#wipes sweat from brow i think i need to take a break from writing //j | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sooibian · 4 years ago

Text

Flambé - I

poster and edits/collage credits to @is-that-baekhyuns-shirt !

chapter two | moodboard by the lovely @pororodks

🍜 pairing: kyungsoo x fem!reader ft. baekhyun, mark lee

🍜 description: pull up a chair. take a taste. come join us. life is so endlessly delicious. - ruth reichl

🍜 themes: fluff, crack (ish), slight angst, a lil bit of spice (in the future), rivals to lovers au

🍜 word count: ~ 9.7k

🍜 a/n: writing this makes me feel lonely and hungry and that, my friends, is a deadly concoction of emotions so while i wallow in my misery, i dearly hope you’ll enjoy this creation. i'd love to hear from you <3<br>

🍜 reference notes: yt channels: maangchi, one meal a day, bore.d; netflix shows: midnight diner, street food: asia, chef’s table

🍜 tag list: @changshapatrol @j-pping @kyungseokie @exosmuttytalk @his-mochi-cheeks @littleflowercrown13 pls lmk if you’d like to be added/removed from the tag list!

Water bobs in frenetic bubbles in a massive ancient stone pot perched atop a fort of raging wood. Amidst brutal peals of thunder, a gushing stream rises from a nearby hill, obscuring the shrill cries of the sacrificial crab.

Chanting a spell, you lift the enormous crustacean by its pincers and lower it into the growling, pitch black utensil. Blubbering helplessly, it lodges its claws at the rim of the pot in desperation, seeking escape. The sound of your maniacal laughter reverberates through the cave as you thrust it back into the violent undulation with a heavy-handed flick of the bladed-spatula.

All of a sudden, you’re swept over with a wave of unconsciousness, your skin tingles, and boiling water begins to fill up your lungs.

You are alone at the bottom of the very same utensil.

“Help!” frantic, you stagger up, gasping for air. But the bladed-spatula wielding crab, now untied and hovering over you, roars jubilantly at your defenseless form.

Maybe the spell didn’t land, you think.

“Please, Chef!” you whimper as a last ditch attempt.

In one swift motion, it swooshes down to your eye level.

Bushy black brows sprout on its forehead, just a little over a pair of big brown circles for eyes. Then comes the nose, followed by a bloody red mouth that snarls at you.

zzzz…

“Late again?”

zzzz…

4:00 a.m., your phone blinks.

In a sleep befuddled state, you reach out for the wailing device. ‘Late again?’ Chef’s cold, deep voice sounds in your consciousness as you wipe the droplets of sweat off of your forehead.

Chef.

Doh Kyungsoo had insisted on the title and you’d boldly refused to call him that. What business does a man working at a Kalguksu stand in Gwangjang Market have, being called Chef. You’d seeked redressal with the higher ups. The owner.

Your aunt.

“Aegiya, he has something that you don’t.”

“A dick?”

“YAH! A degree in culinary arts.”

“Imo, haven’t you watched Parasite? Anyone can forge documents these days and if so then why is he here? He could very well land a job at Four Seasons like Hyunjin. Think, Imo. Think!”

“Exactly! With forged documents, he could be anywhere. But he’s here, no?”

“Maybe you’re just easier to manipulate.”

Finally, she said in her no-nonsense, stern voice. "Chef. You’re calling him Chef.”

Every time the egotistical madman opens that darned mouth of his, it makes you want to knock him down with a roundhouse and beat the living daylights out of him.

But, counting to five, you always resist the temptation.

Because one day, one glorious day, you’d take over your aunt’s business and the very first item on your agenda would be….well, the obvious. With a glimmer of hope, you flounder out of your comforter, muttering every cuss word you’d learnt…and crafted in the course of working with the devil himself.

“Ah 3000 is a bit too much for cucumbers", he says to the middle aged vendor, flashing a boyish grin.

The face of sourcing has drastically changed in the last six months since Kyungsoo’s arrival. Prior to his dictatorship, Imo had tie-ups with vendors who’d hand deliver the produce every single day, without fail. Guess Kyungsoo didn’t fully comprehend the benefits of customer loyalty. ‘There could be better quality ingredients out there, Sajangnim…economically priced, I might add’, he’d convinced your aunt using his military corporal voice. No matter if it meant awkward break-ups with the vegetables ahjumma or the prawns ahjussi: you were left to do the dirty work.

And required to tag along for the routine 5 a.m sourcing runs. Every morning, he’d greet you with an accusatory ‘you killed my cat’ expression.

Groaning, you shift your weight from side to side. If only he’d quit flirting with every woman in the market and hurry up! The purchases have long exceeded the capacity of your humble cart. Flailing your numb arms awake, you urge him to speed up with a nudge of the knee but he glares at you like you’d asked him for a kidney.

Kyungsoo has a tendency to overbuy but never does he help with a single bag. ‘I don’t like to sweat’ is his excuse. Which is pretty ridiculous considering he spends over ten hours a day overseeing a scorching frying pan at the stall.

But you know better than to argue.

Because as much as you loathe every fibre of his existence, he terrifies you a little. The man possesses the duality of a psychopath. As fierce as he is in the Market, ruthlessly competitive even, he’s quite the sweet talker. Incredibly charming. And you can bet your life on the fact that every ahjumma - whether or not a rival - would take a bullet for him.

“Ahdeul-ah”, the woman coos at him, making your insides violently contort, “you know how tight the market is these days. But I’ll throw in some more only for you.”

The additional weight of three kilos on your right arm ends your sourcing run for the day.

***

“Chef”, huffing, you say to him on your way out, “I had a late night last night.”

“And I need to be privy to this little nugget of unwarranted information because?” He paces ahead of you at his usual lightning speed.

“No, I meant, could we stop”, panting you continue, “could we stop for a quick cup of coffee.”

Halting abruptly, he turns around to look you square in the eyes, “No.”

“Asshole!” You murmur under your breath.

“I heard that.”

Monday at Choi Yoonsun’s Kalguksu stall was busier than usual.

It went by in a daze amidst the cacophony of a sizzling girdle, clanging of pots and pans and Imo’s relentless vocalization inviting guests to the stall. Having served thousands of bowls of Kalguksu and Kimchi Mandu, you rely heavily on muscle memory to get you through a workday’s demands.

Despite its massive chaos and commotion, you quite enjoyed working in the Market.

Not being particularly skilled at much and having nearly flunked out of high school, cooking was the one thing that defined you. It was your safe harbour. You’d lost your father in an accident at the tender age of ten and your mother was forced to work long hours to put food on the table. So you honed your culinary skills, little by little, because you thought it vital for your own well-being as well as your mother’s.

One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.

At the end of yet another rewarding day, you leave a wet towel soaking in vinegar for Kyungsoo to clean the iron girdle and proceed to tend to the dirty dishes yourself.

“Yahh!” Imo calls out for Kyungsoo and you, thumping her hand on the table, gesturing for you to join her.

“Ahh! Imo, there’s a huge pile of dirty dishes!” You cry out in response, only to turn around to find that ass-kisser already at the table, schmoozing with your aunt. Hastily taking off your grubby apron, you wash your hands and wipe them clean with a rag cloth. Straightening your black shirt, flattening unruly flyaways, you rush toward the table but she’s already up and ready to leave, “We’ll have dinner together tonight. I want to have a word with both of you.”

“But -”

“Sajangnim”, Kyungsoo interrupts, wagging a finger in your direction, face scrunched up in mock concern, “this one’s had a late night last night -”

“Chef! So I guess I’ll be seeing you tonight. As if seeing you every day of every week wasn’t enough already!”

An overtly saccharine smile spreads across your face and his jaw hardens in response.

“Aish….you two…I’m leaving now”, shaking her head, she sighs, “see you both in two hours.”

Kimchi jjigae, Pajeon, Tteokbokki, Jajangmyeon, some leftover Bibimbap with sides galore from Hong Lim Banchan Stall. Imo clearly has something important on her mind.

But the vibe at the dinner table just doesn’t sit right with you.

The reason for that could be the bespectacled black hole of negativity that’s seated besides you in all black clothing but there’s something off about Imo.

She’s being a little too nice.

Fear gradually starts to settle in your bones. Is she finally closing down? Is this delectable fare an attempt at softening the blow? After all, she’d settled her husband’s debts over five years ago and her sons were doing well for themselves. Quite well, in fact. The elder one, Hyunwoo, is an investment banker and the younger one Hyunjin went to culinary school and is working as a chef at Four Seasons’ Chinese restaurant. It only makes sense for her to trade the Market’s gruelling ways for some much deserved peace and quiet.

“We’re closing down the stall”, she says coolly.

It’s like a punch in the gut.

“Imo -”

“Aegiya”, she rests her chin on her hand, face clouded over with serenity, “the Market’s given me everything. It’s given me a sense of independence…a sense of pride. It put my family back together. I used to think that I’m nothing without my husband and my sons…but the Market gave me an identity. I continued to work even after my husband’s passing not because I needed the money but because this is something that I’ve created and I’m mighty proud of what’s become of it today. My name is a brand in itself. And a decade ago I couldn’t have imagined this even in the wildest of my dreams.”

A million scenarios cascading through your head drown out Imo’s voice.

Would you now have to go back to Bucheon? Or invest in a stall of your own at the traditional Gwangjang that would never accept your big and bold ways with cooking? And to start from scratch? With a new recipe? Kalguksu with a twist, perhaps? But you had no insight into your aunt’s special broth. She’d never let you or even Kyungsoo for that matter whip up the hand-cut noodles. The two of you only ever helped with the ancillary tasks.

You soon come to the realization of not being the only one caught in the eye of the storm. Kyungsoo’s unwavering gaze is scarily fixated on the bowl of jajangmyeon before him. His miserable state gives you a fleeting sense of relief and it’s in that exact moment that he chooses to say something unpalatable.

“Sajangnim, you’ve worked too hard. It’s time for you to reap the fruits of your labour. We’ll be fine, you don’t have to worry about us.”

Of course he’ll be fine.

Nearly all food stall owners in Gwangjang have been vying for him ever since the day he set foot into Choi Yoonsun’s with his phlegmatic personality. Whereas you had nowhere to go. The world conveniently assumes Imo hired you only because you were her poor sister’s daughter who she sought to help financially. Not because you had what it took to be there and survive.

“Did I say I was ready to retire?” She laughs, eyeing Kyungsoo quizzically.

“Here’s the thing..I met up with a friend last month. She was looking for a buyer for her little family run restaurant in Gangnam. So I took out a loan, made her an offer”, balling her hands into fists she sighs, “put in the deposit…and the place is pretty much mine now!”

“IMO”, you yell, “you didn’t have to scare me with that long winded speech! God, you’re so dramatic!”

“Well, it is a big move. I’m not sure either of you are ready to take the leap. It requires a tonne of work and I may not be able to pay half of what you earned at the Market for at least two months until we open. It’ll take the restaurant two years or so to break even and only then will I be able to afford scaling your salaries. On the other hand, what I can do is, help you secure a job at the banchan stall since you love seasoned spinach so much and Kyungsoo even stands a chance at managing one of the Pakgane stalls!”

Pakgane is the mung bean pancake stall that had gotten so popular that the owner managed to branch out of Gwangjang. So even your beloved Imo believes that you’d make for a better “help” and Kyungsoo, a Manager.

Ugh!

“I’m coming with you”, you say firmly, “I’ve saved up a little and Eomma will gladly pitch in, if need be…”

At this point, you’d expected Kyungsoo to be ready with his luggage considering the little sycophant he is but his expression is stoic, eyes still glued to the jajangmyeon bowl, filling you with insane hope.

He was going to jump ship…finally!

“Chef…”, you couldn’t resist, “you don’t have to worry about us…I’m more than enough for Imo. You may…”

He shoots you an angry glare making you chew on your unsaid words. But wanting to rile him just a little more, you excuse yourself and bring out a bottle of ketchup. Squeezing it generously atop the stack of pajeon, you snicker maliciously.

Ketchup.

The tangy, unassuming condiment is the sole reason Kyungsoo abhors your very existence. But as this dinner marks the end of his torturous regime, you celebrate with ketchup - lots of it - right in front of his nasty eyes.

Steam swirls in different directions and at every twenty metres a contrastive redolence tickles your olfactory senses. Experiencing Gwangjang as a guest is clearly a far richer experience compared to the donkeywork involved in life as a vendor.

A proper send-off is essential lest Kyungsoo decides to stay, even if it means creating a huge dent in your pocket. You plan on giving him a final tour of the Market where you could both say your goodbyes while receiving a premium fuel of vitamins, minerals and carbs.

Lots of carbs.

“Let’s start with Pakgane”, says Kyungsoo, with a skewered sausage in one hand.

Wanting to start with nothing less than the best in order to create a lasting impression, you shake your head in response. This was supposed to be a farewell he’d never forget.

With every step, the aroma of scallops drizzled with butter and cheese grows stronger. You start your tour by ordering two portions of the delectable street food which sets you back considerably but you’re far too elated to care, even refusing Kyungsoo’s offer to pay as the woman sets the scallops ablaze with a blow torch.

“Do you know what this technique is called?” Kyungsoo gives a little nod in the direction of the flaming food.

A teachable moment. How does his own personality not wear him off?

You’d made a firm resolve to not let any of his condescension bog you down so with a sweet smile, you reply, “No, Chef. I do not.”

“Flambé, minus the alcohol. Do you know how they manage that?”

The ahjumma calls out for you and you nearly jump to collect the order, the slight upward curl of his lips coming into your peripheral vision.

***

The Market supposedly looks the same as it did fifty years ago and you quite enjoy eating your way through it. The tour makes your heart grapple with nostalgia even though your partner’s vibe is akin to a mug of insipid coffee.

Although you’d spent only a little over a year at Choi Yoonsun’s, the goodbyes were long and hard. Some of the vendors squeeze you and Kyungsoo in heart wrenching hugs, the others give you a little cash to help you through the transition and for some of the food, you pay only with smiles and thank yous.

After a gastronomic fiesta entailing tteokbokki, pajeon (minus the ketchup - you did it Kyungsoo’s way), sashimi, kimbap, different types of banchan, a thousand more teachable moments, the both of you end the day on a sweet note with hotteok.

The ahjussi wishes you both luck, making you choke back tears.

Your moist eyes don’t escape Kyungsoo’s attention.

“Are you…. Is the hotteok spicy? No, I mean it’s obviously not…erm”

The dam of your tears explodes.

You were going to miss this place. Even the less appealing aspects of it. You were going to miss the kimbap unnie who greeted you with a hug everyday, also the snooty mandu ahjumma who could hardly stand the sight of Choi Yoonsun’s crew. You were going to miss washing dishes in the winters with water that was supposed to be ice and the sweltering summers that had you sweating through every layer of clothing.

Hell, you were even going to miss Kyungsoo.

“No”, you sniffle, “No, no Chef, it’s nothing. Take care of yourself. As much as I’m glad that our fateful working relationship has met its rightful end, I truly, genuinely, wish you luck. And learn to smile a little more, yeah?”

“Are you dying?” Eyes glinting, mouth agape, he chuckles.

“What? NO! What? You’re leaving. What is wrong with you?”

