook being the sweetest boyfriend on the earth and your emotional support, tooth-rooting domestic fluff:(

a/n: hi!! this is my little christmas present for you. hope you enjoy what my brain came up with yesterday<3 ps. i also dont know what kind of fic title this is.

Christmas secure a top spot on your own self-made list of holidays. You enjoy practically every aspect of it. The food, decorating your house, songs, movies, the whole magical aura of warmth and love – you name it.

But this year though, you're fiddled with anxiety because it's the first time you're going to celebrate with your boyfriend Jungkook and his parents.  

You've been dating for two lovely years, living in a shared apartment for almost six months but somehow you've never spent any major holiday together. Until now, it actually felt like a step bigger than moving in. Choosing to be with your families and celebrate separately was never an issue for both of you.

And foolishly, you thought this year would be no like the other, that you'll kiss your sweet boyfriend goodbye before Christmas Eve and reunite after the whole shenanigans would end. But to your surprise, Jungkook had different plans for you.  

“Y-your parents did what?”  

“They invited us for a Christmas dinner.” he repeated calmy, completely unfazed by the pure shock marring your features.

He was sprawled on the couch, hair messy and falling onto his forehead because he had been avoiding barbershops lately (it wasn’t like you minded it–if anything, it made him look even sexier). He was wearing your favorite pair of sweats that had a soy sauce stain on the left knee and a simple black t-shirt, yet for you he looked like an angel sent from the above and devil reincarnated at the same time. So deliciously domestic and soft it almost made you wanna jump him right here and there, if it wasn't for the more nagging matters that you had yet to discuss with him.  

“But,” you stuttered, brain too consumed by nerves to help you formulate coherent sentences. “I was visiting your parents in Busan over summer.”  

“Yeah, but it's been a while and they really want to see you again,” he said, raising from his spot. He came up to you, his tall, lean body towering over your form. The moment you saw his sparkly doe eyes boring holes into yours, you knew you were approximately twenty seconds from giving in. “Pretty please.” he tried again, palms cupping your flushed cheeks until you had no choice but to agree.  

“Okay.”  

Jungkook grinned in response and leaned to press a chaste kiss onto your lips. “Love you, baby.” He tasted like spicy noodles and soda but you ignored it, mustering a small smile.  

“Love you too.” you said, always meaning those three little words because truly, you could never resist Jeon Jungkook and his charms. He had you wrapped around his finger more than you'd ever admit and you'd simply do anything to make him happy, even if that meant stressing over a Christmas dinner with his parents.  

“They really like you, ___. You have nothing to worry about.” Jungkook murmured upon kissing your nose, and then forehead. “My mom is already so excited to see you. She said she would make an apple pie because you once mentioned you liked it.”

You leaned into his touch, slightly less angry you had been surprised with a revelation like that but at the same time still apprehensive and filled with nerves. “You aren't making this easier, you know?” you asked.  

Jungkook sent you an apologetic smile. “You're amazing, baby. You don't need to convince my parents again that you're the right person for me,” he said, hands finding purchase on your waist and pulling you closer to him. “All you have to do is smile and compliment my mom's cooking skills. And maybe ask dad about fishing. You know he's been crazy about it lately.”

Easier said than done, you thought to yourself. Jungkook was a natural when it came to bewitching people. Your parents adored him because he knew all the right words to make them fall for his charms. He didn’t have to try hard or pretend to be someone else in order to be accepted as their daughter’s partner.  

You, on the other hand, were on a different side of the spectrum. No matter how many times Jungkook reassured you of your worth, you still had a lot of insecurities to deal with. That was just who you were as a person. Maybe it was why you clicked so well together. You needed someone to be your second Sun.

“You got his.” With a final kiss onto the crown of your head, Jungkook left you standing in the middle of the living room, and all you could think about was a fricking apple pie and finding new ways to impress your boyfriend's parents. 

Hence way you're currently in the kitchen, blender in your right hand as you mix the ingredients for the most extra chocolate cake you've ever made, determination written all over your features like you’re competing in the final Bake Off episode.

And why is that? Because your brain couldn't let you sleep peacefully at night if you didn't decide to bake your own cake for Jungkook's mother. It started innocently, slowly getting information out of your boyfriend about his parents' favorite food. Of course, you had to be clever about it, so he wouldn't suspect anything too early into the game. That's why after asking a round of rather specific questions you lured him into a blowjob because you know he usually loses his goddman mind after a good dick sucking.  

Content with your plan, you're now a day before the Christmas dinner, Jungkook's mother's beloved cake almost ready to be put into the oven.

“Babe, I'm home!” you hear Jungkook calling from the corridor. You sent him to do some (un)necessary grocery shopping so you could have a time for yourself to prepare the cake without him looking over your shoulder and analyzing your every move. You really hate when people do that because you’re more likely to screw something when you’re being watched.

“Let me taste it then,” he says, grabby hands reaching for the bowl but you quickly swat them away.  

“I'm here!” you shout back, unplugging the blender once you're satisfied with your chocolate cream.  

“What is the smell?” Jungkook asks, entering the kitchen. “Oh,” he quips, placing grocery bags on the floor. “You made this?”  

“Mhmm,” you hum, dipping a finger into the bowl and then putting it into your mouth. It tastes good, not too sweet but at the same time it still has a strong chocolate flavor. Perfect.

“Wash your hands first.”  

“Wait,” You can almost hear the gears shifting in his brain. His grip on your waist tightens as you desperately try to stifle the laugh babbling in your throat. “This is my mom's favorite cake.” 

Jungkook dramatically salutes you, even though you see him smirking under his breath. Once his hands are all clean and dry, you feel his arms encircling your body from the back. “Is this for me?” he murmurs, obviously referring to the cake.

“Nope. It's for tomorrow's Christmas dinner.” 

That’s why you break into a smile, pulling him for a quick peck. “You can taste my cream now.” you say.  

“Great observation.”

“And you said you were making it for the Christmas dinner,” Jungkook continues, “Which means you did this purposely.” he finishes, twirling your body so you're now facing him.  

“You said she would make me an apple pie so I thought I could reciprocate the kindness and do the same,” An innocent smile tugs at your lips. “Besides, the more food the better.” 

Jungkook snorts. “So here's why you were asking me all those weird questions lately.”

Your eyes widen. “You paid attention to that?”

“Babe, I might be a simple man who enjoys seeing his girlfriend sucking his dick but it doesn't mean I don't listen to you,” he says, sounding slightly offended but you know that deep down he's amused by the whole situation. “You didn't have to do that, you know?”  

You let out a long sigh. “I know but... I just felt so weird. Your parents are so happy to see us, they are doing all those preparations and I couldn't stop thinking about doing something to impress them in return,” you murmur. “So they wouldn't think it preparing a whole celebratory dinner for their son and his girlfriend was actually pointless.” you add in a smaller voice, dropping your head down.   

“Baby,” Jungkook coos, fingers grasping your chin so you could look him in the eye again. “You're an amazing person. My parents know that too. You don't have to prove them your worth. Ever.”  

His words make you relax visibly. You don’t know what you would do if you didn’t have Jungkook by your side. He’s just being himself, showing you his extremely caring side as he usually does when you feel down but somehow you’re more thankful for this now.

You dip your index finger into the cream. Then, making sure his eyes are trained on your face, you bring your finger up and envelop with your lips, purposely sucking on it obscenely. “Mmm,” you nothing but moan. “It’s really good.”

“That sounded awfully sexual.”  

“No, it did not! You're just perverted.” 

“But you love me anyway, don't you?” 

You snort at his stupid remark. Suddenly, a not-so-innocent idea pops in your mind and you wonder who’s actually the one with more inappropriate thoughts running through their head. Jungkook might enjoy teasing you on daily basis, but a girl can have her fun too, right?  

Jungkook's eyes darken seeing your little stunt you’ve decided to pull today. He bites the inside of his cheek, before saying,”’I know what game you’re playing.”  

“I’m not doing anything.” you respond, feigning innocence. Before you can dive for more cream, Jungkook grabs your wrist and stops you.  

Bingo.  

When he takes his two fingers and plunges them into the cream, you know exactly what’s coming next, the adrenaline and excitement pumping through your veins. He brings his fingers up towards your face and you have to fight an urge to stay still, waiting for his instructions like the good girl you obviously are. “Open up, baby.”  