“Who says I’m leaving?”

“You! You’re not coming with us to Gangnam!”

“Says who?”

“Your stupid face that looked like it was hit by a freight train when Imo broke the news last week!”

“I’m not leaving?” He draws his words out in a question.

“This is no time to joke, Chef. You are leaving!”

“Says who!”

“Your stu-”

“Stupid face? I wasn’t planning on leaving at all. I’ve even found myself a place close to the restaurant. Oh yeah, sorry for having misled you. It was really just - my stupid face.”

A month from Grand Opening

It’s not just about food.

Food only makes for a fifth of a restaurant’s success equation. Management and promotional skills are essential because a restaurant is, first and foremost, a business.

Mark Lee, the young consultant from PCY Associates had imparted this crucial business knowledge to your compact team of three aspiring restaurateurs in exchange for an egg sandwich and watermelon juice. The enthu-cutlet has been overseeing the legal set-up of your humble restaurant for a month now.

However, according to Mark, the crème de la crème of the success equation is customer service.

Customer service.

Here’s where the crusty Chef was supposed to take a backseat and you - a real people person, a socially adept charmer - were to sashay in and shine.

These ideas were a bit too much for that thick, globular skull of his so you tried to educate him with a practical example.

He’d added a rule to the first draft of the menu - a shared document for brainstorming purposes. It read ‘No ketchup for you.’ This rule (or insolence as you called it) went against your belief system as the restaurant’s to-be-anointed Manager (a girl can always hope). ‘Never say no to a customer’ being the foundation of customer service, you slashed the rule with a strikethrough.

But the next time you tried to log in, you found yourself locked out of the document.

“Chef, why can’t I find the draft menu anymore?”

He’s aggressively julienning leeks, pretending to not have heard you.

“CHEF!”

“What?” Finally, he looks up. The skin between his eyebrows pinched and his arm raised to level his brand new 1-piece chef’s knife (initials etched into the blade) with his profile.

“Why-why did you lock me out of the draft menu?”, you stammer, gaze trained on the cutting edge glistening with tears of The Leeks.

Kyungsoo’s been visibly getting jittery by the day as opening day approaches.

He deliberately places the knife to the side of the board and you take a gutsy step forward. He uses a cold, serial-killer voice to ask, “What makes you think that I locked you out?”

You lean over from the other side of the granite counter, face barely an inch from his, “Who else could’ve? Imo is technologically challenged.”

“Fine”, he sighs, “I locked you out.” His lips curl up in a menacing smirk, “What are you gonna do about it?”

Grinning, you stare right into his dark eyes and let out a shrill, high-pitched scream, “IMO!”

This throws him back a few steps and he’s rubbing and pulling at his right ear when Imo walks into the kitchen.

“Yah! Am I your babysitter? Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear about it. I am asking you”, she looks at you before spinning her head in Kyungsoo’s direction, “and you, to sort this amongst yourselves. For once!”

“But-but Imo!”, you protest.

“Aegiya, I really don’t want to ship you back to Bucheon.”

***

“Here’s your tax ID, liquor license… okay so this was a touch-and-go because the officer is transferring to another Department and the one that’s supposed to be coming in is a real piece of work….”

Mark Lee is here with the final set of documents.

Imo’s eyes are gleaming with excitement and sheer joy but she’s held a businesswoman-like composure. On the other hand, Kyungsoo looks very much like himself - like someone’s sucked the life out of him.

You bring Mark his usual egg sandwich and watermelon juice because there’s only so much your restaurant can offer at this point in time, feeling brutally overwhelmed with the volume of pending tasks until opening.

After practically inhaling his mini-meal, Mark dabs his mouth clean and says, “My work here is done. If you need anything you know where to find me. And good luck. Trust me, you’ll need it.”

Imo looks worriedly at Kyungsoo and then at Mark and at Kyungsoo again which prompts him to ask rather uncomfortably, “What do you mean ‘you’ll need it’?”

Mark’s dramatically long sigh is an indication of a sermon to follow. As he leans back into his chair, Imo and Kyungsoo instinctively cower like an invisible weight has been plopped onto their shoulders. The sight is beyond pathetic: they are like peasants before a feudal lord. It makes you want to smash the know-it-all smirk off of Mark’s face.

What comes after, though, isn’t a sermon but a sentence and a half that leaves the three of you shaken.

“The dining business here in Gangnam is hyper-competitive and most restaurants fold in six months. And if that sandwich is any indication…”

Kyungsoo valiantly advances to rescue your team out of the dark bubble of Mark Lee’s words with, “What’s wrong with the sandwich? She makes a perfectly good sandwich!”

What was supposed to be a compliment somehow sounds very wrong in your head, but before you could give him the death stare he leaps to damage control, “What I mean is, we all ate the very same sandwich for breakfast. I don’t usually dissect food for novices but the egg was perfectly cooked, mayonnaise was just the right amount and the seasoning was balanced, too. So I’m not sure what you’re trying to say. We’re serving perfectly good food here.”

“The thing is, this is something even my mother could make and dude, believe me, she’s terri…her culinary abilities are highly questionable. Also, do you think your friend would’ve sold you this place if it were thriving, Mrs. Choi? She’d inherited it from her grandfather and she sold it to you at a dirt cheap price because she was neck deep in debt. I’m sure you know, real estate here is three and a half times the country’s average. So not only do you have significant funds locked into a possibly deadweight property but also your plan clearly lacks vision. Gwangjang’s Choi Yoonsun can keep you afloat for four…maybe six months but Gangnam’s Choi Yoonsun has to create an identity for herself. Look around you, everyone’s serving good food”, Mark tilts his head in Kyungsoo’s direction, “Here, people eat with their eyes first. Now, I’m not saying family-run restaurants serving traditional cuisines don’t do well. A lot of them have been passed down for generations. What I’m saying is…..find your USP.”

Mark squints, looks into the distance, and pinches the air a lot during this damp squib speech of his.

So the menu isn’t very different from what Choi Yoonsun served in Gwangjang. Her USP has always been homestyle cooking with a twist. But that was the demand of a Market that upheld traditionalism and Gangnam, being precipitously everchanging, would be quite something to keep up with.

The weight of Mark’s words manifests on Kyungsoo’s shoulders. He lets out a sharp exhale and starts to clear the table, giving him plenty non-verbal cues to leave. You rush to help him out and meet his defeated form (crouched over the sink) in the kitchen.

The shuffling sound of your footsteps reaches his ears and he pivots to face you.

“We’ll be okay”, your voice is but a calm whisper prompting his creased forehead to slowly smoothen.

“We’ll be okay”, he forcefully echoes.

Grand Opening Day

A frisson of fear laced with excitement descends your spine.

Choi Yoonsun’s is enveloped in a pin drop silence save for the sound of Kyungsoo’s pacing. It’s grating on your nerves but Kyungsoo pacing is far better than Kyungsoo “going over the plan” for the umpteenth time.

The kitchen’s prepped for battle so you’re seated at the cash counter, cuddled close with Imo, placated by her soothing, motherly presence. The three of you are like ticking time bombs, ready to go off at any minute.

This, right here, is the perfect example of a pinch-me-it-doesn’t-feel-real moment. You allow yourself to feel the forces at play as your eyes take in every nook and cranny of the restaurant. The place is agreeably well lit and the ventilation hoods aren’t an eyesore either. The decor’s minimalistic with a sand and stone colour scheme and the floor’s been scrubbed spotless. Eight sturdy wooden tables, tactically placed, allow for movement and privacy yet the area has been optimally utilized.

Fifteen minutes for the ‘Open’ sign to light up.

Kyungsoo and you proceed to help each other out with crisp bright yellow aprons affixed with red name tags (handpicked by Imo, the aprons made you both look like dumpy chicks) and clear plastic masks and wish each other luck with curt nods.

***

Imo’s sons are the first to arrive with some friends in tow. They are served with Kyungsoo’s Yachae Twigim and Budae Jjigae, your Gyeran-mari and Kimchi Bokkeum-bap and of course, Imo’s famous Kalguksu and Kimchi Mandu. Makes you wonder if they’ve had enough of it but they seem to be greatly enjoying themselves. Some of Hyunjin’s friends from Four Seasons are here too, their mighty presence driving Kyungsoo to the edge.

But a few compliments from them are enough to soothe his nerves.

Among the flurry of patrons through the day were vendors and stall owners from Gwangjang along with their family and friends, Kyungsoo’s acquaintances who you knew nothing about and neither did you care enough to ask, Mark Lee with his very handsome boss Park Chanyeol also dropped by sometime around noon.

Your mother couldn’t make it to the opening. It stung a little but as usual, you sucked it up and went on with the highly stimulating day that anyway left you with very little time to mull over any unpleasantness.

***

By the end of it, you were pretty sure you’d wake up with blistered feet the next morning.

It’d been a splendid opening with sales tallying up to KRW 2500,000: nearly two and a half times the estimate. Imo breaks into a dance at the figure, even Kyungsoo lips stretch into a reluctant grin.

You intensely wish Mark Lee were here to witness this euphoric win.

Six months later

Mark Lee had been right.

Choi Yoonsun was miles from creating an identity in Gangnam. Regulars from Gwangjang could make it to the restaurant only twice or thrice a week, support from acquaintances had been gradually trickling, and some negative reviews floating around the internet about poor table turnover had also been driving potential guests away.

You tried to mitigate this by hiring part timers at minimum wage but for several reasons, none of them managed to stay: anti-social hours and Kyungsoo’s hostility being two of the key causes.

On your best days, the sales would total up to KRW 1500,000 and the weekday numbers had been dismal.

***

“Dooly-dooly!”

Your eyes light up at the familiarity of that voice. Mirroring its excitement, you run into the arms of its owner.

“Baekhyunnie!”

Kyungsoo peers over his glasses while scrubbing the iron girdle, studying the floppy haired, cheerful man with a wide grin plastered across his face that’s pranced into the kitchen at closing time.

Byun Baekhyun has been your best friend since time immemorial. Growing up in Bucheon, he’d been the only family you’d known besides your parents and Imo’s family. You weren’t even as close with Hyunwon and Hyunjin as you were with Baekhyun. Since work always kept your mother busy, his parents had practically been the ones to raise you and not once did they make you feel like an outsider.

“Yah! Quit calling me Dooly we’re not kids anymore! Have you eaten? Let me whip you up something real quick. Look at youuuu, when did you get this skinny! How long are -”

“Not to interrupt, but you’ve left the water running”, Kyungsoo drones, lazily pointing in the direction of the sink.

You clearly remember turning it off before darting to greet Baekhyun.

‘Sonofa-’ exasperated, you mouth to Baekhyun, whose eyebrows have shot up to his hairline out of vicarious embarrassment, before turning around to face Kyungsoo who seems to be scrubbing the iron girdle to gold. “Chef, you’re closer to the sink.”

“Reiterating. You’ve left the water running. If you wanna go on tittle-tattling, by all means….this wastage is on you.”

“Make yourself comfortable”, too exhausted to pick a fight, you whisper to Baekhyun, gesturing towards the closest table, “I’ll be with you soon.”

***

“It’s bad”, Imo sighs, burying her face in her hands.

11 P.M., two hours past closing time.

The sparse lighting in the restaurant is causing you an eyestrain to look at the scribblings on the register. Your neck and shoulder muscles are tense from all the chopping, stirring, and scrubbing: a slow day does not translate to an easy day. You notice that Kyungsoo is growing weary, too.

Or maybe discouraged.

You communicate with each other in evasive glances as if the restaurant not doing well is, somehow, on the two of you.

“Imo”, Baekhyun speaks first so as to allay the looming dread, “I’ve been reading the online reviews and those who’ve visited here have been raving about the food - especially the Kalguksu. They say you’ve brought the flavours of Gwangjang to Gangnam. There’s this one thing, though - ”

“Sajangnim”, Kyungsoo interrupts a zealous Baekhyun’s pitch, “I don’t think this is any of his business. We’ve been keeping track of reviews and such - ”

“Let the boy speak. He’s family.” She says softly, pressing her fingers to her temples, clearly clutching at straws now.

Kyungsoo clenches his jaw and nods in Baekhyun’s direction, indicating him to continue.

“There-there”, Baekhyun stutters, eyes fixed on Kyungsoo who’s vaguely fascinated with his cuticles, “are some complaints about slow service. Particularly between starters and mains.”

After an uncomfortably rich pause, Imo gently rests her hand atop Baekhyun’s “Baekhyunah, how long are you here for?”

“For as long as you need”, the apples of his cheeks rise as his eyes crinkle into a gleeful smile.

***

“Somebody is early. Also, the cart looks different…it’s..?”

Dressed in his usual black athleisure, round eyes framed with chunky glasses, Kyungsoo jogs lightly to match your out-of-character sprightly pace into the market.

“Bigger. I bought a new one.” You chirp, shooting him an out-of-character smile.

Even the dreary weather isn’t a buzzkill because today is supposed to be Baekhyun’s first day at work.

“How did you get Sajangnim to agree? She can be -”

“Miserly? Stingy? Close-fisted? Also, when will you stop calling her Sajangnim?”

“Just so that you can stop addressing me appropriately? Dream on. And I meant economical. Sajangnim is economical.”

“Chef, do you even listen? I bought it. With my own money. I figured since we’d need more ingredients now, we could use a bigger one.”

“And how did you come to that conclusion?” Impervious to his smug tone, you step away to pick up a one kg bulk pack of dried shiitake mushrooms while he’s examining a small batch of zucchini.

“Because Baekhyun’s gonna be working with us now.”

“Temporarily. And we’re suddenly going to start doing better because of an inexperienced, unemployed -”

The wheels of the cart hit his ankle when you swivel it, making him wince in pain.

“Oops! Sorry.”

“You did that on purpose!” He chides.

Half-shrugging, you say nonchalantly, “Serves you right. Baekhyun may be inexperienced but he isn’t unemployed. If anything, he’s doing us a favour. He’s whimsical like that.”

“I know”, he states, forcefully taking control of the cart, “I know he isn’t unemployed. He owns a Hapkido training academy for elementary school children and is on a break these days. I looked him up. I, personally, wouldn’t have hired him if it were my restaurant but I’m sure Sajangnim -”

“Chef?” You stop dead in your tracks.

“What?”

“You’re on…” you wanted to say ‘social media’ but the words sounded almost blasphemous to be used in front of a very uptight Doh Kyungsoo: a man with absolutely no online presence.

“What is it?” His eyebrows knit together in annoyance.

“Nothing, let’s go.”

“You know what else is different today?” He says on your way out, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips.

“Hmm?”

“You. You’ve showered.” He chortles, thinking he’s being funny.

But with a hardened expression, you let him know that he’s crossed a line.

“Too far?”

“A tad.”

“Let’s get you some coffee.”

“No.” You smile inwardly, relishing his apologetic tone.

“No?”

“We have to pick up Baekhyun’s apron and nametag.”

At first you thought you were imagining this.

A group of high school girls frequenting Choi Yoonsun’s must obviously be because they want to get healthy, homely meals instead of the trash served at fast food chains or the uneconomical subsistence of instagrammable cafes. They’re obviously not here for the charming server with an athlete’s body and a boyish grin.

“He should wear respectable clothing”, says Kyungsoo, indicating at Baekhyun’s skinny jeans and fitted black tee, hiss sharper than the sizzle of minced garlic in butter.

“Why, I don’t think his cleavage is showing”, you retort, scooping out a serving of rice from the cooker.

“You have absolutely no shame”, he states matter-of-factly, stirring the soup pot.

“What? Is my cleavage showing, too?” You ask in mock-surprise, fixing your apron theatrically.

“Forget I said anything.”

The aroma of Kimchi Jjigae had you salivating and you couldn’t wait to taste it for seasoning. Kyungsoo’s cooking amply made up for his drab, lacklustre personality.

“Chef, lighten up. Any publicity is good publicity.”

“You sound like a tabloid journalist”, leaving the soup to simmer, he turns around to face you, “What’s wrong with your hair?”

“I got a haircut”, scrunching your face you respond suspiciously, the fact that he noticed it despite the hair cover makes your heart palpitate.

Taking the unwarranted attention away from your hair, you ask hastily, “You think they’re here for Baekhyun and not your food, right?”

“Ye-yes”, he stutters, looking away.

“These people wouldn’t be here time and again if it weren’t for the food, Chef. You should know that.”

Moving closer to him, you lightly dust flour off of his shoulders.

“How did you get flour on your shoulders?”

His ears go scarlet.

Imo comes into the kitchen while Kyungsoo and you are preparing for the day ahead. Baekhyun has gone down to Bucheon to oversee the affairs of his training academy.

“There’s this new officer who’s reviewing all liquor permits issued this year. Be careful and make sure to check all IDs twice. I’m taking the day off. Will you two be okay by yourselves?” She swooshes out of the kitchen, not bothering with your incoherent replies.

“Can’t believe they’ve ditched us on a Friday.” You grumble, soaking clams in fresh water.

“We’ll be fine.” Kyungsoo reassures you.

***

It had been quite the day and nearing closing time, your feet were going sore. Baekhyun taking on the toughest role in the restaurant made you greatly appreciate his efforts. While most guests are civil, he’s experienced his fair share of rowdy ones firsthand and his ability to deal with them is unparalleled. He’s never, ever let any matter escalate to a point of embarrassment and has demonstrated the maturity to overcome every crisis situation with a smile on his face.

The fact that he’s only temporarily here suddenly starts to wear you out.

Kyungsoo sticks a handwritten note on the steel holder which reads - Yangnyeom - 2. It’s only been a little over eight months since the restaurant’s been fully functional yet the holder’s worn out more because of use and less because of time.

“About time we advanced to kitchen order tickets, right? Saves Baekhyun…or either of us unnecessary excursions to the kitchen. Also, billing will be simpler that way.” You offer while straightening your apron and getting ingredients ready for Kyungsoo to prepare the sauce.

“Yeah, it does”, he seems really out of it as he’s getting chunks of juicy chicken ready for the fryer. He’s moving around the kitchen rather clumsily, nearly tipping over the bottle of corn syrup.

“Wah, Chef, are you alright? Would you like me to do this?”

Resting his back against the wall, he slowly sinks to the floor, face buried in hands. “Yes, please.”

While you’re preparing a sauce the recipe for which you know like the back of your hand, his instructions don’t cease. The only thing you’ve ever liked about working with this man is that contrary to Imo, he does not believe in micromanaging. But right now it feels like you’re in the kitchen with her and not with Kyungsoo.

The tension causes you to lower the chicken into the fryer hastily resulting in specks of flaming oil to splatter onto your arm.

He’s quick to rush to your aid with a cold towel.

“Yah, Chef, you’re making me nervous, what’s with all this nitpicking?” You almost yell at him as he’s gingerly dabbing the towel on the affected area.

“I’m sorry, I am so sorry. It’s just”, he pauses briefly, worrying at his lower lip, questioning eyes peering into yours, before helping you with the chicken - slightly more confident in his movements now, “whatever you do, don’t get out of the kitchen. Table number four, those guys there, are weird.”

“Weird, how?”

“Rowdy, mannerless and drunk. Really, really drunk. Steamrolled by the ‘Friday happy’.”

“Ah, Baekhyun’s well-versed with their kind. Don’t worry, just be polite. Are you sure you don’t want me to intervene?”

“Positive and whatever happens?”

“Stay put. Chef?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s only thirty minutes to closing. We can get through this, okay? And don’t accept further orders!”

***

Twenty minutes after, you’re aimlessly scrolling through your phone to take your mind off the stabbing pain in your lower abdomen. Simultaneously playing a little game of inventing the kind of content Kyungsoo would upload if he were a user on these sites only to be jolted with the realization as to how little you know about the man.

As the restaurant’s occupied with boisterous conversations and raucous laughter, you’re counting seconds to closing. Multiplying three hundred with every bracket of five on the clock.

The din comes to an abrupt halt when you hear a middle aged man bellow, “Yah, punk, do you have a death wish?!”

Gradually moving closer to the door, you try to get a view of the scene outside.

You see a polite but firm Kyungsoo bow before the man, “We can’t serve you any more alcohol, sorry, we’ll be closing now.”

The other two men along with the nasty vermin have long passed out. You quickly call for a cab, subconsciously grabbing a hold of Kyungsoo’s knife in the process.

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO YOU’RE TALKING TO RIGHT NOW?” He thunders.

Kyungsoo recoils as the man grows louder by the second. “We cannot serve you anymore alcohol, sir.”

It happens in a flash.

So fast you almost feel like you’re astral projecting.

One moment, the man raises a hand to strike Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo swerves. You dash out of the kitchen with the knife in your hand. Face to face with the man, you scream until your lungs hurt, “GET OUT! I SAID GET OUT OF MY RESTAURANT!”

The vermin’s companions stir at the sound.

With frightened eyes they take in the scene as their drowsy brain is still trying to assess the situation for action. They soon pull the man by his shoulders while Kyungsoo’s tugging at your knife bearing arm that’s still raised in combat mode, simultaneously apologising to the rowdy guest.

Wagging his sausage like finger at the both of you he warns menacingly, “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

Slapping the tab on their table, you proceed to threaten him, “Settle this and get - the fuck - out of my restaurant before I call the cops.”

Throwing a couple of bills on the table, he staggers out, grumbling, “You just wait”, still wagging his finger and reeking of stale alcohol.

It was only then that your grip on the knife eases as Kyungsoo carefully draws it out of your hand and you see, just like you, he’s shaking too.

“What just happened?” He’s the first to speak as you sit across the table from him, dark orbs glinting in the dim light, forehead beaded with sweat. His hands are tightly wound together as he places them on the table. One day without Baekhyun and Imo and Kyungsoo and you had messed up real bad. By the looks of it, neither of you were ready to accept this fact.

“We did exactly what we were supposed to do. Stop worrying!” You say more to yourself.

He’s not convinced.

“Chef, that man’s reaction wasn’t something that you could’ve preempted or….controlled in any way.” Finding yourself getting mildly annoyed, you try your best to lay the edge off of your voice. All you wanted was for him to be alright because, technically, none of this was his fault.

“Would you have allowed him to take a swing at you?”

“He was far too drunk for that”, he exhales heavily and you notice his stance relax before clamping up again, “but you-you came out with a knife!”

His tone isn’t accusatory. He’s simply baffled.

“Fight or flight…”

“It’s my knife.”

“I’ll be sure to hide the murder weapon.”

He nods slowly.

“Do you need some water? Tea? A hug?”

You half expect him to scowl or groan or whatever it is that he usually does but he seems to be actually evaluating his options.

“A beer?”

“Down for Chimaek?”

Stood up to go into the kitchen, you awkwardly, and very, very slowly put an arm around his shoulders and give him a tight squeeze.

***

This was your first time having fried chicken and beer in complete silence - a few minutes felt like hours with the incident still hovering over both of you.

“Chef, you know we haven’t murdered anyone right?”

“The restaurant feels like a scene of crime to me. Also, what did he mean by ‘you just wait’?”

“Eh. Empty threats. Testosterone poisoning. Do you think they’ll throw me into prison for threatening him with a knife?”

“You should be sent in for pilfering stock”, he says gesturing at the tray between you, taking a chunky bite of the chicken, “you were going to take this home, weren’t you? It’s good, by the way.”

“Ah, this makes me happy”, you lean back into your chair, smiling discreetly at Kyungsoo’s messy fingers and mouth.

“A compliment from me makes you happy?” His eyebrows shoot up as he takes a swig of beer.

“Testosterone poisoning”, you say pointing an accusatory finger at him, “I couldn’t care less what you think. I’m pretty confident in my skills.”

“As you should be. Then what ‘makes you happy’? The thought of going to prison?”

“Yes”, you lie, “you think I’ll have a prison bitch?”

“I think you’ll be the prison bitch.”

You open your mouth to protest but what escapes is a mortifying burp.

Uncomfortable silence.

Meeting his eyes, you purse your lips, feeling your face flame. He smiles at you and says, ‘wait for it’, before belching. Loudly. Sending you both into fits of laughter.

“What happened here last week?”

Kyungsoo and you are seated opposite Imo like criminals before a cop in an interrogation room. Baekhyun is holed up in the kitchen, cleaning. For the most part, he avoids conflicts like these where Imo’s red hot beam of anger could be misdirected at him.

She’s glaring at the responsible child, Kyungsoo, to break first but since it was your idea to keep the incident from her you start to explain. By the time you’re done she seems angrier, but not at the two of you. Only after a tiny lecture on how you should learn to be more tactful in such situations does she spell out her real concern.

Turns out the man the both of you had a scuffle with last week is the new officer’s brother-in-law. Now, the restaurant’s received a notice from the liquor permit’s office for an “inspection” in the coming week. Although aware that this situation isn’t either of your fault, Imo is far from pleased with this development.

“Fix this”, she orders and disappears into the kitchen.

There’s only one person who can help you out of this mess, but neither Kyungsoo nor you possess the emotional capacity to deal with him.

“He’s our only option”, you deadpan.

With a heavy sigh, Kyungsoo dials Mark Lee.

***

Mouth stuffed with egg sandwich, Mark Lee garbles, “What do you want from me? It’s an inspection so let them come and - inspect.”

Imo’s taken off for the day and it’s just you and Kyungsoo trying to sort out the mess you weren’t entirely responsible for.

“You said we could call you if we needed help with anything”, Kyungsoo reasons with Mark who’s now ogling at him as if he just got spoken to in an alien language.

“Yes, but I don’t see how I can be of help here?”

“Tell us anything you know about this new officer. Don’t leave anything out.” You’re nearly begging at this point and Mark Lee, as always, is reveling in your misery.

He relaxes in his seat, swirling the glass of watermelon juice, “You know you can’t buy your way out of this right? He’s an uptight bugger and you screwed up! Big time! All you had to do was give his brother-in-law a bottle of beer.”

“Oh, we’re sorry we didn’t have his family tree handy”, Kyungsoo rolls his eyes, “Besides, were just trying to abide by the rules - ”

The helplessness in Kyungsoo’s voice causes you to lose your cool at Mark. “Yah! Quit being cocky and just tell us everything you know!”

“Oh-oh feisty”, his mouth spreads into an annoying grin, “okay so he loves his wife, obviously, it’s why he’s doing this. Has an eleven year old daughter who is the apple of his eye. Erm, let’s see, he’s spent his teenage years in Japan and the country is all he’ll ever talk about. Piss him off and this inspection turns into a review and if things continue to spiral you’ll have your permit revoked. So be careful.” His eyes lock with yours making you shift uncomfortably in your seat.

“What are you planning to do with this information, anyway?”

“We don’t know just yet”, Kyungsoo starts clearing up the table, as usual, and Mark knows that his time is up.

“Dude”, he leans towards you, whisper-chortling, as Kyungsoo retires into the kitchen, “did you drive him out with a knife?”

Nodding, you grin gleefully.

“Fiery! You’re totally my boss’ type.”

***

“So what are we going to do?” Rubbing your eyes and stifling a yawn, you ask Kyungsoo.

While the world sleeps, the market is awake. Buzzing with a contagious energy. Although you hate having to wake up this early, the moment you step into this space, you’re completely taken by its vigour and gusto for life.

It’s nothing short of a celebration.

Chefs, big and small, passionately scour every nook and corner for the perfect herbs, veggies, and meats. You may not know each other closely or even by name but you feel part of a community - part of a family. True to character, you won’t ever stop whining about this routine with friends and family and occasionally with Kyungsoo, Baekhyun, and Imo but you know it in your heart of hearts, you wouldn’t skip sourcing for the world.

“So he’s spent his teenage years in Japan right?” Kyungsoo muses, lowering a crate of mudfish in the cart for today’s special, Chueotang.

“Let’s recreate his teenage years for him. Japanese dorm meals?”

Kyungsoo stops abruptly, “That’s a thought!”

“We can set the menu today after closing.”

“How about a coffee now?” He asks, averting your gaze as a slight smile forms on his lips.

On the morning of the inspection, Kyungsoo sneezed. Once. Twice. And on the third strike he was sent home by Imo because “this is not a good look”. Or forced out of the restaurant - depends on who you ask. He whined a little, even shed a few tears but Imo steeled herself and drew him out, anyway.

Although the menu is simple, the concept is layered and robust. The exercise is, after all, being undertaken merely to impress the officer in question. Well equipped for the inspection, the restaurant’s closed for the day.

This is nothing Baekhyun and you can’t manage but, obviously, Kyungsoo feels otherwise. He’s been calling to check in in intervals of five but seems like the medication’s finally kicked in and put him in a state of deep slumber. Good for him. And for you.

Two hours until showtime.

Under your close supervision, Baekhyun is labouring over the fairly straightforward stuff: tako sausages, potato and macaroni salad and egg sandwiches while you’ve kicked off the recipe for rolled omelettes.

Egg mixture aside, you start the rice cooker, leave green tea to boil for salmon ochazuke while the frying pan’s heating up for yaki udon.

***

Once you’d gotten all the dishes down, done exactly the way instructed by Kyungsoo: rolled omelettes, yaki udon, tako sausage, potato and macaroni salad, egg sandwiches and salmon ochazuke, it was time for you to take on the simplest but the most provoking dish on the menu.

Neko Manma. Or, cat rice.

“Ah, Dooly, shall I bring out the jar of bonito flakes?” Baekhyun prompts.

“The one Chef brought us this morning?”

He hums in response.

“I think we should use the store bought one instead.”

“But he’s worked on this recipe all week. You sure you wanna do that?”

“Positive.”

“He’ll flip out.”

“I’ll deal with it. We’re altering the recipe for Neko Manma, this ones too pretentious. Doesn’t sit right with me.”

“So, what do you want to do with it?” Baekhyun’s tone is wary and questioning.

“Rice, soy sauce, store bought bonito flakes and just a faint drizzle of butter. Nice and clean.” You respond confidently.

“Are you really sure?”

***

“Why are you here?” You hiss at Kyungsoo while Imo is outside, busy greeting the motley of high-headed officials, giving them a brief of the restaurant, herself, her team, and going over the licenses and documentation.

Face flushed, Kyungsoo’s lips are swollen and his eyes are runny, puffy, and bloodshot. He’s clearly in the need for some rest.