You oblige immediately, mouth falling open and tongue out. He pushes his fingers inside, sweet, chocolate cream filling your taste buds. “Suck.” he says simply, eyes fixated on your lips. You do it without a second thought, swirling your tongue around his digits and making sure to lick every last drop of the substance.  

When he decides he can't take it anymore, he pulls his fingers out of your mouth and before you can even blink, he crashes his lips onto yours; fast, messy and unforgiving, thrusting his tongue inside to play with yours. His motives are clear: you aren’t leaving the kitchen without getting properly fucked.  

“So sweet,” he murmurs against your lips, the hand around your waist pulling you flush against him. “My cute girlfriend thought she could tease me and get away with it.”  

He bites onto your lower lip as to prove his point and you whimper. “It’s not like that,” you manage to say, grinding yourself against the evident bulge in his pants. “I didn’t expect to get away with it.”  

Jungkook's hands travel to the backs of your thighs and he lifts you up effortlessly, placing you on the counter. You’re sure there are traces of flour still on it but you couldn’t care less right now, not when a pair of hands roughly nudges your legs apart so he could stand in between them.

“So you did it purposely,” Jungkook leaves your mouth in favor of tracing kisses down your neck. Careful not to marry your skin with hickeys because you would beat the shit out of him if he did bruise your neck a day before the dinner with his parents. “Naughty girl.” He punctuates his statement with a bite to your earlobe, his next words being whispered directly into your ear. “What should I do with you, then?”  

You whimper, your thighs pressing together just hearing the tone of his voice. You lace your fingers through the locks at the back of his hair and place a kiss against his lips. “Fuck me?” you ask in a saccharine-sweet tone.  

He chuckles in response, fingers grasping your t-shirt and pulling it off you, revealing your bare chest to his hungry eyes. He wastes no time and latches his mouth onto a nipple but as soon as his tongue meets your hardened bud, he retreats. Confused, you watch as he reaches for the bowl once again and dips his fingers into the cream. He then smears it all over your nipples, a proud smirk caught on his lips when he leans back to admire his art work.  

“Kook,” you mewl, too pathetically for your liking and you know how much it’ll stroke his ego. “Please, touch me.” you plea, one of your hands reaching to pull him closer to you.

“Yeah?” His chuckle is almost sinister. “Look at you, all dirty and begging me so nicely. Not that smart with your mouth now, are you?”  

All you manage is a nod and meek “Please,” that quickly morphs into a drawn out moan when he finally dips his head to suck your nipple into his hot mouth. You never could have guessed that the idea of food play would be so arousing to you but here you are, pussy clenching around nothing when your sweet boyfriend licks chocolate cream off your boobs.

When he’s done and satisfied with the result, he grabs your sweatpants and pulls them down along with your underwear in one go, your bare ass meeting with the cold marble of your kitchen counter. Jungkook wastes no time and spreads your legs apart, not giving you a second to shy away from his burning gaze before he dives in to lick a stripe up your slit.  

You cry out in pleasure when his tongue finds your clit and gives it a sharp suck, his hands grabbing your ankles and bending your knees so he could have a full access to your glistening core. You’re absolutely drenched, dripping down your thighs and making a mess on Jungkook's face but he doesn’t mind it a bit, eating you out like a champ you know he is.  

“So wet,” he rasps against your cunt. “Messy girl.”

To make matters worse (or better) he takes his sweet time and lets a glob of his spit mix with your arousal because Jungkook, much like you, enjoys giving a head more than anything in the world and makes it his priority to see you lose it on his tongue. You’re positive you will come like this if he keeps continuing abusing your clit just right. He knows your pussy like the back of his hand. Knows what makes you keen, how to make you eyes roll to the back of your head. It fuels his ego to see you like this; helpless and utterly devoted to the pleasure and you don’t even mind when he brags about it later. How could you if you benefit so much from it?  

Suddenly, he grunts into your cunt and your brows furrow because it’s not the sound you’re used to hearing during sex. You look down to check what’s wrong but he’s already up and in level with your eyes, a sheepish smile adoring his features.  

“Neck cramp,” he explains, his palm massaging the back of his neck. “Eating pussy is easier on the bed.” You can’t help but giggle, replacing his hand with yours and providing him a temporary relief. “I’m sorry. Were you close?” he asks. 

There he is. Your sweet, caring boyfriend who never forgets to ask for consent before railing you into the mattress and always putting your pleasure before his own.  

“Mhmm,” you hum, grasping his t-shirt and lifting it off his body. It should be considered a sin to look like this, you think to yourself. “But I want to come on your cock instead.”  

Jungkook grins, quickly pulling down his pants and underwear. His cock slaps against his stomach, pride swelling in your chest because you know you can make him this hard without your touch. “How do you want it?” he asks, guaranteeing himself a moment of relief when he gives his cock a few pumps, spreading precum all over his length.

“Like that,” you answer, gesturing at your current position on the counter. “Wanna see you.”  

“Anything for my pretty girl.”  

If you weren't already red, you would have blushed at his cute words. The sentiment doesn’t last long though, your face twisting in ecstasy when he lines himself up with your entrance and starts pushing inside, the stretch deliciously burning. “Oh my god, Kook,” you whimper, hand clutching onto his biceps for support. “So big. You feel so good.” He groans, slithering himself deeper. His forehead rests onto yours, few ragged breaths before you murmur, “You can move.”

He sets a punishing pace from the beginning, fucking you hard and fast; wet, slapping noises filling the kitchen. You’re a blubbering mess, moaning incoherently as he splits your pussy open, thrust after thrust. “Yeah, fucking take it,” Jungkook rasps, grabbing your hips even harder, no doubt leaving there marks. “Cream my cock like a good girl.”  

You mewl in response, your eyes focusing on his parted lips. “J-jungkook,” you stutter, head completely deprived of rational thoughts. “Spit in my mouth.” It’s almost a breathless plea on your tongue.  

He curses, his right hand squeezing your cheeks. “Open.” You do it right away, nearly moaning when he purses his lips and spits, eyes almost bulging out of his head when he sees you swallow it greedily. “Dirty fucking girl.” he growls.

“B-but you love it, right?” you whimper, eyes glossy because he's hitting that spot inside your pussy that makes your toes curl. “L-love when I’m like this just for you.”  

“Fuck, yeah I do,” Jungkook says, placing his hand around your throat. He doesn’t apply pressure and simply rests it there, urging you to look directly at him. “I love when my pretty baby becomes a dirty slut for me.” He punctuates his words with a harsh buck of his hips that makes you cry out.

You can't take it anymore. “K-kook,” you whine, grabbing his wrist and urging him to squeeze your throat. “I love you.”  

Despite his hand around your neck and cock abusing your cunt, he breaks into a smile. He leans down to kiss you on your putty lips. You try to keep up with him but there’s no use for that, so you just open your mouth and let him slither his tongue inside. When he pulls away, your lips are wet with saliva. Messy, but you wouldn’t exchange it for anything less. “Love you too, baby.” he groans in a strained voice, dragging his cock fast through your walls.

As if reading your mind, his thumb reaches to rub fast circles on your clit. “’m so close,” you mumble, thighs shaking.

“C'mon, pretty. Wanna see you come around me.” Jungkook murmurs, gone is his dominant aura, it’s now only his gentle voice coaxing you into an earth-shattering orgasm.  

When you come down from your high, you’re swatting his fingers away from your core. Normally you would probably indulge into it more, but oversensitivity seems to be too much to handle for you today. Jungkook thrusts his hips a few more times and follows right after you, groaning your name and spilling himself inside.  

“That was nice.” he comments breathlessly  and you can’t help but chuckle, widing your arms around his neck and pulling him for a well-deserved kiss.  

“I’m too tired to move my legs and somebody needs to finish the cake,” you pout, not an ounce of exaggeration in your statement because that’s utterly true–you’re always too spent after a round of fucking with Jungkook to even go to the bathroom on your own. He gladly carries you there in his arms bridal-style every, single time.

“It's okay, sweetheart. I’ll do it.” he says, making you giggle under your breath triumphantly.  

You might be willing to do everything for you boyfriend but if anything, you’re equal in that department.  

“I’m also pretty sure there’s flour on my ass.”  

Jungkook raises his brow at you. “That I’m not going to clean.”  

“Fine. But next time I'm putting whipped cream on your dick.” you decide.  

When he pulls out of you, his cum spills out of your hole but he's quick to catch the droplets and push them back inside you with his fingers. “You’re a little minx, you know that, right?” he says and then licks his digits clean.  

“You love me anyway.” He grins, leaning to kiss you but he stops mid-way. “What is it?” you ask, raising your brows.

“Since I came inside you, we can call it a creampie, right?”  

Still slightly dazed after sex, you’re not quick enough to realise what he implies before it’s too late. “I mean yes but–oh my god. No, no, no! Stop!”  

“Cream-pie!”  

“I hate you!”  

“And I love you too.”  

After all, you were worrying about the dinner too much, as always.  

Everybody complimented your cake. Jungkook's mother was delighted. His father talked about fishing for almost an hour.

But your sweet boyfriend's smirking face as he ate the cake was telling you were in for a long night of sinning in your bed as soon as you went back home.  

And he obviously didn’t disappoint.  

[sun-flower-children]

BakuSquad’s Boy Part 1

A/N: Based on a fic that doesn’t exist anymore :( I’ll be adding my own head canons from what i remember of the og fic. This whole thing is in a headcanon format :)))

Kirishima was sitting down when he noticed their new transfer student walking into the cafeteria looking lost. Without thinking twice he quickly caught the attention of the male and motioned him to come over.

“Is it okay if I join you?” you asked, recognizing the spiky haired student as your classmate.

“Of course, let me introduce you to everybody!”

The redhead introduced all the guys sitting at the table. The talkative blonde with the lightning bolt in his hair was Kaminari . The smiling black haired boy with oddly shaped elbows was Sero and the angry-faced pale blonde with red eyes was Bakugo. While the rest smiled at you he merely sneered and ignored you.

“Don’t let him bother you too much, he's a grouch!” Kirishima said smiling.

The entire lunch period was spent talking to the Bakusquad and explaining how you transferred from the hero school in your home country and enrolled at UA. Laughing with them and bonding over memes and hero training.

It didn’t take long for you to become part of the friend group.

Y’all are a chaotic group of motherfuckers

The group chat is mess; Bakugo is trying to help people w homework, Zero is constantly sharing tick tocks and at 2 am Denki will spam it with memes ( which pisses Bakugo off bc it wakes him up when he forgets to mute his notifications)

Y’all will study together, which surprisingly, can be super productive sometimes.

It honestly didn’t take very long for you guys to become inseparable. They have you back and you have theirs. Training and working out together is a plus because sometimes y’all are too busy to actually fully hangout.

Kirishima will compliment you in a “manly” way and will totally be your hype man. Will be ecstatic when you give back the same energy. One time Bakugo joined you guys for his morning workout and his jaw almost fell to the ground when he saw you take your shirt off.  He couldn’t help but stare like holy shit you were ripped. Training with Kiri really did pay off. Bakugo smirked to himself when he noticed his red haired friend was also checking you out when you didn’t notice. 

Going to the mall with Sero and Denki is a whole ass ride. Y’all will go to so many stores and either waste all your money or just fuck around. Hot Topic is definitely a favorite of theirs. They don’t care if it’s not your vibe because they will want to deck you out in the fitting rooms to see what you look like. Once they pushed the curtain before you were done changing your shirt and both pairs of eyes went straight to your body, making you blush.

After being friends for so long the Bakusquad could read each other's emotions and all recognized that they had crushes on you. They talked about it and concluded that this would by no means would get between their friendship but would amicably flirt with you.

They organized a sleepover not too long after. But it was basically them all fighting each other about who’s room they would be staying in. Ended up going to Bakugo’s room because it was the closest for most of them. When you got there you were so caught up with the movie that you didn't realize they were low-key fighting each other for a spot next to you/ touching you in general. It was when y’all were going to sleep when you realized you left your sheets and what not in your room. Bakugo without missing a beat said you could sleep with him which then prompted Denki to tell you that “Bakugo’s feet smell like shit you don't wanna sleep with him” for Kiri to go “ Hey that isn’t manly, you should sleep w me Y/N.”. While the three of them were battling it out you and Sero were just sitting crouched in the corner. “I mean Y/N I could always get sheets and stuff from my rooms ‘cause it's not that far from here.” only for Bakugo to throw a pillow straight in his face yelling “Shut it Soy-Sauce face!!” Yeah they felt really bad in the morning when you ended up sleeping on the floor with nothing covering you.

Sero will want to smoke with you. The first time he smoked with you, you ended up having a panic attack and he felt responsible for making you panic and so anxious. He tries to smoke by himself for the meanwhile until you convince him to let you try again. It goes much better this time. Y’all start vibing to his latin playlist and he tries to teach you but y’all just end up stumbling over each other and constantly laughing. When dancing becomes physically exhausted and watches tick tocks and videos on his phone. Which ends up with y’all crying over the video where the racoon tries to wash his cotton candy but it dissolves. At some point the tears become too much and you both reach for each other which ends up with y'all sobbing and cuddling each other. Y’all fell asleep like this :)

The whole squad smokes at one point or another. Kirishima does it whenever he’s just in the mood to hangout and he uber chills. Bakugo does it to relieve stress and just enjoy life a bit. Denki smokes the 2nd most in the group just whenever he needs to kill time or he wants to vibe.

There will be times when y'all will smoke together and just fuck shit up. Like, one night after exam y’all are smoking but shit starts getting wild. Like y'all are hopping off the walls and dancing around to random music. Denki will find a roach that's stuck on its back and trying to get back off its legs but y’all are dancing all around it thinking it's like break dancing. “ AYYYY FUCK IT UP” Bakugo would yell “GET INTO IT” Sero would then yell. One of y’all took a video and accidentally posted it on Snapchat so the next day Mina would ask like wth happened last night bc y’alls tik toks and snapchats were wack af. Sero would probably speak on behalf of the group and say “ We were just really hyper.

When they all become hyper aware of their feelings not only for you but like low-key for each other they all change a lil bit. Like:

Denki stops flirting with people outside of the Baku Squad. He’s more touchy with y’all. Holding onto arms, arms over shoulders, hands on waists, holding hands, sitting in y’alls laps (this is a big one)

Kirishima has more energy when he’s with you guys. Like he could be running lower on battery than normal but one of y'all just comes up to him and he lights up like a light bulb.

Bakugo stops ruining desks and promptly yelling at people. He’s toned down and becomes a bit more chilled out. Mostly when he's with you guys. He is still a grumpy gremlin when he is with people who aren’t the Baku Squad.

Sero actually hides it pretty well and no one notices and changes that are indicative of a crush. Probably a bit more confident in himself

Kirishima and Denki acting like they haven't seen each other in sages when it really has only been like five minutes.

“ OMG BRO IT'S BEEN FOREVER”

“OMG DENKI MY MAN I MISSED YOU SM!”

“ BRO C’MERE AND PLANT A PHAT ONE ON ME!”

“HELL YA MY DUDE, THIS IS GONNA BE MANLY.”

And then proceed to aggressively walk toward each other, slap each others asses and plant a kiss on each other's cheeks before erupting into a huge fit of laughter. While people around them are just like ‘wtf is going on’

Touching becomes a thing.

Y’all will actively find each other when y'all want a hug or cuddles or smth. Forehead and cheek kisses are a thing. Bakugo takes much longer to warm up to everyone starting really with you and Kirishima. most comfortable holding y’alls hands loosely and rubbing your knuckles. Denki probably does this the most. He lives for physical affection, just give this poor boy his much needed cuddles and kithes.

Despite y’all high-key crushing for each other you all still are absolutely focused on your career paths as heros. Bakugo helping teach english and you trying to help ( if you know english well enough to teach )

“Ok idiots for the last time what word do we use to describe Sarah?”

“I mean she took these poor dudes apples and all of these are positive adjectives...i think.”

“Yeah Sarah’s kind of a bitch.”

“SHUT IT YOU TOO AND ANSWER THE DAMN QUESTION!”

“I mean Bakubro they aren’t wrong...”

“NOT YOU TOO KIRI!”

You guys work so well during team vs fights bc of how well you all know each other.

It’s an absolute mess but y’all love eachother <3

I will be making a part 2 ( + 3 i think ) so hang around for more :)

MASTERLIST

[yandere-sins]

Poison for Miya Osamu please!

Our good boy! Thanks for requesting ^-^

Poison - “How dumb did you think I was? Of course I knew of your little prank.”

»»———————— ♡ ————————««    

As expected, Osamu was overjoyed when you offered to make dinner for him.