“To see if everything’s in order.” His voice is hoarse.

He starts to closely examine the entrees laid out, a smile of approval gracing his lips until he stops short of cat rice.

“These bonito flakes -”

“I didn’t use the fresh ones. I thought -”

“There’s no miso soup?”

“No, Chef, I reckoned -”

“No grilled fish? Are you being lazy?”

“Chef, no, I am not being lazy. The original recipe just didn’t feel right. So i changed it up a little -”

“Changed it up? That decision was not yours to make!”

“It’s just a side, it’s not going to matter so much!”

Absolutely livid, he runs a hand through his hair and laments. “If we weren’t this close to serving i would’ve dumped this into the bin because that’s where it belongs.”

“Chef, please”, your voice quivers, “let me explain! This was supposed to be the lightest dish on the menu. We ended up styling it with… overwhelming ingredients, so I -”

“I’m utterly confused! What on earth led you to believe you’re qualified enough to teach me? I’ve trained at a diner in Tokyo for two whole years. I know exactly what I’m doing here!”

Eyes brimming with tears, you glance over and Baekhyun who has ‘I told you so’ written all over his face.

"Kyungsooyah? When did you come in? What’s going on here?”

Imo’s bewilderment cuts through the tension.

“Sajangnim, I was feeling slightly better so I thought of dropping by to wish you luck."

Courtesying, he quickly dashes out through the back door.

***

The inspection has been revoked. Unofficially, atleast. The restaurant is to receive a written order in a week’s time.

The officer was impressed to the extent of apologising for his brother-in-law’s behaviour. He even lauded Imo on teaching her staff to stick to the establishment’s principles which made you wonder if he was fully aware of the facts of the case: knife and all.

He also mentioned how, as a student, he’d eat a bowl of Neko Manma before every exam because at the time, to him, anything else was unpalatable.

And that, this was what he considered to be the perfect recipe.

You go through the rest of the day as if sleepwalking. How stupid could you have been believe you were “on good terms” with Kyungsoo or that this was an equal and productive partnership. The fact remained that he still thought of you as someone frivolous: some air-headed moron who has no idea what she’s doing.

Someone beneath him.

You made an effort to appreciate this victory but the day had only left you with a bitter taste. Your mother had been right. You’ve always been too soft. Too trusting. Letting people in too easily and allowing them to walk all over you.

Now, Kyungsoo’s always been like this: controlling, stubborn, absolutely thorough. He never deviates from his well laid out plans. But today was different. Today, you expected something out of him. You expected him to trust you. You expected him to understand your reasoning, to give you a chance. To comprehend the fact that you could have a mind of your own and that not everything has to be exactly by the book.

You loathe yourself for expecting this out of him.

Sailing rough seas together doesn’t bloom friendships. You were stupid to think of him as a friend while, in all these months, his opinion of you had remained the same.

Contrary to the Gwangjang days, you’d long stopped wishing him gone. In some farthest corner of your heart you were even grateful that he chose to say.

You’ve been so stupid.

Two months later

The kitchen has been fervent but hushed.

After all this time, Baekhyun, Kyungsoo and you seem to have found a rhythm. You don’t need to verbally communicate to get through a workday.

But, you used to.

Sometimes unnecessarily even. Kyungsoo and you hardly saw eye to eye on most things but there would be some semblance of friendly workplace banter. He’d say a little something about a perfectly done piece of meat or a well seasoned soup. Baekhyun would take wickedly funny pot shots at some of the customers (to the utmost horror of Imo). Imo would sporadically push morsels of whatever was being prepared into your mouths.

Baekhyun receiving feedback in the form of grunts has shut him up altogether. And the busyness of the restaurant has seemed to have blinkered Imo into not being able to perceive the tension between Kyungsoo and you.

It’s a dance to no music.

Furtive glances. Measured smiles. Curt nods. Exceptional dishes. Decent earnings.

That’s it.

Maybe that’s how it should’ve always been.

“Ready to go?” Baekhyun asks, dressed in a well fitted black shirt and slacks.

You’re mopping the floor. Clearly not ready to go.

When you make this known with a sharp glare, Baekhyun giggles.

Nothing good can come out of that impish smile of his. But before you can sink your claws into him and drag him back, he’s already chatting up Kyungsoo who’s fixing the chairs.

“Kyungsoo, you coming?” He says a little too loudly and you groan. But you know Kyungsoo all too well. He’s one to decline offers involving socialising with you (unless of course, the offer is put forth by his dearest Sajangnim).

’You can do better than that’, you mouth to Baekhyun.

Incurious about Kyungsoo’s answer, you’re fully prepared to chomp Baekhyun’s ear off for inviting him.

“Sure”, Kyungsoo says plainly.

Sure?

Without taking the where-what-why route like normal people do? Just..sure?

“Great! We’re going out for drinks since it’s Dooly’s birthday today.”

“Oh. Happy birthday.”

“Thanks. But, Chef, you can’t come. I don’t want you there. I’m sor-”

Swallowing the apology crackling at the tip of your tongue, you dash into the kitchen, your periphery catching his lowered gaze and tight smile.

Regularising the erratic thrumming of your heart with deep breaths, you shove the mop into the storage area, take off your apron and throw it in the laundry bag (which you were to deal with the next morning), straighten your outfit, fix your hair, dab some rosy tint onto your lips, throw your tote bag over your shoulder, run back out, grab Baekhyun by purposefully lodging your nails into his arms, and take off.

200 notes · View notes

tpwkxxangel · 4 years ago

Text

Side A: Track 1

//this is a continuation of a fanfiction that i am writing. if you haven’t read the prologue before this, please check it out or else this might not make sense. if you have any comments, let me know! here is the masterlist //

**************

June 2018

"Thank you Dallas!" Harry calls to the stadium full of fans. The cheers are loud and fill Harry's heart with love. It always amazes him how people sing his lyrics back to him. If someone told him 10 years ago that he would be playing a sold out arena, by himself, while touring his first debut album, he would think they were insane.

Every night, it takes a toll on him though. The energy in every venue and the laughs shared between him and his audience is so difficult to end. The endings are the worst part aren't they? This one is bittersweet.

Harry gives one last wave of his hand before walking off backstage. His breathing is a little labored due to him giving 110%.

"Another great show, Hersh! We should do something to celebrate!" his manager, Jeff, pats his back while handing him a towel. Harry gives a small appreciative smile before wiping off the sweat from his face. Jeff sighs knowing that this night won't be any different than the last month and a half. "Can you at least go out for one drink? You haven't been out in so long. We all miss you..."

Heartbreak can change you, and that's exactly what it did for Harry. He met Camille when he was in One Direction. She's a few years older than him, but no one could resist the Styles charm. After a few conversations at parties they both found themselves at, they started dating. Nothing was public of course, but the relationship was real none the less. Over the eight month relationship, Harry feel in love with the model. Towards the end, they both got really busy and couldn't devote as much time to the relationship as needed. There were other factors that made things difficult, so they decided to brake things off. Harry has never felt a pain like that in his life.

So he shut down.

He has always had big emotions that invade all of his senses, so when his love was taken away from him, he couldn't stand the brokenness he felt. He began to numb his pain with various methods, but nothing worked. He still feels all the pain he felt when he watched her drive away from his flat in London.

"I don't know man...I'm not feeling--"

"Up to it. Yeah, I know, but H. You are bottling up all of these feelings and that isn't healthy. I think a night out will be good for you. Have you called your therapist lately?"

His therapist lives in London, so when he is traveling, he usually calls in. It's nothing to be ashamed of. Think of it like paying for someone to spill your emotions to and they can't say anything about it.

Maybe Jeff is on to something. This bottling things up is tiring, so a night out may be fun.

"Fine. I'll go out as long as I'm back by two. We have to be on the road at nine and I'd like to get some rest before we leave."