It was one of the rare nights that Atsumu wasn’t around to bother the two of you, and ever since Osamu had instructed you on making basic dishes that didn’t need dangerous tools, you had regained some freedom when it came to food. Much to your delight as well as his.

It was never a big thing that you cooked - or rather prepared - for him, and Osamu was always by your side, watching over your shoulder. In the relationship you two had, there would always be a certain degree of mistrust, but at least it wasn’t as overbearing as when you were with his brother. And eating your onigiri or sandwiches made Osamu as happy as if you had just kissed him, which gave you a lot of plus points with him. It was nice to see him relax after a long day at work too, and it always worked in your favor to please your captors.

Not least because it gave you back your hope. Hope to make a change in your life.

It had been far too long since you started to surrender to what they were saying and doing, just so you wouldn’t get hurt. Regaining the tiny bite of freedom to prepare your own food had made you realize the dependence you had on them for everything. It was their schedule you suited your day to, you justified going to the bathroom to them, and you asked for them to bring home things you wanted to eat. In a way, it was infantilizing, and in another, dehumanizing.

As Osamu was now, you’d never think you could have a chance against him. Even if you managed to trick him, you didn’t want to imagine the lengths he could go to that you hadn’t seen before. The worst you had seen so far probably wasn’t the worst he could be. If the twins were together, you thought your chances to be below zero, but now that it was only Osamu, you hatched a plan. Only, he had to become weaker than he was in his current state.

It had been weeks in the planning, ever since the first few times he let you prepare food for the two of you. Building up trust as you chatted away normally with him while forming rice balls and other cold delicacies, you used a few bad days to push your two kidnappers over the edge enough to sedate you. No one said it would be easy, but it was excruciating not to get caught storing away the sleeping pills they used on you. More than once you were ready to give up and return to pleasing them for your own sake, but you persevered in the end, all for this moment.

“Can you set the table?” you asked him, innocently enough. Even if Osamu had stuck to your side like glue at first, he was now more willing than ever to play pretend with you, especially if you asked him sweetly. Just as if you two had a normal relationship and were fond of each other, that’s what Osamu preferred to believe. Nodding, he set aside his glass of water, brushing his lips to your head before reaching over you for the plates, arranging them at the counter with his back turned. Immediately, you reached into your pocket to retrieve the capsules, opening and spreading them over the white rice balls you had prepared. 

Just as quickly did you wash the leftover casing of the medicine down the drain, pretending to wash your hands before picking up the bowl of rice and bringing it to the countertop on which you usually had dinner at. Osamu had watched you again after setting the table, so you gave him a smile before taking a seat, waiting for him to follow. Everything so far had been going exceptionally well, but you composed yourself to not give away the excitement you felt.

You snatched the one spoon you two usually used together to scoop up some of the rice, trickling soy sauce onto it and holding it up to him. Osamu’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as you offered to feed him, and you calmly, with a big grin, said, “Aah!” to animate him to eat. Seeing his ears grow red in response as he hesitated to take the bite gave you the confirmation that you needed that your plan was working.

Finally, Osamu took the bait you offered. When you quickly scooped up a second spoon to give to him for good measures, he didn’t even raise a brow anymore before eating it. Yes, the boys may be your captors, but they weren’t perfect, and you had been their weakness all along. It didn’t need the second spoon for the medication to hit, but you were convinced that it was better safe than sorry.

It didn’t take long for it to take effect either, and you thanked Atsumu only this once for needing very effective travel medicine. Osamu took a big sip of his water right after the second spoon, and by the way he grew weary and nervous at the same time you knew something felt off to him. “Are you okay?” you asked, feigning worry as you scooped up a third spoon to give to him. “Yeah, just got a bit dizzy there.”

One more can’t hurt, you decided as you gave him a sympathetic smile, knowing he couldn’t resist your kindness, eating out of your hand again. He was barely able to swallow the rice, holding his hand over his mouth, and you saw in his eyes how torn he was between wanting to keep eating with you but also wondering if the food was spoiled.

“I don’t feel so good,” he finally admitted, and you furrowed your brows worriedly. “Do you want to lay down?” you were quick to suggest, and Osamu nodded slowly, not unhappy as you offered to help him back into your room. Seating him down on the bed, you fluffed up the pillow, feeling nothing less than pride that ran through your body as your plan worked out so perfectly. 

“Could ya bring me the water?” Osamu asked as he laid down, and you simply smiled as you complied, returning to the kitchen to fetch his glass.

Patience, you told yourself. Nothing good would come from rushing it now.

However, when you returned, Osamu seemed already out of it, chest slowly rising and falling. His eyes had yet to fully close, and out of your own experience, you knew that it was only a matter of minutes now before he’d fall asleep. You set down the glass, pretending to still be worried as you placed your palm on his head, feeling for temperature. “Are you okay?” you mumbled quietly, and he still reacted with a grumble. He was too awake for your taste. Once he was fully gone, you’d be safe to find the keys for the locks and get everything you needed. But as he was now, you’d still have to wait for a little bit longer.

“I’ll get you a blanket.” Standing up, you turned to leave when a sudden grip around your wrist held you back. Surprised, you snapped back around only for Osamu’s hand to tighten more and more until it was hurting you while he reeled you in.

“You usually need about 5 minutes before it takes effect, don’t ya remember that, [Name]? I do because I always have to hold you down until then.”

His voice was back to normal, no slurred words or grunts and nods this time. Osamu sat up calmly, pulling you closer until you had to kneel down on the mattress to comply with his strength. “W-What are you talking about?” you questioned, feigning ignorance while you were pulled over Osamu and onto the spot next to him on the bed.

“What I’m saying is, we still have another minute or so until the drug ya gave me will put me to sleep. What should we do until then?”

Next thing you knew, Osamu was on top of you, holding you down by your hands and sitting down on your legs to restrain you. “Drug? What drug? I didn’t give you any such thing!” you nervously defended yourself, twisting your wrists in his grip. This should have been way easier, and Osamu should have failed to keep up his strength. Was it his build? Or because you put it into food? Did the medicine affect him so differently than you were used to?

“Come on, [Name], how dumb did you think I was? Of course I knew of your little prank. Didn’t you notice me watching as ya put the damn stuff on the rice?”

Your heart sank as you listened to his words. You thought you were quick and stealthy as you prepared the food, so how could he notice? “Also, I know you hadn’t taken the pills for a while. As I said, you always stop struggling after five minutes, asleep after eight, but your times had been messed up the last few occasions we had to give them to you. I have to know it, I am the one taking care of you, don’t ya know that yet?”

Biting your lip, you felt yourself panic inside. This was bad, pretty bad. Until the sleeping pills really started to work, Osamu was in charge, and he didn’t seem pleased either. When he suddenly let go of your right hand, you quickly clawed into his arm that was still pinning you down by your left, hoping that with combined strength, he’d let go. You completely missed him reaching into his own pocket and bringing his hand to his lips, only noticing the white capsule sticking out from his mouth when he reached around your chin and made you face him again.

But before you could react and slap the pill out of his mouth, Osamu had brought his lips down to your yours, breaking through them even though you struggled to keep your mouth shut. His tongue playing over yours didn’t stop you from rejecting the pill he transferred to you. Osamu didn’t linger for too long - even when he was mad, never overstaying his welcome - but before you could spit it out, he clasped his hand over your mouth. Finally letting go of both hands your hands, you used them to try and pull his hand off you, but before long, he had sealed your nose off as well, giving you no other chance than to swallow if you wanted back your air.

Even though you wanted to pretend to swallow it, Osamu didn’t retract the moment he saw you gulp for the first time, waiting it out until he deemed it most likely that you indeed swallowed. Unfortunately, with enough saliva, it slipped past your tongue and down your throat easily, tears shooting up your eyes as you realized that you couldn’t have stopped it. Only then, Osamu let go, and you snapped for air, frustrated cries escaping you.

“Why did you do that!” you complained, and Osamu didn’t flinch away as you pounded your fists against his chest in anger. “Why did you even swallow the food if you knew I put something in it?!”

For a while, Osamu kept quiet, letting you live out your tantrum before you finally gave up on your anger. Catching your hands as they fell to the sides, he kissed them both gently while you felt more and more drowsy by the second. Only now you realized what he gave you, the feeling very similar to whenever the twins had drugged you before. “Why did you eat it?” you mumbled, the sobs slowly but surely dying out with the rising sleepiness you felt.