"Deal!"

~~~

The air was stuffy in the heated club. They were all in the VIP booth on the second level of one of the hottest clubs in Dallas. Harry was sipping on his drink trying to pass the time. Only 3 hours before he can leave. God, did he want to leave. The concert was tiring and the never ending heartache was causing his head and heart to throb.

He was about to excuse himself to go find the restroom when a golden dress caught his eye. He took a deep breath before opening his eyes again only to spot the girl again. She looked different than the last time he saw her. Her skin was tanner than before, sunkissed just right. Her blonde hair is curled to perfection and lips still red, but she now looks old enough to be in a club like this. Her green eyes are bright with laughter at one of the other girls she is with.

Why is she here? How is she here?

He first saw her in New York. Was she just visiting there? All the memories flood back to him, taking him back to the time where everything was more simple, a lighter time. The way her voice sent a shiver down his spine, the eye contact she made while dancing, the way she touched herself, luring him in. The mere thought of her still drives him crazy.

"Excuse me guys," he turns to his bandmates and manager, "I'm going to find the loo."

Harry makes his way over to the bar where he sees his mystery girl. He flags down the bartender and tells him to give her the order she got two years prior.

He should probably feel embarrassed that he remembers everything about that night regarding the mystery girl, but for the first time in a while, he feels like this is exactly where he is meant to be.

When she received the drink, her brows draw together in confusion before looking to where Harry was sitting. The smirk that made him curious all those years ago made an appearance on her red stained lips. She says something to her friends before downing the drink and making her way over to the brit.

He admired the way her hips moved as she walked. The dress she was wearing complimented her is so many ways. She wasn't a model, but she sure could be.

"Well if it isn't Harry. Long time no see," her voice coming out just as velvety and sweet as before. He's absolutely ecstatic that she remembers his name. That means she thought of him after their encounter like he did.

"Hello, love. Nice to see you again," he smirks back. This is the first time since his break up that he sort of feels like himself.

"You cut your hair," she says while reaching for his drink. Instead of throwing this one back, she just takes a sip, leaving a perfect lip print on the glass.

He nods in a daze, watching the way her tongue darts out, running across her bottom lip. "I was in a movie. Needed it cut," he swallows dryly.

Her eyebrow rose slightly but wasn't surprised. He gave off superstar energy. "Would I have seen it?"

"Depends," he takes his drink back, trying to recover from the dirty thoughts running through his mind, "Do you watch war movies?"

"I've seen a few," she giggles softly, not being able to picture the Brit as a fighter.

"I was in Dunkirk," Harry shrugs.

"I'll have to give it a watch," Harry nods slightly taking a sip of his drink, "especially if the cast is as handsome as you."

Harry chocks slightly not expecting her to be so forward. He chuckles nervously. "Well, I don't want to be the only reason you watch the movie. I'm only a small part of it."

She cocks her eye brow slightly at his tone. Is he being shy? That's different than last time.

Her smirk quickly turns into a more genuine smile as her hand makes it's way on his shoulder. "I actually enjoy action movies, so I have a feeling you being in it would just be a perk."

Harry feels his cheeks flood with color. He distracts himself from the beautiful girl that's starting to make him nervous by sipping his drink again. How was he so confident the last time he saw her? Probably because his heart wasn't broken and there was more alcohol in his system.

He might not be able to fix the first one, but he can fix the second one. He gets the bartenders attention before turning back to his company.

"So, what brings you to the city? The last time I saw you, you were in New York," he asks, not trying to sound invasive, but the question has been brewing in his mind since he saw her.

Her smile dropped slightly before recovering quickly. "I actually grew up here. I'm...visiting some family while I'm in town," she shrugs.

"Do you live in New York now?"

"Part time. I'm a graduate student at Columbia," she says the words as if they aren't impressive.

Harry's mouth falls open slightly. Her prick of a boyfriend was right. She is very smart. Speaking of him...

"What happened to your boyfriend?" he finds himself asking before he can stop himself. Thankfully, the bartender sets another drink next to his empty glass so Harry could hide the blush on his face. This isn't going as well as he wanted it to.

"Who?" her brows furrow in confusion before they smooth out in realization, "I don't even remember his name. You could say that I was just helping him out with an...issue he was having."

"That's very mysterious..." he trails off, remembering he still doesn't know her name.

She laughs at him. She wasn't telling him her name on purpose. One thing that anyone knows about her is that she LOVES games. They make life so much more fun, but for some reason she wanted to hear Harry say her name over and over again in his cute accent. Maybe she'll tell him by the end of the night.

"You can call me J. Everyone does."

He looks at her, and really observes her features. The way her strong cheekbones and jaw are a stark contrast to the softness of her eyes and plush lips. She is truly a beautiful creature, so he finds himself standing up from his stool by the bar and holding out a hand to her to ask something he should have two years ago.

"Would you like to dance with me, J?" he asks.

J smiles brightly in return and Harry's knees go weak. They make their way out to the dance floor as a rock song wraps up. As luck would have it, a very familiar song plays next. The irony was not lost on Harry. That fact that he wrote this song about the girl that is currently swaying her mesmerizing hips against his is so funny that he almost laughs. He gets too distracted by her subtle touches to notice the eyes on him.

From across the bar, Jeff watches his friend loosen up for the first time in two months and feels a pressure release off his chest. He was worried about Harry when him and Camille split. He knows how sensitive his friend can be. Harry leads with his emotions and goes all in. When everything went down, Jeff was the first one Harry called. His broken voice shattered Jeff's heart. It sucked since they were in the middle of the tour and Harry had little to no break in between. Harry is tough, but even his fans noticed him crying during one of his performances in Scotland.

Jeff looks back at the couple on the dance floor to find them laughing. This is a good thing. He will have one night with this girl, and then go back to touring.

Little did Jeff know, Harry wasn't planning to let this girl walk out of his life again. It had to be a sight. He was miserable and had no hope when she randomly showed up in his life again. There are such things a coincidences, but this felt like more than that.

Harry's hands find their way to the girls waist. She looks ups through her lashes at him. "You know, this is my song." He's starting to feel the alcohol in his system, so his words are slightly slurred.

Her laugh makes it's way to his ears and sends a goose bumps all over his body. "No, shit. Really?"

Harry just nods before taking a deep breath and belting out the lyrics. "She goes home to a cactus, in a black dress, she's such an actress, she's driving me crazy!" He's met with her beautiful laugh again. Maybe one day he'll have the courage to tell her who the song is about. They continue to dance for a few more songs before both of them need another drink.

"So, you are not only an actor, but a musician as well?" she hums into her whiskey.

Harry gets nervous again. "I wouldn't say an actor. It's just that one movie."

"One more than me," she giggles. Her lightly glossed over eyes let Harry know the alcohol is taking effect.

As he opens his mouth to speak again, one of J's friends from before comes up to her. She turns her head to hear what her friend says but never takes her eyes off Harry. With one nod of her head, her friend leaves.

"Do you need to leave?" Harry asks. He doesn't want her to leave again. He finally can breathe after two months of suffocating. He's finally out of his head. Maybe it's time to open himself up to new things and not be afraid of hearts getting broken. Camille moved on, so why can't he?

She shakes her head and he lets out a sigh of relief. "I'd rather stay here and talk to you. But they are leaving."

"I'll be sure to get you home," he smiles softly at her. There's the familiar flutter in his heart. It's crazy, honestly. He met this girl once two years ago, yet he is so infatuated with her. She makes his broken heart feel less lonely. He checks the watch on his wrist for the time. It's getting close to two in the morning. He wants to get out of here, but not be done with the night. He doesn't want to go back to his hotel and be lonely. He won't admit that to her though. "Would you like to get out of here?"

His eyes widen at what that sounds like. It's not like he doesn't want to be with her in that way. He was going to take her home two years ago. But, he's different than he was then. He just wants to talk to her in a place that doesn't drown out her gorgeous voice. He starts to correct himself, but she just laughs at him.

"I know what you meant, Harry. I actually have a car waiting for me outside. I know a place we can go if you'd like to come with me."

He nods quickly. "I just have to tell my friends. I'll be right back."

"I'll wait outside. Don't take too long," she smirks before kissing his cheek. She left a bit of lipstick, so she wipes it off before turning around towards the door.

Harry makes his way back to the VIP section with the biggest grin only to see Jeff quickly duck down. He was spying on him, but harry can't even find it in himself to care. He felt like he was floating in the sky towards this sunshine he so desperately needed. When he gets to the spot everyone is sitting at, all the conversations go quiet.

"I'm leaving. I know I have to be back at the hotel at nine to go to Houston. I have my phone on me. Please don't need me until then." Before he can turn around and follow his golden girl, Jeff speaks up.

"Are you sure about this Hersh?"

Harry smiles softly at his concern. "She's an old friend. I finally feel like I can breathe," he whispers the last part as everyone goes back to their conversations.

This is such a relief to his manager. Originally, he just wanted Harry to loosen up and have some fun again. He wasn't going to let him leave with anyone. That's not how you get over a relationship. For some odd reason, this girl seemed to help him more than any of his other friends have in two months.

"Okay. Be safe and text me if you need anything."

Harry nods and heads towards the door. When he walks out, he sees J leaning on a sleek black car talking to an older guy. When she sees him, her eyes light up. She seems so bright compared to how he has been feeling the past few weeks. It's a breath of fresh air, and he couldn't be more relieved to finally take a breath in.

J touches the mans arm before he walks to the drivers side and gets in. "I thought you might have changed your mind?"

"On you? Never," he chuckles while opening the door for her. They both get into the car and Harry starts to wonder why she has a driver? It didn't register in his mind until now. Before he has time to ask, she speaks.

"Stanley, to my hideout please," she speaks softly to the man. There is genuine affection in her voice and Harry can already tell this man is not just a driver to her. He nods and pulls out onto the streets. There are cars on the road, but not as many as a bigger city like New York.

"So, where are you taking me?" Harry breaks the comfortable silence of the car.

"It's a place I like to go when I'm in town," she answers honestly. She's not used to opening up to people, but with Harry it seems almost natural for her. "I travel a lot. When I come back home, things can get a bit crazy for me. I come from a family that expect a lot out of me, so it's nice to have a place to get away from everything."

"I understand the feeling of wanting to get away. In my line of work, there is a lot of pressure to act or be a certain way," he thinks back to his time in One Direction. He never wanted to be the cause of the band breaking up so he held himself to higher standards than the others. It wasn't all bad, but it hurt when his name was thrown around in the press.

"That's right. You're a Popstar," she giggles.

"Rockstar more like," he playfully scoffs.

She rolls her eyes at him with a smile adorning her cherry red lips. "I'll be the judge of that mister."

"Would you like to come to one of my concerts to see for yourself?" he asks partially joking.

She looks at him with her eyebrow raised. "Would you like me to come to one of your concerts?" In all honesty, she wasn't expecting to see him after tonight. Her life can be hectic so her friends are very limited. Harry seems like a nice guy that she wouldn't mind in her life for longer than tonight.

"Yes," he replies with no hesitation. Now that he thinks about it, he wants to see her in the audience singing along to his songs.

She smiles at him and he's back in her trance. She grabs his hand and gives it a squeeze before letting go. "Then I would love to see you perform. When were you thinking?"

"I'm on tour right now, so name a city," he says, "I have the Houston show in two days and then I head to Florida. After that, I believe I'll be in Georgia, Tennessee, and Pennsylvania."

"Wow, that's a lot of shows. I feel like I should have known you would be successful," she laughs, "I'm actually busy for the next week, and after that I'll be flying back to New York."

Harry thinks over his schedule. "Are you free on the 21st?"

She thinks for a moment. "Yes. I don't believe I have anything planned until the end of June."

"I have a show in New York that day if you'd like to come. I believe I'll be there the following day if that works better?."

"That sounds perfect!" she exclaims.

"Ma'am," Stanley interupts politely. "We are here."

"Thank you, Stanley." She turns to Harry with an intoxicating smile. "Let's go!"

J gets out quickly and makes her way to the back of the car. She pulls two blankets out of the trunk and a small bag. Harry gets out and looks around. They are at a small park. This isn't exactly where he thought she would 'hideout' when things got tough.

"A park?" he asks. He's not complaining. He'd could be at a landfill and be happy as long as he's with her.

"It's just a stop on the way. We have to do the rest by foot." He looks into her beautiful green eyes. That familiar warmth is spreading through him. He's scared of becoming more attached to this girl he barely knows, but where's the fun in being cautious?

"Lead the way, love," he gestures forward as she blushes at the pet name.

They both move to the trail that is lit up by lamps. There's a peaceful silence that falls on them. The sounds of crickets and the wind blowing is a stark difference between the roaring stadium a few hours ago. It's nice to feel this silence with her. He feels a hand slip into his. He looks down at their hands connected in shock. He doesn't know how he feels about it at first, but as her hand holds onto his, he loves this feeling. It's insane and strange but he's said it before, she drives him crazy. So, maybe him letting her take control is what is meant to happen. Loving her may be his antidote...

But, that's for another time.

She clears her throat, breaking him out of his thought. "So, where are you from?"

"I'm from a small town in England called Cheshire," he replies.

"Like the cat?" she asks curiously.

He booms out a laugh. "Yes, like the cat."

"What's it like there?" she asks. There's something in her tone that he can't quite decipher.

"It's very beautiful. I love England. Have you ever been?" he asks.

"Yes. I traveled with my parents when I was little. I haven't been in a while though. After I graduate, I plan on seeing more of the world," she says thinking of all the places she wished her parents took her to see. "What's the coolest place you've been to?"

"I love Brazil. It's lovely there. When I played in Rio, my band and I went sightseeing." he says. As a musician, you might get to travel the world, but you have a hard time actually seeing the cities you are in. When Harry was with One Direction, they would have to organize their sightseeing weeks in advance to prepare for the potential mobs.

"That sounds amazing!" she says. "Rio is on my bucket list." Before he can reply, she looks at the path and pulls on his hand to stop him. "We have to go off path from here."

He laughs nervously. "Are you taking me out into the woods at night to kill me?" Even though it's night time here, there are lamp post that light up the way.

"How did you know?" she replies seriously. He gulps before she bursts into laughter. "No, there is a place about 10 yards from here where I like to watch the sunrise. If you feel uncomfortable, we can just head back. I won't be offended." she says honestly.

He thinks about going back, but oddly enough, in the trees with her, he feels completely comfortable. He shakes his head. She smiles that sunshine smile before she leads him into the trees.

The wind starts to whistle, gliding through the trees in the night air.

"What is that?" Harry asks when her starts to see the trees clear.

"That's where I'm taking you," she smiles. They walk through the small gap in the cluster of bushes. Once they get through, she stops them both.

"This is..." Harry seems to be at a loss of words. They stand in silence for what feels like ten minutes. The clearing that they are in is relatively small. No bigger than a baseball diamond, but it is full of flowers. There are solar lanterns on the surrounding trees to light up the beautiful scenery. The reason they stand quietly is because that's the only way to hear the music in the wind. The trees surrounding the clearing are close together causing the wind to pick up speed and whistle a beautiful melody.

J slowly walks towards the middle of the field and lays the blanket she was holding down in an open spot of flowers. She pulls out two wine glasses and a book from the bag on her shoulder before sitting down. She looks at the Brit that hasn't moved since getting into the clearing.

Harry stands smiling down at his mystery girl without saying a word.

"What do you think?" she asks softly, not wanting to interrupt the breeze.

He slowly walks over to her and sits down. "I love it," he simply states.

A strand of hair falls in front of his eyes and before he can move it away himself, J's warm hand tucks it back in place. Her palm rests on his cheek and he leans into it. He feels so comfortable as her thumb caresses his cheek. He feels that familiar heat as her thumb travels down to his lips. A small gasp leaves him as her fingertips rub against his bottom lip.

She leans forward slightly, searching his gaze for any hesitation. He can't move. He closes his eyes, breathing in and breathing out. When he opens his eyes she is the only thing he can see.

When their lips touch, it's even better than he thought it would be. The world around him disappeared. The floating feeling is back. It's like she's waiting for him in the sky, pulling him towards her warmth. He parts his lips slightly and she leans against him more. She matches his feverish movements by moving her hand to his chest. He has no doubt that she can feel how fast his heart is beating. His hands move to her hips, pulling her on top of him slightly. He is still conscientious to the fact that she is still in her dress. He pulls the bottom of it down, to make sure everything is covered.

Always the gentleman.

They stay like that for a while before pulling back. Opening the wine, and diving into conversation. She pulls out a disposable camera while he's telling the story about the time he met his good friend when they punched Harry in the face instead of the person who deserved it. As he laughs, she takes the picture. The stars shine on his face and the lanterns light up his features. When he hears the click, he looks over at her curiously.

"Um," she looks down blushing, "I love taking pictures with disposable cameras. My life can be a little crazy, so taking one shot pictures helps me remember all the important things. I don't want to forget this night."

His heart stutters and picks up double time. "You are such an amazing person. I don't want to forget this night either." He pulls out his phone and tells her to smile. She grins so brightly that he officially doesn't believe she is real. She's an angel on this Earth.

They talk for hours before she reads him the book she brought while he lays back enjoying to musical wind and her voice. When she stops suddenly, he opens his eyes.

"The sun is coming up," she smiles at him. He looks at his watch again and realizes it's five-thirty in the morning. The time has flown by. As the sun starts to rise, she finally tells him her name.

"Janis Rogers," she whispers, "My name is Janis Rogers."

He looks over at her and smiles while he stretches out his hand, "Harry Styles." She matches his smile before taking his hand. He takes this opportunity to pull her onto his lap.

She giggles, but leans back into him. He feels her sigh into him. He puts his arms around her and feels a warmth fill his chest. He could get used to this feeling.

They sit and watch the sunrise above the trees, but he can't take his eyes off her. He takes this time to reflect on the last eight hours he has spent with the girl he thought he'd never see again. The sunlight hits her face and she closes her eyes. There's only one thing running through his mind...

She's so golden.

#harry fanfic #harry fan fiction #harry smut #Harry Styles #harry edward styles #sunshine temptress #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut

79 notes · View notes

itssolonelyhere · 4 years ago

Note

I dont know if you prompts or requests but can you do a Sakura or Joker being sick and the other having to take care of them from Tyaku and Queen? I like both versions of her from each and wonder how theyd react to it.

To be honest, I never gave it any thought. This is a good idea to flex my writing muscles and give me a break from the mountain of revisions I’m working on. I’ll give it a go and hopefully, it’s not too bad… I’ll do one for Tsūyaku now and when I’m done work, another for Queen of the Rhombus. If you have any more, I don’t mind doing them.

Tsūyaku – Sakura’s sick in bed when J comes back from a job.

It's hot. Too damn hot.

Sakura groans and tears her eyes away from the ceiling to stare out the window. The snow's still falling and it doesn't seem as if it'll stop soon. It's a beautiful sight that would have delighted her on most days, but she can't find it in herself to relish the view.

Green eyes watch the feathered crystals dancing in the wind, twirling around as it gently falls to the ground. It's a struggle to crane her neck up, hoping to see how much area it covers since she fell asleep. To her surprise, everything outside is pure white, leaving nothing untouched. The dead trees and grass, the bench where she likes to sit on to read, the van parked alongside the building, even the wrap-around porch. All blanketed by winter's frosty kiss and it's so dazzling that it's hard to look at for too long.

The darkening sky is still white, but she can tell it's getting late without rolling over to check the clock. Dropping against the mattress, Sakura lets out a shuddered breath and swallows hard. Being sick is a miserable experience that leaves her with nothing to do aside from mulling over everything that worries her. It's foolish, she knows, but part of her is still concerned.

Joker's been gone for a few days, which isn't unusual at all. Sometimes he stays for brief periods in the city for his 'job', but always comes back. Usually, it's with a cocky smirk and filthy clothes, yet on those few occasions that he doesn't… Someone ends up in the basement where he spends hours doing God-knows-what with his tools. The pinkette knows what goes on down there and it's not a secret, either.

That area is off-limits, especially to her, and Rocco is the only one that's alive who's seen it. If curiosity got the best of her and she took a tour, it will only haunt the pinkette's days and night. She doesn't enjoy that kind of 'entertainment' and Joker knows that. Snooping around might end up in a little punishment, but that's about it. Anyone else would be terrified at the thought, and rightfully so. Her discipline doesn't end with broken bones, missing limbs, or death.

Hearing the familiar stomping up the stairs, Sakura wants to push herself up the bed to greet him. Another trickle of sweat trails along the pale skin of her face from the effort, but she can't muster the strength to even sit up. It's pathetic to find herself in such a state, especially with her abilities. The pinkette can't remember the last time she was sick, let alone to this degree. With a strained groan, she gives up and settles into the mattress, waiting for him to burst through the door.

The doorknob twists and she peers over the fluffy duvet to see a tall figure standing at the threshold. Just as she expects, Joker looks like a mess as he stalks into the bedroom, leaving a wet trail of shoe prints across the hardwood floor. His purple trench coat has splotches of ash and dried blood, mixed with other substances she'd rather not think about. The greasepaint is smeared and missing in patches, revealing his tan skin beneath, with the rest weeping down his face. As always, J's hair is a faded, stringy mess that never listens to any commands, just like its owner. No matter when she catches him, he forever has the appearance of a wild madman.

And that's just fine.

Right away, his brow furrows when he notices her lying beneath the covers, unnaturally pale and sweaty. Usually, Sakura is busy doing something or another, whether it's reading or wrapped up in a craft. Not today. Those black pits in his sockets narrow on her as he shrugs off his trench coat, tossing it over the back of a chair. They make her want to shrink into nothingness, no matter how many times she gazes into them.

He moves to stand at the end of the bed, staring without saying a word. It's hard to tell if he's in a pleasant mood or not when it's like this. No one's better at keeping everything hidden than him, whether it's his thoughts, feelings, or intentions.

"I missed you…" Her voice is low and raspy, trying to suppress a cough working its way up. All-day the pinkette's been hacking up and the sensation of blades dancing along her throat won't go away.

The side of his mouth quirks up at her words, even if it seems like someone's tugging on it with a fishline. She knows Joker won't repeat it back, but it's his eyes that give him away. He always says they're the gateway to the soul and in the privacy of their room, they can reveal what his words won't.

"You're sick." It's not a question or guess, and she knows it. He can always tell when something's off or not right, no matter if she tries to hide it. They grew up together, and he's already seen it all, even if she's still missing pieces to their puzzle.

Sakura gives him a weary, apologetic smile, trying to ignore the pounding in her head. When he comes home, she likes to greet him and show how much she missed him, whether he disappears for a day or five. Right now, her aching muscles can't bear to even get herself up.

"Hmm…" Joker grunts and saunters off towards the bathroom and she almost calls after him. From the looks of his clothes, he can use a good shower, but those are trivial matters to him. Even if she wants to spend time with him, he's a busy man and has been gone for days.

Sighing, the pinkette leans back against the pillow and closes her eyes. Jack will come to her when he's ready and needs his space. Who knows what kind of shit-show he just pulled off? She might as well try to get some sleep and hopefully, this sickness will run its course faster.

'I need to get better soon. I'm useless like this.'

Something sopping wet and cold drops onto her face, jolting Sakura back to her senses. Sputtering from the water running down her skin, she reaches up in surprise and yanks it away. Joker's looming over the side of the bed and arches a brow, trying to hold back a cackle she knows is coming. Glancing at her hand, there's a soaking, wet rag he didn't bother wringing out.

'Fucking figures…'

"Keep it on your forehead, doll." Despite his expression, there's something playful in his pitch-dark, glassy eyes. When she doesn't move, he snatches the rag and folds it over, smacking it against her forehead. Beads of cold water trail down her temples into the pink hair strewn over the pillow and she bites her lip to keep back a retort. Most people would see this as being heavy-handed and crude, but she knows better. This is his version of care and it's the best he can do. This is more than she can ask for. It's the intent and effort that's appreciated, even if J's harsh with everything he does.

The cool rag feels heavenly against her heated skin and she breaks out in goosebumps from the difference. A breathy sigh spills from her lips and he smirks at the reaction.

"We're not done yet." Sakura finally notices what's in his gloved hand. A bottle of medicine and a spoon. She has no clue where the spoon came from and doesn't ask. It'll only result in a vague or arrogant remark, neither she wants to deal with at the moment.

Watching him fiddling with the cap, the pinkette can't help recalling all the times she did this in the past for him. Eight years ago, when his mouth was healing after being slashed open. He consistently kept tearing the stitches open, and they became so infected, yet he refused to go to the hospital. Jack was always so goddamn stubborn and never listens, even if it results in making himself suffer twice as long.

"Open up." The spoon is right near her lips, and she grimaces from the strong scent of the medication. It's dark red and reminds her of blood, but she'd rather smell that over this. Noticing her expression and distaste, gloved fingers pinch her stuffy nose, and she reluctantly opens her mouth. The nasty liquid runs down her throat as the metal clangs against her teeth, making sure she takes all of it.

"Don't spit it out or I'll have to punish ya." Joker pops his lips, ignoring the way she's kicking her feet around under the covers and the disgruntled noises eating away at the small amount of energy she has left. It's disgusting, and he knows how much she hates medicine, but she needs it. Sometimes people have to do what's necessary for the ones they care about.

"Gross!" She swats his hand away from her nose, letting annoyance overpower her exhaustion. If looks can kill, Batman would have one less chaotic problem to deal with.

"How 'bout ya just relax? Hmm? Ya won't get better by being a pain in the ass." This time, J doesn't restrain the cackle that's been building up in his chest. It's harsh on the ears, but Sakura finds it enjoyable and contagious, causing her annoyance to wane. She can never stay angry at him long, no matter what he does.

"That's my girl." He leans down and kisses the tip of her nose, leaving a red smudge behind. That only makes his fit worse, falling into hysterics. She never understands why he finds leaving greasepaint on her face so funny, but that doesn't stop her from smiling.

"Heh. Looks good on ya." Grabbing the rag, he wipes it off before dropping it back in place. She frowns at the water running down her neck, even if it feels good. J is such a weird man, but she loves him anyway in all his vicious glory.

Joker's eyes don't leave hers as he toes off his battered dress shoes and starts plucking the buttons of his green waistcoat. When he was standing next to the bed, she noticed everything's wet and cold from being out in the snow. If the pinkette wasn't so sick, she'd help take it all off for him and use herself as bait to tempt the clown into a hot shower. That's the best way to get him cleaned up, otherwise, he doesn't care about any of it. He'll go filthy for days without batting one of those heavy, shadowy lids.

"How'd it go? Did you guys have any problem with the snow?" Jack frowns after throwing his belt on the floor when the inquiry causes a coughing fit that makes her small body shake beneath the duvet. His lip curls up and she thinks he's about to snarl, but it doesn't come. Stamping across the hardwood floor, he clicks his tongue and throws the covers off his side of the bed and flops down.

For a moment, Sakura thinks he might be angry that she asked. Since the day they ran into each other, he never really liked talking about his 'job' to her but has been opening up a little more as time goes by. Sometimes he complains about a goon making a grievous error that Joker rectifies with a bullet or attempts to lure the Bat out from whatever cave he's been hiding in after Dent's death. The pinkette finds it all fascinating and exciting, even if it's terrible, but this is who Jack is now. He revels in the explosions and fires, all the mayhem and complicated plans.

"Shaddap if it hurts to talk." He grunts and slides across the mattress, dragging the duvet back over. Sakura shifts to look at him, watching the clown leaning his bare back against the headboard. The muscle in his cheeks twitches and he mutters something under his breath, but she can't pick up on it.

'What's he doing now?'

"C'mere." Despite telling her to come to him, he scoots over and the bed dips under his weight. Laying on his side, J moves closer until there's no room left. She knows he missed her, even if the words won't come out. Actions always speak louder and prove more than anything else. Sweet-nothings and heartfelt confessions are what most people yearn for, but Sakura would rather a man show her the truth than speak lies.

This is his form of care, even if it's gruff and obnoxious. Jack's violent, arrogant, manipulative, and downright cruel most of the time. However, it's those specks in between that’s saved especially for her that makes the rest inconsequential. The clown keeps her safe from the other monsters that lurk in the shadows throughout the city. They won't hesitate to rip her to pieces or abuse her ability, unlike this man. He likes the pinkette staying whole, even if their nights result in minor cuts and bruises in the shape of a large hand or long fingers. It's nothing she can't heal and they both have fun causing them. That's what happens when a man's rough in bed and he does it right.

Sakura closes her eyes when he buries his face in her hair, greedily breathing in her scent. J treats it like huffing in fumes he's trying to high from and never wants to stop. A hand slithers under the sheets and rests on her abdomen, drawing lazy circles over the thin fabric of her shirt with his fingers. He's been doing this more often lately, and she's not sure why but is worried he might stop if she asks. It's soothing and helps lull her into a peaceful state, letting all the worries from outside the bedroom melt right off her shoulders. Nothing matters anymore, except the two of them.

The small action elicits a groan from the pinkette as she leans her head against his chest, finding a comfortable spot. His skin is always so warm as if the fire he loves so much dances just beneath the surface. It's like having a safe, heated blanket wrapped around her that no one can get through. As long as she stays here, nothing can touch her besides him and the thought is oddly pleasant.

"Well, doll… Since ya asked so nicely and you're stuck in bed, might as well give ya some entertainment while I'm here." Sakura knows what that means. He wants to paint a vivid picture of his exploits from his excursion in the city, yet is trying to make it seem like he's doing her a favor. The showman in him enjoys the applause and awe he's able to draw out from her by giving every gory detail and miraculous feat, becoming completely smug from his ingenuity and perseverance.

"Great. I want to hear it." She coughs again and her voice is still raspy. He can feel her muscles jolt from each one as his fingers pulse against the flimsy material. The moment the fit stops, the pinkette jerks when he pinches her cheek, giving it a little tug to get his point across.

"I thought I told ya not to talk if it hurts? Hmm?" Glancing up, he has an exaggerated frown that almost looks like a wide smile from her angle. His tongue snakes out to prod the broken skin of his scar, waiting until she slowly nods before continuing.

"Good. Just re-lax and I'll tell ya all about my little run-in with the, ah, Bat."

#Heath Ledger Joker #joker #joker x sakura #oneshot #care #couple stuff #sweet and sour #caveman #the dark knight #crossover #Sakura Haruno #Naruto crossover #fanfiction #medicine #crime #request #I like this

10 notes · View notes

jasonp43 · 6 years ago

Text

Jondami week 2019 Day 4: A Mismatch Made in Heaven

Prompt: Body Swap

Synopsis: The Super Sons are on the Felix Faust case. After just a few days on the case, they've got him cornered, little do they know he's got a special spell ready, just for them.

~Lowkey smut warning~

"It's over, Faust." Robin called out from the darkness, perched on one of the upper beams of the warehouse.

"Yeah! Just give up." Superboy called out, a few beams away from Damian.

"Hah! Faust never surrenders!" The sorcerer said, sweat dripping down his cheek.

"Heh. I was hoping you would say that." Damian smirked, "Maneuver J-7 Delta!" Damian shouted to Jon, as he stood up, pride in his voice.

"Uh.. Damian..?" Jon called out, his voice unsure.

"What?" Damian said, looking over his shoulder at Jon.

"I uh.. forgot which one that is" Jon said with a light giggle.

"TT." Damian said with a sigh, rubbing his temples. "Why do I even try?"

"Hah! Fools." Felix said with a laugh, snapping his fingers, a flame appearing in his now open palm. "Now, be good little boys and stand still." He said with a smirk before launching a ball of fire at Damian.

Damian easily evaded and leapt down at Faust, 4 explosive birdarangs landing near the sorcerer's feet, exploding just Damian's boots touched the concrete floor.

Felix was thrown across the, his back hitting the floor hard just as Jon slammed into the, ground, landing just next to him, cracking the concrete and causing the sorcerer to yelp.

"Give it up, Faust!" Jon commanded, though with his voice and appearance it came out more as unbelievably adorable than anything even remotely intimidating.

"Alright! Alright.." the sorcerer said, rising to his feet. "Faust knows when he is beaten." He said plainly.

"I thought you said you don't surrender?" Jon asked, raising a brow.

"That doesn't mean I can't run! Hahahahaha-oof!" Faust turned to run, able to do so for about half a second before slamming into a brick wall.

"Ouch.." Jon said, squinting one eye.

"Just when I thought you couldn't become more of a joke." Damian scoffed, crossing his arms beside Jon.

"Hrr.r.. you'll pay for that!" Faust said, clawing his hands. Purple lightning shot forth, arcing in the air towards Robin.

"Robin! Get down!" Jon said, launching himself at his partner.