“Because I love you,” Osamu said nonchalantly. Suddenly, his whole body seemed to collapse, and you could be glad your arms blocked him from falling square onto you. Up to the last point, he had still made sure you wouldn’t be bothered more by him, as you were able to push him off you, the sleeping pills’ effect almost making it seem like he was dead as he laid beside you.

It had been the perfect plan; you just didn’t think that Osamu was that attentive. There was still a lot you had to learn about the twins, but there would most likely be something new to experience the moment you woke up again and having to face an angry Osamu. But maybe one day. Maybe you could do it another day.

But you had your doubts that it would get any easier from here on out.

[writefasttalkevenfaster]

Take My Hand (Part Three)

Summary: feelings are hurt, mistakes are made, and someone wakes up in the wrong bed (one of three four ??? parts) 

Pairings: Rafael Barba x Reader, Sonny Carisi x Reader

Word Count: 6,992

Song:  It wasn't right / The way it all went down / Looks like you know that now (closure by taylor swift) 

Warnings: T, spoilers for 19x13 (the undiscovered country) and use of some dialogue from that episode, infant death, some swearing, drinking, drunken behavior, so much angst, 

A/N: thank you for @bucky-of-the-opera​ and @laneygthememequeen​ for letting me bounce ideas off and being such amazing beta readers. and thank you to @qvid-pro-qvo​ for the support and enthusiasm as i muddled my way through these scenes. And thank you to all of you for reading :) 

“Another,” you slam your glass on the table, “please.” 

“Are you sure you want another?” the bartender raised an eyebrow at you, the glasses lined around you. 

“I asked for another,” you hiss, your voice raising and falling, the sound making the ache in your head sharp, a knife dragging across your forehead from temple to temple. 

The drink lands in front of you, "I'm cutting you off," you click your teeth together, your fingers pressed the cool glass, the only thing grounding you, "hey, hey," she snaps her fingers, "did you drive here?" 

You scoff, "Who drives in New York?" The remark doesn't come off as biting as you want, words slurring. 

The bartender taps on your phone, lying on the counter amongst the glasses, "call someone to pick you up. We're closing. Don't go home by yourself." 

You sip at your drink, your throat numb to any burn alcohol could provide you — the thrill gone, only left the bitter depressant you needed to relieve the pain. But there was no amount that could relieve this pain because one word brought it back — Rafael. 

A wound that had scabbed over so times could still bleed, and this pain came with no adrenaline to numb it. But nothing could numb this pain — the one searing in your hollow chest, your heart long forlorn the moment you stepped from that office — no, it was earlier. Was it the moment you chose to love him? No, maybe it was the moment you kissed him, sunk into those eyes made for sinking, and you stood at the helm, unwavering. Because, after all, it was your heart to sink. 

You loved him — you loved him even when he was completely unloveable in his behavior — your adoration for toleration. You loved him even when you didn't want to — when you knew he didn't deserve it, when you deserved more. You loved him, but you didn't know why. 

And you wished you never did. 

The bartender snaps her fingers again, "Hey, please call someone because I don't want you leaving here alone." 

But you missed him, you scrolled through your contacts, finding his name so easily — his contact picture was of him in the office, sitting beside you on his couch with a mouthful of dumplings, irritated by something Buchanan had said. The next picture on your camera roll if you remembered was him lunging for your phone, and the third was of him kissing you, the taste of soy sauce on his lips. 

Was the last time you kissed him the last time? Would it be the last time you touched him? The last time you slept beside him? 

Your finger hovered over the call button — it would be easy to call him, to talk to him, to love him. But, your thumb slides right, going back to your contacts, just because it was easy didn't mean it was right. 

Tears slid down your face, as you downed the rest of your drink. 

But you needed to call someone — someone you trusted. 

Sonny did not expect to spend his Thursday night (or was it Friday morning?)  like this — not at Forlini’s, not out at 3 AM, and certainly not picking you up. 

You weren't exactly clear about much on the phone — between the slurring and the mumbling he was only able to make out the address and "can you pick me up?"

He hurried down the street, sidestepping several burly men, who jeered at him as he passed by, his nerves shot at this point. He had seen at least eight of the men he's passed in lockup, and here you were in the thick of it. 

What were you thinking? 

He finds the place with ease, stepping into it, finding the bartender wiping up a table by the front. Irritated, she jerks her head towards the bar, "over there, the last drink hit hard, so you might have some trouble getting home, buddy." 

His brow wrinkles, "What do you—" 

"Sonny!" your voice is high, throwing up your hands in a to-do, as you stumble off the stool, while Sonny barely moves in time to catch you. 

“Whoa, whoa, are you okay, counselor?” you pout, sighing loudly, as you gently take his hands off of you, instead intertwining your fingers with his. 

“I told you to call me by my name, Sonny,” he clears his throat, feeling his ears burn as you tugged him closer, peering up at him with a wide grin, “or should I start calling you Detective Carisi?” your voice low and teasing, he leans away. 

Okay, he bites his lip, stepping away from you. 

What had he gotten himself into? 

After several minutes of bargaining, bartering, and bribes, he was able to convince you to leave the bar, much to his (and the bartender’s) relief. But then again, the problems kept coming. He pulls you outside, and you’re shivering, your suit jacket clearly not enough. He pulls off his sweatshirt, handing it to you, you open your mouth to protest, but when another strong wind blows through, and you pull it over your shoulders. 

He glances away, but his eyes wander back to you — his ears burning at the sight of you in his clothes. 

No, no, this was not the time, he chided himself. 

“Come on, let’s get you home, sweetheart,” and you pull away from him. 

“I can’t go home,” he crosses his arms, struggling to keep his temper even at 2 in the morning, his patience worn away to nothingness in that bar. 

“Sweetheart,” you shake your head — now you were just being stubborn, “the bar is closed, you have to go home.” 

“No, I can’t go home,” and he sees the tears in your eyes, streaking down your face, and you’re shaking your head, arms crossed, “I can’t, Sonny. Please.” 

And his irritation turns to fear — he’s seen this before, too many times, far too many times, a sinking feeling in his gut, “What happened?” 

“Sonny—” your voice breaks, it was a blurred line between anger and fear — and he didn’t know what he felt right now — but he knew he was going to lose his mind if you didn’t tell him what was going on right now. 

“Did someone do something to you?” you shake your head, “did they touch you—” 

“No, Sonny, no,” you wipe your tears away, sniffing, “I just broke up with the guy I was seeing. The one I told you about. It wasn’t working,” you gave a watery chuckle, “it never worked to begin with.” 

He says your name, his anger simmering, “I’m—” 

You wave him off, before sighing, “I just can’t deal with him right now. And if I go home,” your voice shakes, “he might show up there and I can’t do that. I can’t.” 

Sonny feels his heart thump against his chest, reaching for your hand, squeezing it, “Then we won’t.” 

He takes you to his place, it doesn’t take long to get to — it takes longer to get you out of the cab, fully asleep on his shoulder by the time they arrive. His arm around you, supporting you, he takes you inside, “You take the bed, okay? I’ll sleep on the couch.” 

“You don’t have to do that,” you mumble, leaning against him as he unlocks the door, hating how he liked the way you felt against him, and he sighs. No, it feels like he does. You were his friend first — anything he felt was irrelevant. He shut the door behind him. 

Until it wasn’t. But it wouldn’t be relevant — not tonight. 

“Come on,” he helps you to his bedroom, having you sit at the edge of the bed, kneeling as he takes your shoes off for you. He looks up to find you staring at him, eyes glassy, “What’s wrong?” 

“You really care about me, don’t you, Sonny?” and he tilts his head. 

“Of course I do,” he frowns, “what do you—” 

And you kiss him. It’s brief, but in his mind, it feels like forever — your lips were as soft as he thought they would be. He tastes the alcohol on your tongue, but that’s nothing compared to you. 

He had never wanted to feel this way. 

When did he first feel it? 

When you had comforted him about Coles? No, maybe when you asked him to join you for a drink after shadowing? Or maybe it was the moment he saw you in your office, when you told him to call you by your name — when you called him by his. 

He pulls away, and you sit, breath hot against his, whispering so quietly he barely hears it even in the silence, “I wish he cared about me the way you did.” 

And he supposed it didn’t matter — helping you lay down — because it didn’t mean anything anyway. 

Your first memory is regret, followed by pain — in that order — a sharp pain in your head stirs you into consciousness and into terror because, not only were you surely going to die, but in a stranger’s home. A knife would have been kinder than a hangover — when was the last time you had one? Have you ever had one before? 

Your stomach lurched — you didn’t need to think about that right now. 

You pushed yourself up, mind swimming and muscles screaming, your eyes surely bench pressing a thousand pounds to stay open, what the fuck happened— 

The picture on the bedside table came into focus — was that— 

It was Sonny with his niece, both their smiling faces staring back at you — almost mocking the situation you had gotten yourself into. 

What had you done last night? 

You groan softly, as the memories come back to you, as your hand clutches at your forehead, slowly sliding down, — the fight, the bar, the drinking, calling Sonny to get you and— your fingers brush your lips— 

Fuck. 

You kissed him — you had kissed Sonny. Flashes of it came back — you rocking forward to kiss him, his lips soft against yours, pulling away from you. Tears burned your eyes — congrats, you had somehow managed to blow up your life in so many ways in one night. 

You were the worst — the worst. 

Was this rock bottom? You didn’t know you could fall so far — to the point where you didn’t recognize yourself — drinking to forget, hurting the people who cared, and throwing it away for someone who didn’t even care. 

No more, you wiped your tears away, reaching for your purse, pulling a pen and notepad from your bag, this needed to end. 

You deserved more. 

You always did. 

You walk into your apartment, stepping inside to the sound of someone walking around, and you tense, your phone clenched in your hand, glancing around — and then you hear his voice. 

Breathless, he steps out from the kitchen, and he whispers your name in the silence of the morning. His arms around you in a moment, your arms at your sides“I’ve been calling all morning — I came here and you weren’t here, I thought something had—” he breaks off, seemingly able to breath again, but you couldn’t — you never could with him. 

“What are you doing here?” you whisper, breaking away from him, taking several steps back. 

“What do you mean? I called you — i couldn’t find you—” 

“You don’t need to find me — it’s over,” your voice broke, crossing your arms, “leave.” 

And his eyes are drawn to your sweatshirt, hanging low on your body, and his eyes narrow, “Were you with someone else?” You blink, realizing you still had Sonny’s sweatshirt on from last night, “were you cheating on—” 

“Cheating?” you bark out a laugh, raising your eyebrows, “cheating on who? On what? We’re nothing to each other, Rafael. It was true last night, and it’s true today.” 

“This isn’t nothing — we aren’t nothing,” he shakes his head, “what do you want? Do you want a relationship? Tell me, I’ll do it.” 

“I want you to leave,” you swallow thickly, “It’s over, Raf, we can’t do this anymore.”

“I’m telling you I’ll do anything—” he whispers your name in the silence of your heart breaking, he steps forward and you step away — the gap between you a chasm, a lake made of your own tears, “I love you.” 

You shake your head, tears slipping down your cheeks, “No, no—” 

“I do,” he pleads, “I do, mi amor.” 

“You love me until you don’t,” you meet his gaze, emerald eyes shiny with tears, “I can’t do that anymore — I need more, I deserve more.” 

He wipes his tears with the back of his hand, “This is it?” 

“It is,” he steps forward, and you don’t step away this time, his warm cupping your cheek for the last time, your tears rolling over the knuckles of his fingers. 

“Can I kiss you goodbye?” he asks — and you squeeze your eyes shut, nodding. His breath is warm against your lips, his touch comforting and familiar. Your lips meet — he feels like home, his arms around your waist, splayed and lingering as if they never wanted to leave — and you didn’t want them to. Your lips part and meet over and over, until you think he’s stolen the very breath from your lungs. Your fingers fisted in his shirt, and you don’t know if you want to push him away or pull him closer. 

You pull away — and it takes everything in you, a sob stuck in your throat — your foreheads brushing, and his hands reach for you as you pull away, but you brush past him, “Please go,” your back to him, you don’t watch him leave, instead hearing his footsteps against the floor, the door creaking open, and a pause. 

“I’m sorry, mi amor.” 

And the door clicks shut, and you sink to the floor, your back to the bottom of your couch, as you cry silently. 

You were too. 

Sonny wakes up to the sound of a door closing. 

He curses under his breath, throwing off his blanket haphazardly. He nearly trips over himself trying to leave his apartment. But his stumbling was not fast enough to catch you — already long disappeared down the stairs of his apartment. He walks back to his room, finding his bed made with wrinkled sheets — the same ones you had kissed him on — a note in your place: 

Sonny, 

I’m so sorry. I was in a bad place, I wasn’t myself, but it’s no excuse for how I treated you — making you pick me up, take care of me, and kissing you — and everything in between. It was a mistake. I can’t change what I already did, but I’m sorry for everything — and I won’t burden you again like that — ever. 

‘It was a mistake.’

Sonny stares at the note — finger brushing against the wet splotch on the paper. And he couldn’t help but think there was another door that closed last night — and he wondered if there would ever be another chance. 

There was a sharp knock at Rafael’s door, and Jack McCoy stuck his head in, “Counselor, do you have a minute?” Rafael barely looks up from his work — his late start and no sleep did him no favors, he was already buried in work and you were in motions hearings all morning on top of it. 

Not that he wanted to see you anyway — not after this morning. 

All night he had waited for you — he called, he texted, he left voicemails — he did everything but send you a fax. You always teased him that his propensity for sending a fax made his age show — and he always replied to that with a kiss and a grin with a promise to show you that with age came experience. 

And now he would never kiss you again. 

He looked for you too — he spent hours pacing his apartment until he couldn’t take it anymore — and he started to look. He checked with your friends, he looked in at the office, and he finally checked on your place. You had given him a key before — for emergencies — but usually it was for late nights he would crawl in beside you, his arms curled around your middle. And you would lean into his touch, a sigh on your lips, even as you slept. 

And now he would never sleep next to you again. 

“Rafael?” McCoy asked, and Rafael snapped from his stupor, rubbing his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t sleep well last night,” he leaned back away from his work, clearing his throat, “what was it that you needed from me, Jack?” 

“I just wanted to inform you that your A.D.A. has resigned with a week’s notice,” and he blinked, his heart slowly caving in upon itself, “I allowed as such since I figured with the case flow, we should be fine for a week with a man down, but if you need any help, please let me know and I”ll have another A.D.A. assist you.” 

He nods, dumbstruck, as Jack turns to go, “Wait, Jack,” he looks back, “was there a reason given?” 

He offers a sad and knowing smile, “Needed a change, new opportunities — a need to grow,” he slips his hands into his pockets, “everyone does, son.” 

“Of course, thank you.” and there he knew —  he knew that you had outgrew him. 

And it was his fault. 

It doesn’t take long for the news to spread across SVU — and you’re careful to drop by on a day that Sonny won’t be there, shame still lingering in your chest about that night. You knew that you should face him — you knew you should talk to him, but you knew that it would only make things harder. And you didn’t want to do that to him. 

But mostly you didn’t want to do it to yourself. 

“We’re going to miss you around here, counselor,” Liv squeezes your shoulder, offering you a warm smile. 

“Won’t be the same without you — who else is going to get that stick out of Barba’s ass?” Fin asks, and you chuckle, but his name carves another fresh wound into your skin, lingering just as his touch did, “but seriously, you ever need anything—” 

“I’ll take you up on that, Fin,” 

“Seriously, anything you need,” Amanda smiles, and you nod, biting your lip. 

“Could you actually do something for me?” you hold up a bag, “can you give this to Sonny? He lent it to me the other night at the office.” 

Amanda frowns, “Don’t you want to tell him goodbye yourself?” 

“I will, but I just want to make sure he gets this back first, before I forget,” you lie — and you hope she can’t see through it, see through you, but it feels like everyone can — skin rubbed raw from the last week, red and exposed and fragile, “please?” 

“Of course,” she takes it without another word, but you can still feel her watching you as you leave the precinct for the last time, hands in your pockets. 

It’s a large change — new job, new place, and new borough. And it takes some time. 

You find another job relatively easily — the alumni network at your alma mater and your experience as a prosecutor makes it simple for you to step into place at a boutique defense firm in the Bronx. It’s as natural as a transition as you can hope for. 

Your colleagues are kind, guiding, helpful — and your work is different, but familiar — a different view of the same picture with a distinct goal of making the government uphold its burden and to hold the phrase, “innocent until proven guilty” with conviction — and hopefully without a conviction for your clients. 