Both boys got struck by Faust's magic, both now a crumpled mess on the floor, smoke coming off their unconscious bodies.

"Well, that's not what was supposed to happen.." the sorcerer thought to himself. "No matter! Time to make my great escape. Hahahahaha- oof!" He turned around to run, slamming into the same wall but this time knocking himself unconscious falling to the floor with an audible thud.

A few hours passed and both of the boys started to wake up.

"Mmmn.. your knee's poking my side.." Jon complained.

"No you.. you got your elbow against my-" Damian paused, his eyes going wide as he stared at the face mere inches from his own; his face.

"Ahhh!" Damian shouted.

"Ahhhhhhhh!" Jon Shrieked.

Both boys got up, their eyes wide as they stared down the other.

"You're me!" Damian shouted, glancing down at his body. "Ahhhh! And I'm you!" He shouted.

Jon dusted himself off, letting out a sigh. "TT. No, hayseed. We're us but... body swapped." Jon said with a shiver.

"B-body swapped?" Damian asked, looking down at his body.

"Yes, the effects of Faust's spell, no doubt." Jon said, looking around the room before spotting him, still knocked unconscious, missing a few teeth.

"Although, I don't see how body swapping would be a useful offensive spell." Jon said, walking over to the sorcerer's unconscious body. Placing a thumb on his chin in thought while Damian was freaking out behind him, rolling around on the floor and shouting.

"Perhaps the spell went awry.." Jon said, kneeling down and reaching for a pair of cuffs in the back pocket of his utility belt only to grope his own butt.

Jon's eyes went, his cheeks reddening quickly. He looked over his shoulder, thanking whatever powers there were that the real Jon didn't see what he just did.

"Kent." Jon said coldly, Damian still rolling around and panicking.

He sighed and stood up, walking over to his partner. Placing a foot on his torso and slapping his very very lightly.

"Snap out of it."

"Ouuuchhhhh!!" Damian complained.

"Now hand me my cuffs before Houdini wakes up." Pointing at Faust.

The boys cuffed the sorcerer and sealed his lips to prevent him from casting any more spells. They brought him to the fortress of attitude.

"W-where am-" Faust was cut off just as he was waking up by Jon slamming his hand on the table in front of his, breaking it in half. The sorcerer was scared shitless to say the least, tied up to a chair, his hands bound behind him.

"You're being interrogated." Jon said bluntly.

"Yeah! So you better start talking." Damian chimed in

"Or else." Jon narrowed his eyes.

The sorcerer chuckled. "looks like my spell worked." He smirked.

"Tell us how it works." Damian said.

"Make me." Faust said confidently.

"With pleasure." Jon smirked, throwing the wizard across the room and breaking his arm.

"Ahhh!" Faust cried out, clearly not thinking his plan through.

"Alright alright! I'll talk..." He said... "24 hours.." he said, out of breath.

"Till what?" Damian asked.

"Till you two change back" he said.

"That's all we needed to know." Jon said coldly, letting him sit back up before leaving the cell.

"Wait! You're just going to leave me here?!" He shouted out.

"Mhm! See you tomorrow!" Damian said, closing the door behind him before turning back "oh! Food will be there like I think uhm.. in a few hours? So yeah- uh! Yeah!" Damian said, before catching up to Jon.

"So..." Damian began, both boys seated at the couch.

"19 hours." Jon said plainly.

"But I thought he said-"

"No, Kent. 5 hours passed since we got turned."

"What do we do till then?" Damian asked.

"We wait, live out the other's day. Tomorrow we'll be back.

"What?!" Damian cried out.

"But- but me and my parents were gonna go to the amusement park..!" Damian complained.

"Yes, and I have an interview with father in couple hours."

"what do I do?!" Damian said, falling backwards letting out an exapserated sound.

"Just sit there. Let father do the talking." Jon said.

"Can't we ask raven for help?" Damian asked

"No, her and the other magical league members are off on a mission to fight mr. Mxyzptlk." Jon said, letting out a sigh "we just have to deal with it ourselves."

Most of the day finished, Damian retired to his bedroom. Being able to fool Clark and Louis.

"Ok.. time to-" Damian paused just as he was about to unbuckle Jon's belt. He was going to go to the bathroom when he remembered this was jon's body.

Damian eyed Jon's body in the mirror, still wearing his white t-shirt, jeans and red shoes.

His mind drifted back to when he accidentally groped Jon's butt, the blush returning.

"No." He said, plainly. Damian's had feelings for Jon for quite some time now and he'd be lying if he said he never wanted to see him.. bare. He never actually thought it'd happen, nor was he planning on acting on those feelings any time soon.. but given the circumstances he had the chance.

"Its not right." He said, wrestling with his thoughts. Before feeling a tent pitch in his pants, the blush darkening as he felt a single bead of sweat drip down his face. He looked down to see a buldge in his jeans.

"Mmmng.. maybe just a little peek.." he said, before dropping the jeans to the floor, Jon's boyhood springing upwards, a drop of pre being flung to his face.

"This is so.. weird.." Damian said to himself as he licked the pre on his cheek, feeling Jon's boyhood throb.

"Mmmn.." Damian let out a hum, before slipping off Jon's shirt eyeing his bare chest in the mirror.

"Heh. Pink nipples. Cute." Damian smirked before caressing Jon's slender body, admiring his frame.

He paused remembering one important thing. Walking over to Jon's school supplies, he pulled out a ruler.

"TT. He's bigger." With a disappointed groan he admitted.

Damian reached for Jon's phone and thought for a second.

"Agh fuck it." Damian said, as he stripped Jon nude. Taking pictures of his pale body, everything from head to toe videoing Jon jerk his boyhood up and down before stroking, pulling down his foreskin and revealing the boy's sensitive tip. He then showered, videoing and picturing himself.

Wiping himself off, he collapsed in bed and began stroking, fondling himself, running his fingers through Jon's messy hair. He videoed himself edge thrice before spewing jon's load all over his bare chest. Licking up the evidence.

He sent all videos and pictures to one of his own alternate accounts.

"Sorry Jon." Damian said, a hint of regret in his voice deleting any evidence from Jon's phone while groping the boy's family jewels.

"I just couldn't pass this up." He said, reluctantly slipping clpthes back on and going to sleep.

Morning came and Damian was back in his own body.

"Mmmn.." he groaned, feeling cold. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he saw he was completely naked. His eyes went wide, as he scanned the room, his underwear was all over the place and that's when it hit him.

He was sore, sore all over especially his boyhood. Reaching down to touch it he recoiled, it was still hypersensitive. Looking down at his bare chest, he was covered in his own cum.

A smirk came to his face.

"TT. Guess this makes us even~" he said, opening his gallery.

A/N: hey, jason here. This was weird but fun to write, idk I didn't have any good ideas for today's prompt, so I just went with whatever I could think off. -Jason

#damijon #jondami #jondami week 2019 #superboy #robin #Damian wayne #jonathan kent #jon kent #super sons #cute #smut

89 notes · View notes

a-jynx · 6 years ago

Text

Dancing Around Fate: Part Two: The Jones Family

Blurb: The Winchester brothers find themselves traveling down towards Houston, Texas when multiple deaths of teenage dancers leave them confused and lost. Trying to figure out what could be killing off these kids with cold feet, they turn towards the one person that’s been around them most of their time – Y/N L/N, the well-known dance instructor of Texas. As the deaths seem to get closer towards Ms. L/N, the boys figure that they could very well be dancing around fate…

Pairing: Dean x dance instructor!reader

Warnings: Cursing, angst, fluff, eventual smut, multiple deaths, FBI agent Winchesters, the boys in suits, mentions of blood, suggestive moves, Dean SINGS & DANCES, Mentions of teenage deaths,

F.I.T: @waywardnewcomer @natashacamillaus@mogaruke@casiskween @laceyn-1201 @supernatural-teamfreewillpage @closetspngirl @reeseweese @mlovesstories

Series Tags: @gh0stgurl @karinavictoria11 @lauriz67@destieladdict-221b @eve05glee @icedemon1314 @ria132love @fanfictionrecommendations-com @j-k-ruffell @1dluver13xx @trxye-sxvxn

Tags are open until further notice, as well as F.I.T (Forever In Tags)!

Feedback is appreciated! It’s the glue to my writing!

Choreography used: JoJo Gomez; Billie Eilish “bury a friend”

Enjoy!

Later in the day, I found myself hugging and holding onto each student tightly as they cried for the lost of Alison. However, I couldn’t bring myself to break tears as they pulled each other into body crushing hugs; I was supposed to be strong for them. They’re my kids, from the moment they step through those doors, to the moment they wish to disown me.

“Ms. L/N, what’re… What’re we going to do? Alison…” Bethany Lane, Alison’s closest friend, swallowed as she tried to wipe her falling tears as I sighed, dropping my strong face and moving towards her.

“Oh, Beth… The police are working hard to figure out who did this to her, and… And we’ll do something, in memory of her, okay?” I smiled softly, grabbing her shoulder and wrapping her tightly in my arms as quiet sniffling came from her. Suddenly, the metal doors slammed open then shut as I glanced over my shoulder, I clenched my jaw before releasing Beth and pushing her towards her friends. I stopped as I noticed the two agents from last night standing there, looking around with scowling looks.

“Agents? Can I…” I paused, glancing back at the girls before wrapping my arms over my chest and pinching my lips together. “Help you with something?”

“Good morning to you too, sunshine.” Dean smiled grimly, his hands stuffed into his pockets as they stopped in front of me. I huffed, swallowing the lump in my throat and rolling my eyes.

“I understand I gave you my personal and said my studio is open to you, but… I can’t answer questions today.” I murmured, stepping closer as I wrapped my arms tighter around my body as Sam and Dean glanced over my shoulder, seeing the girls standing around with their arms around each other and quiet sobs raking from them.

“We understand, Y/N… But, this is important to the investigation.” Sam spoke as I sighed, nodding slowly as I turned on my heel and waved for them to follow me. The girls grew somewhat quiet as we moved upstairs, them moving ahead as I waved for the girls to continue.

“What is that you need, anyway? I’m… My students are running on coffee and now their hearts are heavy.” I whispered the last part, biting on my lip as they all nodded before sighing gently.

“We’re sorry for intruding but… We think we might have a lead on who killed Alison.” Sam sighed, a tired grin on his face as I tilted my head, hope already filling my eyes.

“Wait… Seriously? It’s… It’s only been a day! It doesn’t matter, what’s the lead? Who’s the lead?” I dropped my arms while taking a step towards them, but Dean was quick to speak.

“Ah, Y/N, you know we can’t share that information,”

“Like Hell. I’m sorry, agents, I truly am but this… Whoever did this, I want to look in the eye and give them a piece of my mind!” I spat, gritting my teeth as I huffed and took a step back, turning on my heel as I ran a trembling hand through my hair.

Both men went quiet, leaving me to think as I swallowed thickly and shook my head, turning back to them. “Please, they killed one of my girls -- someone I looked at as a daughter,” I mumbled, furrowing my brows as they glanced at each other before sighing.

“Y/N, if we tell you anything then you have to promise that you won’t go after them yourself, okay?” Dean pinched his lips together as Sam moved behind him, shutting the door as I swallowed thickly and nodded.

“I just want whoever did this behind bars, Agent Smith.” I snarled while rubbing my thumb over my index, a trick I’ve learned to use to calm my nerves. Dean glanced at Sam before nodding, and as if on cue, Sam reached into this briefcase looking bag and pulled on a large vanilla envelope, setting it on the counter with a thud.

“Okay, so get this, Dean and I did some background checks on Mr. and Mrs. Jones, thanks to the history you gave us, we figured it’d be worth a shot,” Sam spoke gravelly as I tugged my lip between my teeth, keeping myself at bay from speaking.

“And everything you told us was on their record, but when we went to talk to them earlier this morning their neighbor stated that they left town a few weeks ago.” Sam huffed, annoyance poking out from his voice as I gritted my teeth. Damn…

“But,” Dean cut in. “There was a credit card payment a few days ago made to,” he paused while glancing back at the folder laid out before us. “Martinez’s Auto Industry.”

“So, that’s where you’re heading next, right?”

“It’s the best lead we have right now, but… I don’t know, I have this feeling in my gut that it’s going to end up a dead end.” Sam exhaled tautly before closing the folder and placing it back where it had appeared from.

“I just… Sam, Dean, I need you both, to be honest with me…” I whispered, lowering my voice as I felt my stomach churn. “Is it possible that Alison’s parents killed her?” I swallowed thickly at the words, my heart hammering against my ribs yet it felt like it dropped to the depths of Hell.

Sam and Dean shared a look before turning back to me, their faces barely readable. Sam went silent as if he were thinking it over, while Dean… Dean stood there with his eyes trained to the kitchen floor with his hands tucked away in his dress pants, but then he spoke. “We… We can’t be sure, Y/N. But it’s the best lead we have right now.”

“But… But what happens if this lead ends? I’m not going to let Alison’s death go unanswered, Dean! I just…” I stopped, sighing heavily while straightening my back. “I won’t let it.”

“Y/N, take it from me,” Sam spoke, stepping forward as my eyes quickly cut to him, his large hand landed on my shoulder and gave it a prompt yet reassuring squeeze. “We won’t rest until her killer is found.” I found myself softly smiling, however, it didn’t reach my eyes… Carefully, I moved past them with small tears working up in my eyes.

“I… I have to get to class, you can let yourselves out,” I whispered, opening the door and making each step quick as my heart throbbed and cracked just a little more. Each step seemed to make me want to buckle and fall down, not caring if it led me to fall down the stairs, I just wanted to fall…

Sam and I stayed behind as Y/N went downstairs and you could just… Tell that she was broken; defeated even. And we couldn’t do much to fix it; at least… For now.

“Come on.” I exhaled roughly before quickly moving downstairs, my mind rushing with images of how upset she truly was yet she tried to hide it. Sam’s rushing footsteps followed behind me as I stepped onto the polished wood, I stopped as my eyes floated towards the group of dancers. They moved with a heavy beat that moved throughout the room. Each thump and each heavy bass ripped through your body if you stood still long enough.

“Dean,” Sam hissed, but I couldn’t break my eyes away as I watched Y/N move with the beat. A few moments ago she looked as if she was about to break and cry, but now..? Now, she moved with each heavy beat with a huff whilst staring straight ahead with no tears to be seen.

“Dean. We need to go, now. That place is closing soon.” Sam stepped around me as I took slow steps. I felt almost… Hypnotized by her movements. Each step seemed to read anger, or… Demonic somehow, but they also gave a look of sadness as she slammed to the ground and the music cut.

“Dean! Let’s go!” I blinked a few times, shaking my head as I quickly moved towards the exit, but before stepping out into the hot sun; I found myself pausing and glancing back at her. She rose from the ground, stopping as our eyes met in the mirror and with sweat slowly dripping already, she sent me a faint smile. But, I turned and left…

Sammy and I arrived at the garage without much talk, well, he tried but I wasn’t up for much conversation.

“Okay, let’s get this straight, I do all the talking and you glance around, see if you find anything, alright?” I jutted my thumb at my chest while slamming Baby’s doors shut as we moved towards the screeching coming from the garage, Sam rolled his eyes.

“Really? Are you sure you can after seeing Y/N?” There was a hefty amount of teasing and sass hidden behind his slight hiss. I halted and turned on my heel, clenching my jaw and curled my lip out with a snarl.

“Shut your face. Start walking,” I thrust my thumb behind me as he rolled his eyes before pushing past me. Turning to follow him, I ran a hand through my hair before quickly moving towards the garage.

The metallic screech from the far back echoed, a small shiver going down my spine as it resembled that of a Wendigo, or a Banshee. “Hello?!” Sam shouted into the noise-filled room, yet the screeching never halted as we moved further in, I stopped as I spotted someone’s legs jutting out from beneath a Mercedez-Benz resting above them. Shouldering Sam, I nodded towards the body and walked ahead, Sam yelled out another hello, but nothing changed. Huffing, I took the toe of my shoe and hooked it beneath the person’s ankle, yanking them and their creeper out, yet it was met with a grunt of anger.

“¡Oye! ¿Cuál es la gran idea, gilipollas?” The woman with grease smeared across her cheek and forehead growled before standing, prodding the wrench in her hand at us as Sam and I took a step back, our hands raised to show surrender.

“Woah, didn’t mean to startle you! My partner and I have some questions for you,” I spoke while dropping my hands as Sam did the same. The woman narrowed her eyes before rolling them and tossing the wrench onto the cement, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Alright, well, what’re your questions? I’m sort of, y’know, busy.” She spat as I shared a knowing glance to Sam, who cleared his throat, catching her attention.

“Well, you see, Ms..” He paused, stealing a glance to her nametag. “Ms. Stephanie, yesterday morning Alison Jones was found dead on-”

“On Main street… Yeah, I heard about that this morning. Poor girl.” Stephanie sighed, her expression falling as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a dirtied rag, wiping at her face as she moved past us. “We can talk outside, Barry hasn’t been in so he’ll be at that sawing for a while.” We nodded as we all somewhat shuffled outside, the sun blazing down on us as Stephanie turned back towards us, her face softer than before.

“So, what is it you're wanting to know?”

“Uh, well, Mr. and Mrs. Jones made a payment here a few days ago, but their neighbors said they’ve been out of town for the past few weeks and given their past with their… Passion for arguing.” Sam glanced over at me as I gave a small shrug followed by a slight nod as Stephanie groaned, nodding.

“You're talking about Ms. L/N, right? I know that she and Allie were close, but… If you’re assuming her parents had something to do with this, it’s not likely. Her parents paid off the last payment from Alison’s latest wreck; I finished up her car a few weeks ago.” Stephanie shrugged, keeping her arms crossed as I furrowed my brows. Sam nodded, before frowning. “Well, thank you for your time,” he paused, handing her one of our ‘business cards. “We’ll be in touch.”

Part Three: Coming Soon

Quick A/N: It took me a few days, but I like where this is heading already -- next chapter will push us further into the storyline! I hope you all enjoy this new chapter, and the rest to follow!