When the news broke, it didn’t take long for you to hear the whispers and it didn’t take long for the whispers to become an outcry.

“Did you hear about the Manhattan A.D.A. on trial?” a first year associate asked another, and you freeze, your head snapping over, blood running cold. 

“What happened?”

~~~

“Jack McCoy,” 

“Jack, what the hell is going on?” you hissed in your office, shutters shut and door closed, “I just heard that—” 

“That Rafael Barba is on trial for murder? You heard right,” a hint of a sigh in the back of his throat, “I had no choice — my hands were tied.” You knew he didn’t — your anger receding, the office can’t be seen giving him any favor. He needed to be treated like anyone else — but he wasn’t just anyone else, was he? 

Not to you.

Your mouth was dry, “What happened?” 

Jack explained — everything — the parents, the baby, the hospital. Two parents caught between an impossible decision about their child now deemed to be braindead, and a mother who wanted nothing more than her child to be at rest. But she wasn’t the one who did it. Rafael did, against the father’s wishes. And now he was going to trial for murder. 

Even as Jack explained, your words kept echoing in your ears — “you’re too busy saving the rest of the world.” 

“Does he have representation yet?” your mind raced with images of him in jail, the ostracization, the media outrage, the shame — fuck. 

What the hell were you thinking, Rafael? 

“Not to my knowledge, but you can’t—” 

“I know I can’t,” you scoff, “but I know someone who can and will,” you scrolled through your contacts, finding the one you were looking for, “Is he okay?” you asked softly. 

“As well as he can be,” you could almost see Jack frowning, “I don’t wish to see anything happen to him, but no one is above the law, you know that.” 

“I know, but I also know him—” and despite everything — the pain, the heartbreak, the anger — you knew he didn’t deserve this, “and I know I can’t let him go to jail.” 

“I know,” he warns, sighing, “I want the same result as you, counselor, just tread lightly.” 

“I will,” a shay sigh escapes your chest, and you swallow the lump in your throat, trying not to let your voice break, “will he be okay?”

He gives a bitter chuckle, “After this many years of doing this, you would think I could predict what a jury will do — but I don’t know. Juries surprise you and that cuts both ways. And I hope this time it cuts the way we want it to.” 

“Thank you Jack, for everything,” 

You can almost see him smile, “Of course, anytime.” 

And now there was one more phone call you needed to make — the phone only rang twice before he picked up, “Regretting your wrong choice in workplace already? Only after, what, a few weeks? I think that’s a new record in job changes, counselor.” 

You snort. Randy Dworkin never changed, did he? “I told you, Randy — your firm is too much of a boys’ club for my taste.” 

“But I know you play rough, and this is more a roughhouse than a boys’ club — you’d dominate them all in a moment, and we’d be nothing but your humble servants.” 

“And here I thought you saved the theatrics for the courtroom,” you hear him give a small gasp. 

“You wound me, counselor. And another thing, if you’re not calling to tell me you’ve changed your mind, then you must be calling for a favor. And as one of your old mentors, let me remind you of an old adage — you catch more flies with honey than vinegar,” you shake your head. 

“It’s not exactly a favor,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, “Let me start over — I need you to represent a former colleague of mine.” 

“And this is not a favor, how?” 

“Because this is a case you’re going to definitely want your name on.” 

“If you don’t want to represent me, that’s fine,” Rafael was beginning to regret taking this meeting — even with half the defense attorneys in the city ducking his calls, maybe he would be better off defending himself pro se-- 

“I don't wanna represent you, I have to represent you. Cases like this wet my whistle, so to speak,”  Dworkin explained, sighing, as Rafael raised an eyebrow, “So, what did the little bastard do to you?”

--And he was becoming more sure with every passing second. 

“This was a mistake,” but Dworkin waves him back down.

“Okay, okay,” Dworkin backs off, looking all too pleased with himself, “I’ll skip the self-defense angle,” and Rafael found himself reluctantly sitting back down. Randy Dworkin may be smarmy, he may be endlessly irritating, but he was good at his job, better than good — as much as Rafael hated to admit it —  and he needed help. 

“I’m sorry I wasted your time, Mr. Dworkin,” 

“Randy,” he corrects, “And my point is this whole thing is a sick joke. You killed something that nine out of ten doctors would say wasn't alive.” 

“And what about the tenth doctor?” and that was the thought that haunted Rafael the most — he knew the smallest chance may be enough to convince a jury — it was enough to convince him he was guilty. No one was above the law, including him, guilty in his own eyes — in the eyes of the same god his mother had raised him to believe in. 

And yet here he sat. 

“Look, you wanna prove a point, and I wanna prove a point. It's what my nana would call the perfect shidduch,” Rafael raises an eyebrow, growing more weary of this conversation with every second. 

“What point do you wanna prove?”

“That the government's power has grown too damn much. That the bigger the government gets, the smaller it leaves the individual. That once the government takes away our right to die, it takes away our right to live,” he looks self-satisfied, leaning back in his seat, “How am I doing so far? 

Rafael’s jaw is set, “Well, for defending a murderer, not bad,” and Dworkin raises an eyebrow, shushing him dramatically. 

“Let’s keep that self-sacrificial guilt locked up, okay? Save it for your religious leader of choice,” Dworkin leans in closer, “I know you put in calls for defense attorneys — I know you don’t want to go to jail, and I know other people don’t want to see you take the fall for this.” 

“Other people?” he raises an eyebrow, and Dworkin seems to bite his tongue in the moment, a flicker of interest crossing his face, “did someone refer this case to you?”

“It’s not exactly a low profile nobody case, Barba — the story is splashed across half the tabloids and all over the news—” 

“But you just—”

“Let’s focus on getting you off first,” Dworkin tilts his head, “or did you forget that you’re on trial for murder?” 

Rafael wrinkles his brow, the question still nagging at the back of his head — a question mark at the end of a paragraph that lingered like an unspoken taboo he couldn’t place — but, Dworkin was right — right now, he couldn’t waste time. 

Time that he really didn’t have. 

“You didn’t tell me when I took this case that I was getting in between some doomed office relationship you conveniently failed to disclose before,” you didn’t realize this lunch Randy had invited you to involve an ambush — but you should have — it was Randy Dworkin. 

“I didn’t see how that was pertinent,” you shrug, picking at your food, “and it wasn’t a relationship.” 

“Puh-tat-o, puh-tat-toe — it’s still a cow if it moos, no?” he snorts, shaking his head, “it’s only pertinent when I almost let it slip that you were the one that referred the case to my attention.” 

That gets your attention, head snapping up, “And you?” 

“Masterfully avoided the question — I have excellent evasion skills — the fact that I never had a career in the C.I.A. should be criminal,” he looks up from his food, a shit eating grin on his lips, “It wasn’t hard — he has a lot more on his mind right now.” 

“I can only imagine,” you murmur, your brow wrinkled as you stabbed a fry with your fork, appetite woefully gone. 

“Your face will freeze like that,” and you scoff. 

“And yet I’ll still look better than you,” he laughs at that. 

“I always told you that you should have come and worked for me out of law school, instead of going to the D.A.’s office,” he wipes his lips with his napkin, “maybe you wouldn’t have fallen for this schmuck—” 

You raise an eyebrow, “He’s not—” 

“Still supportive? Even after the way he treated you—” and you gape at him, “you know that rumors get around — the community is small and people talk as much as they listen — it’s an incesteous cesspool of heathens,” and he gestures to you and him, “look no further.” 

“Speak for yourself,” you grumble, cheeks burning, “I’m sorry what rumors?” 

“You don’t need to know, kid,” he shakes his head, “my question is more focused on the present — why do you still care?” 

“Because he doesn’t deserve to go down for this—” 

“And he probably wouldn’t either way, but why do you care?” 

“I don’t know, okay?” you snap, “I wish I did, but I don’t. But despite everything that happened — I don’t want to see him suffer. I don’t want him to go to jail,” your voice cracks ever so slightly, and Randy frowns at you, expression unreadable, “Call me an idiot, but I care — I can’t help it.” 

“Most times that’s an asset, counselor,” he leans forward, elbow on the table, “as long as you don’t let anyone take advantage of it — not again.” 

“I won’t,” you say softly, as the waiter comes over to hand over the check, helping to pack up the rest of your food to go,  “I never thanked you for taking the case.” 

“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” he smiles, handing over the server book, “you’re picking up the check.” 

“On the sole count of the indictment, murder in the second degree, we find the defendant, Rafael Barba — not guilty.” the foreman announces, and relief floods Rafael, all the same time that guilt does — the two emotions irrevocably tied — lifting him up and dragging him down — a balloon and an anchor. 

Dworkin claps him on the shoulder, “Congratulations, counselor, and you’re welcome. My bill is the mail.” 

“Thank you, Randy,” he shakes his hand, “really, I—” 

“Spare me the speech, okay? I appreciate it, but I was doing my job, just like you did yours,” he offers him a smile, “and besides there’s someone else you should really be thanking.” 

He frowns, “Who?” 

Your name leaves his lips, and Rafael blinks, “How the case got referred to me? That’s how,” he hadn’t heard your name in months, and yet the hurt of you leaving still felt fresh — a knife twisted in his gut, even as the flesh around it healed and scarred, the metal still stung the same as the day you left. 

Or rather, the day he made you leave. 

It was his fault — he knew that now. And maybe that was the point — to drive you away, to push you so far that there was no coming back. Self-destructive — self sacrificial just as Dworkin had called him — except he had sacrificed you instead of him. It should have been him — his fears, his worries, his walls — offered at the alter of your unconditional love. 

But he didn’t. He didn’t and he regretted it — but was regret enough? 

“Why are you telling me this?” and Dworkin shrugs, grabbing his briefcase with a sigh. When his gaze meets his again, it’s sharp as a jagged rock. 

“I don’t know honestly,” he licks his lips, “I still think you’re a schmuck, but I know certain other people don’t think so,” he sticks a hand in his pocket, “and if you do get another chance, don’t screw it up. Otherwise, there won’t be a defense attorney in town who will help you next time you screw up.” 

He leaves Rafael standing, dumbstruck. 

And what was he to do now — with his future open and empty, what was left and who did he want to share it with? 

And there was only one answer to that question. 

There was knocking at your door — incessant and irritating that forced you out of bed at 11:00 PM — the one night of week you were able to get to bed early. And part of you only hoped it was a murderer to put you out of your misery — but you knew even the murderers weren’t so polite as to knock. But then again, you could be surprised. 

But it wasn’t a murderer — at least in the eyes of a New York jury. 

It was someone much worse. 

And then it occurred to you — how did he know where you even lived— and then you groan, swearing silently under your breath. 

Fuck you, Randy. 

You lean back, head leaning back, staring at the ceiling, were you ready for this? Would you ever be ready for this? 

You unlock the door, opening it, “What are you doing here?” 

“Please, I know I don’t deserve it— I don’t deserve anything from you, but please let me talk,” his voice is soft, and fuck, it hits you in so many ways — his voice, his face, him — it’s overwhelming enough to hear him, but to see him here. It’s too much and not enough all the same — to see him and not touch him. 

But he placed this ravine between you, carved it with the shards of your heart, filled it with your tears, and it was his job to scale.

And it wasn’t your job to make it easy. 

“You don’t deserve it,” you wanted him to slip on the slippery crags of rock, you wanted him to cut his hands on the sharp edges of your bitterness, “so why should I listen?” 

“Because I love you—” and you scoff, “I know I don’t have any right to say that, but please, let me just talk,” and you know he’s not going anywhere, and despite yourself — despite not wanting to give him the chance he had for months and for years — you wanted to know, you wanted him to explain. You grit your teeth, stepping aside, shutting the door behind him, arms crossed. 

“You have two minutes,” 

He clears his throat, “First, thank you for sending Dworkin my way, I don’t think I would have gotten off—” 

“I didn’t let you in to be thanked,” you cut him off, “what do you have to say, Rafael?” 

He wavers for a moment, “I love you, mi amor, and I know I don’t get to say that or call you that, but I do, I really do,” his voice breaks, “I know I don’t deserve you — I think I knew that from the start, and maybe that’s why I didn’t treat you right. It’s not an excuse—” 

“And yet it sounds like one—” 

“I was wrong — I took you for granted, and I will spend the rest of my life making that up to you if you give me the chance,” Rafael steps forward, dropping to one knee and your breath catches in your throat. 

No. No. He wasn’t— 

“I love you, mi amor — from our first kiss I was lost in you already — so much so that it scared me — afraid if I lost you, I would lose myself too. I know we both put away criminals for a living, but I was never scared of dying — I was scared of losing you.” he shakes his head, “But it doesn’t scare me anymore. It doesn’t scare me because losing you was the worst thing to ever happen to me. And I don’t want to ever lose you again.” 

He pulls a ring from his pocket. 

Time slows as you stare at it — wondering if you blink that it would disappear from between his fingers. It still somehow glinted in the low light of your dimmers — as shiny as his eyes were as he gazed up at you. 

You had dreamed of this moment — far too many times — a time where Rafael would come around, finally see you for who you were, find the worth in you like the way you saw it in him. A sweeping moment where he would be down on one knee, asking for your hand, and it would be simple and perfect — but nothing is ever perfect. And nothing is ever simple. 

You cover your mouth, “Wh—” 

“Marry me,” he says, whispering your name with the reverence you had always wished he would, “I got the ring from my mom — she already gave us her blessing — she said I was an idiot for letting you in the first place.” he offers a weak smile. 

“Raf—” 

“Just let me finish, before you make a decision,” he licks his lips, eyes glassy, insistent in his words, as if he was hanging his life on each one, “Come away with me — we can start over, away from politics and baggage — find a place somewhere outside the city. You always said you wanted to open your own practice someday, have a family. We can do that, you and me together,” he builds this perfect life from scratch — and you see it — you saw it before: a house in the suburbs, a picket fence, and a family — you and Rafael, your hands intertwined, together, “We’ll make a home, I’ll find a job without crazy hours, we’ll go on dates, I’ll help you open your own practice. We’ll be together, like before—” 

“But we aren’t together, Rafael— we haven’t been for months,” 

“I know, I know—” 

“No, you don’t,” you step back away from him, scrubbing your hand down your face, “this isn’t a movie, you can’t break my heart and come back months later telling me you made a mistake.” 

“Mi amor—” 

“No, no ‘mi amor’ — not when you played with my feelings for years, not when you said no at every turn, not when you dropped my heart like it was glass and crushed it beneath the heel of your shoes,” you spit back, “I called Dworkin because I didn’t want you to go to jail — nothing more, nothing less.” 

You hear his heart breaking, “I love you—” 

“I don’t,” you don’t let him see the tears falling from your eyes, “I can’t do this again. I can’t uproot my life for someone who could change their mind tomorrow. You had your chance. You lost it.” 

“Don’t say that,” 

“I did,” you wipe away your tears, you’ve cried enough for him, “it’s over. I don’t know what else will make it clearer to you.” 

“Look at me, please, look—” and you whirl on him, and you see him on his knees still — “Tell me you don’t love me — say that you don’t. And I’ll leave.” 

“I don’t love you anymore, Rafael,” and you wished that your words were truer than they were — that those words didn’t hurt as much to say as they were to hear. But they did and they were. You wanted to hate him, you hated to have no inch of remorse, but feelings were always two fold — and with anger came passion, with sadness came joy, and with hate came love. And the lines blurred until they were no more. And as much as you wanted to hate him — you knew you didn’t. 

But you had to say that you did. 

Because you couldn’t do this again for him to change his mind again — your heart couldn’t take that. You didn’t deserve to take that. 

And there was nothing left to be said. 

He slowly rises from his knees, tucking the ring into his pocket, along with the broken pieces of his heart. 

You should let him leave without another word, you should let him leave without having to look at your face, you should let him leave — but a part of you doesn’t want to let go, a part of you doesn’t want to believe this will be the last time you see his face or hear his voice. 

But still you ask, “Are you leaving New York?”

He nods, “I am — I can’t stay here.” 

“Where are you going?” A part of you wonders if he’ll just ignore you, rush out of the door — let you wonder about his plans, wonder about him — but you know you’ll do that anyway. 

You find him softly smiling, unable to quite meet your gaze, and he steps towards you, slowly, allowing you the time and space to step away — but you don’t, you can’t — not when this may be the last time you can touch him — but it was your choice to have this be the last time. 

“I don’t know,” he replies, leaning forward slowly to press a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering only a moment, his fingers brushing your cheek, “but you don’t need to worry about that. Goodbye… mi amor.” 

“Goodbye, Rafael,” you whisper, unable to watch him leave — not again.