#Dean x dance instructor!reader #Dean x reader #reader insert #new series #Sam mentioned #supernatural series #supernautral #Supernatural Fandom #spn fic #tags are open!#hope you enjoy

10 notes · View notes

oc-avalanche · 6 years ago

Text

Simple Forgiveness

Wanted to post this here cause I enjoyed writing this scene and want to become more confident in showing my writing off. <3 Hope you enjoy!

Also, I use J. R. Tokien’s Sindarin for the Aldmeri language and Dragon Age’s Dalish for the Bosmeri Language. Ren is fluent in both of them so he will slip in both at the same time.

Kaidan belongs to LivTempleton

Rennare Wilder, Mrasi, and the mentioned Bug belong to me.

Shuz belongs to @myosotis-veille

The walk down from High Hrothgar was difficult. With each step it felt like a hundred more of those burning needles that my father penetrated my palms with were going through my feet. There were times when I could hear the distant sound of chains, the thought of them making my ankles feel heavy. Despite the isolation upon this mountain and in the town alone, the air felt too stuffy. It was like breathing in cotton covered in oil and lit aflame in my lungs.

Silently, I counted the steps as we went down. It was something to keep my mind busy, to keep my mind off Kaidan. Yet every time I looked up, it was just another reminder of his absence. I messed up big time, the guilt was still hounding me. The awful things I had said to him like telling him to dump his big head in the sea of ghosts and never come back or that I never wanted to see him again. Words that I want to say to him bubble in the back of my throat, searing into my flesh. Apologies trembled in my teeth, ready to slip out. Except I could not say them for I knew not where he was. I could write to him, but I wanted to say it to his face, to show that the things I spoke agonized my every waking moment.

So wrapped up in my self pity I didn’t even hear as Mrasi tried to speak with me. I noticed neither Mrasi nor Him as they tried to pull me out. The only thing that did catch my attention was when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

My heartbeat escalated, breath becoming short, body tense. Out of reaction and not sense, I tore myself away, shrinking back only to see Him giving me a confused expression. He spoke no words and Mrasi was telling him something, but my senses were fogged. Memories of the past began to surface. As they breathed life, they took life away from me. I try to say I’m sorry but the words come out dry, falling dull like a leaf trying to cut skin. A piercing wind cuts through; I grab my hood to keep my face hidden.

“Let’s get to the inn and rest,” was all I could muster, eyes casted down and turning away from my three companions. Pelinal let out a small purr, nuzzling his big head underneath my arm. “We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.” I don’t look the large sabre cat in the eye, I can’t. They don’t stop me or try to talk to me. Honestly, I don’t know if Him could talk but if he could I may have scared him from doing so. Saying I’m sorry feels so empty, I need to do something. Yet any idea I could conjure up felt desperate and fake. If only Kai were here, in my mind I can imagine him. Blonde hair, big goofy smile, his lame- my feet stop. Along with the rest of my group.

Mrasi moves next to me and from the corner of my eye I see his brows furrowing. “Ren, are you okay?” I nod, but don’t speak. If I spoke he would know it was a lie. My voice would shake, throat cracking and breaking as if it were eggs being dropped from a child’s hands. He opens his mouth but swallows his words and we continue to talk.

I try to recreate the image but everything has left me. The face of the man I seemed to have created has disappeared and now I see eyes of red, piercing and serious. There’s no smile on the male’s face but there is a warmth to how he talks and does things. He reaches his hand out and I go to grab it, only to find the beginning of the bridge. My hand rests upon its mossy stone, feeling the river beat underneath it. The water beneath only froze the burning cotton inside my lungs.

With a deep breath, I try to calm the flames before turning to Him and Mrasi. “You two go on to the inn, I want to pay a quick visit to a friend.” Mrasi nodded, giving Him no time to ponder just what I was doing as he dragged him away. Seeing the brunette nord archer being lead by a blonde mage made me smile. The sight just felt familiar somehow like watching someone do something you’ve dreamt of doing your entire life, seeing them succeed while you never tried.

In silence, I stood there, looking up at the clouds, so far up in the sky. I dream of being up there, flying, far from everything that had ever cursed my existence. Birds pass by, graceful and serene. A smile tugs on my lips as I imagine my mother’s hand raising towards the sky, she sounds happy despite the dirty under her nails, the scars on her arms.

Mindlessly, I turn to look at her only to find eyes of crimson blood and black scales flying towards me. Fire consumes me, I try to escape but I am stopped by the feeling of stone underneath my hands. My body gasps for air and despite the cold, I feel sweat pouring from my skin. Stupid visions, I silently scold myself, gathering whatever sense I had left. They keep coming, what do they mean? Whoever the black dragon was, I held no idea what seeing him meant. All I could gather was that he meant no good. He had destroyed Helgen, thrown me upon this journey - whether he meant to or not. Deep breaths, I coach myself, tearing my body away from the stone and towards Narfi’s home.

Although the ruined house was on the other side of the river, it was shallow enough for one to walk through without fear of being pulled away. Of course, I took my boots off and rolled up my pants so that only my feet would get wet. The contrast of the cold bit at my burns, making the water around it boil. Keep moving forward, a small little willing towards myself, trying to ignore how the heat felt against my cooler right side.

When my feet finally met the dirt and grass, a contented released from my lungs. Looking towards the shack, my heart clenched like a child sucking on their thumb. With bare steps, I went over to the burnt wooden home where I first met Narfi and placed a hand on the side of it. I walked towards where the entrance had been, facing the mountain that it stood underneath of. That’s where a small bed of flowers grew, flourishing slowly, gently rising from where Narfi had been buried.

“Aneth ara, Narfi.” My voice seems to barely be heard over the waterfall, I wonder if I did actually use my voice. “It’s been awhile, abelas I haven’t been able to visit often. The world has gotten so hectic, sometimes I wonder how it’s all still holding together.” Silence as always and I kneel before the grave, petting the flowers with my fingers. They were thriving and I was thrilled. So why were there tears in my eyes? “Naer, I made a huge mistake.” My words tremble as I wipe the water from my eyes. “I said horrible things to one of my friends and I made him leave. His name is Kaidan and I worry for him, he’s alone out there and if he gets hurt it’ll be my fault.” Clenching the amulet around my neck, I tried to take calm, deep breathes. “I don’t know what to do. I want to look for him, but I said such awful things.”

I sat there, hands clenched together against my necklace, a soft prayer playing soundlessly in my head. Bowing my head till it rested upon my knuckles I begged the gods to hear me. Please, keep Kaidan safe from harm. He’s a good man. So hard was I praying, trying to will the masters of the world to listen, I didn’t realize someone was behind me. Not until I heard a small cough.

Jumping I quickly got up. “I-Ir abelas,” brushing the dirt off my clothes, I continued to speak, voice stuttering and shaking. “I didn’t mean to take so long, I was just-” my words came to a halt as I turned to see Kaidan standing behind me. “Kaidan, ir abelas, I didn’t-”

He stops me with just the raising of his hand. My heart stumbles. He must hate me now, I bite my bottom lip, eyes casted down in shame. The words I said echo in my head like diseases sinking their teeth into my flesh. What a fool I was, to think that the simple words of apology would fix everything. Twisting my fingers together, I waited for him to speak, a wave of anxiety causing my to play with my hair, twisting the long strands that I had begun to grow used to. I was thankful that my hair was in a messy braid or else I would be knotting up the entire thing.

No words and I felt the need to jump in the river and allow myself to never surface again. Just as I opened my mouth to speak again, I am stopped when Kaidan places a hand on my head. “Aye, I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have been so harsh with you about magic, it wasn’t fair of me.” My body is frozen. Instinct tells me to tense, to push him away and get as far as I can, but my heart flutters at this simple gesture. There was warmth in his eyes and I felt my face heat up. “You’ve been so kind to me, it’s not fair if I lumped you with all the other magic users cause yer not like them.”

“What made you come back?” The question bounced off my tongue before I could hold them back. Curiosity got the best of me. “Not that I don’t accept your apology, we were both in the wrong. I’m just a little curious,” I whispered out the last part but by Kaidan’s slight smile, it seemed like he heard me. Yet, as soon as the smile appeared, it vanished.

He opened his mouth to begin, his hand pulling away from my head to rub the back of his neck. “Well, um, you see,” his eyes went down and in the light they seem to turn into a dark reddish brown like a setting distant sun behind mountains. “I ran into this weird looking kahjiit, I think her name was Bug, that’s what she referred herself as. Either way,” he began to shift on his feet, looking a bit nervous. “She had lost her companion. At first I thought she was looking for shoes but no, that was her companion’s name, Shuz.” A small chuckle and I feel myself smile at the sound. It was like listening to a baby laugh at something completely irrelevant but one can’t help but smile at the joy presented before them. “Well we found her companion who was the large orc and she’s this tiny little human looking khajiit, but she was so happy. Threw herself into his arms and everything, the orc began to scold her but seemed genuinely happy to have found her. Honestly, seeing that, I thought of you.”

A blush rises in my cheeks, the heat intense. “Me?” I always wondered if people thought of me or if I was memorable in any way but hearing this was a bit embarrassing. “Why me?”

Kaidan shrugged. “I don’t know, I just, she was outgoing and loud, nothing like you. But she was genuinely happy to see her companion and that joy, it made me think of you. You always smile at me and it’s so,” he pauses to look at me, his gaze intense. “It’s real.”

Before I could stop myself, I threw myself at him, hugging him tightly. “Thank you, for coming back. I was worried that you would get hurt.” I didn’t care if Kaidan had put his arms around me or not, I just wanted to express my gratitude and sometimes actions were better than words. Yet, he did wrap his arms around me, kind of. One hand patted my head, the other wrapped lightly around my shoulders.

“Aye, I can’t leave you alone too long. Who knows what kind of trouble you’ll get into, bookworm.”

I can’t help but giggle. “Very true and somebody has to heal your wounds and provide relief when your scars act up.” For a moment, we remain there, till I realize that I never asked permission. “Eck! Abelas! I never asked permission to hug you!”

Another small chuckle and I can’t help but admire the sound. He rubs my hair and I give him a small pout. “Yer right about that, now let’s go to the inn. You look like you haven’t eaten in days.” I say nothing, twiddling my thumbs. “Dammit, Ren.”

#kaidanmod #kaidan #kaidankai #kaidanskyrim #rendan #rennare #rennarewilder #ofdragonsandmen #or #MirRenan #original character x mod character #original character

1 note · View note

sleepy-sunlight · 7 years ago

Note

"Why didn't you tell me you were sick?"

Oooo that sounds like tons of fun to write!! thank you so much for the request and have a fantastic day!!

Dialogue Prompts

———————————————————————————————————–

Cullen hadn’t thought of it much when you’d break into small bits of coughing, especially in the autumn months, when the air became thick and stagnant. He’d still sit you down and run a gentle palm over your back, a light brushing of his fingertips along your spine, soothing the aches from your weak, tired limbs.

But he never expected it’d be as bad as it was.

He hadn’t planned on the nights where you’d scramble from his arms in the middle of the night, sweat dribbling down your bare skin as you crumple up at the foot of the bed. Your heavy, ragged breaths and shivering body leaving only concern in its wake.

“Love… what… what’s going on?” He had questioned, sitting up to hold your grasp in his, a shock bursting up along his limbs at your stiff, frigid fingertips.

“Y-You’re so warm…” Your face scrunched up confusedly, dark circles engraved beneath your wide, saucered eyes. “A-Andraste’s grace…” “

“You’re freezing,” He muttered, whatever drowsiness thrown from him the moment he had met your cold touch. “You would think you’ve just come back from Emprise Du Lion.”

“You know I don’t like that p-place much.” You attempted to joke, your words becoming brittle and soft before you broke into another fit of coughs. “I don’t think either of us can deal with much of Orlais.”

He smiled faintly, a messy sort of laughter slipping from him as he curled back the bed sheets and blankets, wrapping them around you instead.

“We should take you someplace warm, maybe I could get the fire going in the main hall-”

“I’m sure every noble drunk out of their mind w-would love to see the Inquisitor wearing t-their commander’s enormous shirt, shivering like a child. I-Imagine the rumors that would f-fly.”

“That is far from my largest concern.” He huffed. “They can think whatever they’d like when you’re okay.”

“I’m f-fine,” You insisted. “Just a bad dream. It… it frightened me is all.”

He took a cloth that was strewn against one of the bookshelves, drawing it along your damp face, his hold lacing around your cheek. “It’s like you’ve run nonstop across Thedas a dozen times.”

“M-Maybe I have, you don’t know.”

“Right, and I’m the King of Fereldan.”

��You and Cailan do share the same golden hair… another s-secret brother perhaps…?”

He scoffed, shaking his head in his amusement, failing to mask his own growing distress.

“I…” You hesitated, staring up at him briefly. “could you just stay here, with me? I-I’ll feel better in the morning I-I’m sure.”

“If you don’t, I’m taking you to Mother Giselle. I’m not willing to negotiate on that.”

“You aren’t exactly a n-negotiator in general. Unless y-you and Josephine would l-like to swap positions?”

“Maker no,” He answered in an instant, shifting to sit down beside you, feeling as you tipped back, your head finding its place in the crook of his neck. “Just try to sleep before you get any more crazy ideas dear.”

It hadn’t taken too long for you to oblige, the gentle rise and fall of your chest easing him soon after.

But that had been perhaps one of the only times the worries were soothed.

Because from then on, it only worsened.

It only grew.

You had stopped eating or drinking like you used to. Even turning down so much as a glass of ale from Varric during the occasional games of Wicked Grace or the cookies Sera would surprise you with on occasion.

You became tired and weary, the moment you’d set down your weapon your arms weighing down like cinderblocks, legs threatening to buckle were it not for Dorian or the wall that’d catch you. Whichever happened to ‘notice’ first.

But the worst had been the coughing.

For what came with it.

It had first occurred during a meeting at the war table, your gaze glossy and looking out onto the map of Thedas. Your features tight and mouth sewn into a frown as it always did when you were in deep thought.

“I’d like if we could send some of our lower ranking soldiers to the Exalted Plains and the Hinterlands to help rebuild some of the broken structures. If we can do that then we can begin providing homes for refugees and if the chevaliers there are willing to-”

You erupted into those horrid coughs, clamping an old handkerchief you carried with you over your lips as you ducked your head down embarrassedly.

“Inquisitor?” Josephine furrowed her brow confusedly, beginning to round about the table to meet you in her fretting. “What’s the-”

“I-I’m fine…!” You mustered, swallowing down the dryness of your voice. “J-Just got something caught i-in me is all…”

And when you lowered your rag he saw it.

Blood.

It doused the material as you tried to hide it in your fist, his heart nearly stopping dead in its tracks as he erupted back.

“What is that?” He questioned, his tone raising far more than he had meant to.

“W-What’s what?” “

He glanced from side to side uneasily, sighing as he attempted to collect himself, grappling tight onto your shoulder before he pulled you off to the side.

“You’re bleeding.” He whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

“I-”

“I gave you the benefit of the doubt when you woke up in those sweats frozen to the bone but I can’t here,” He softened, letting the concern that knotted in his stomach finally reveal onto his face, his shoulders dropping. “Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I… I don’t know.” You muttered, unable to meet his gaze or even focus on anything, staring to and fro as if something were constantly moving before you. “I… I just…”

Your eyes rolled back, feet shuffling before they gave out on you, a faint gasp echoing from you before you fell onto him, limp and feeble.

“Andraste’s blood!” Josephine yelped, Leilana struck speechless, her jaw-dropping before the two of them rushed after you. “I-I’ll get Mother Giselle right away! Commander, take them to their quarters!”

“I’ll keep the Orlesians busy,” Leilana offered, both she and the ambassador racing out of the door in a flurry of or papers and orders.

In the brief time, all that Cullen could hear were your broken, worn pants and his own thumping heartbeat, pounding against his ears as he held you, afraid and confused.

Even as he scooped you up and brought you to your room, you were clammy and pale, your chest heaving as if every breath were heavier than cinderblocks. Crumbling as you were set upon the bed beneath the thinnest sheet possible, Cullen’s hand entwining with yours even as Mother Giselle burst in.

He answered for you as best as he could, his sight constantly shifting between the Chantry woman and you, as though afraid you may disappear from his sight once he looked away.

But you could hardly even move.

He couldn’t begin to describe how much that terrified him.

Giselle had worked endlessly from that morning to the evening, muttering apologies to Cullen here and then, even wrapping a blanket about his shoulders as he grew tired and weary even despite his refusals of such a thing.

He couldn’t rest.

Not until he knew you’d be okay.

“I can’t understand why they’d avoid treatment for so,” Giselle had contemplated aloud to herself as she backed away, evening hues and light pouring in through the grand windows. “You can’t let them overwork themselves like this in the future. Herald of Andraste or not, there’s only so much we can manage before our bodies give out.”

“I… I had no idea,” he confessed, wiping away annoyedly at his vision as it blurred. “I-It wasn’t until I-I saw that blood…”

“Bless their heart,” She cooed, patting your shoulder lightly. “there’s not much else I can do…”

Everything came to a sudden halt, his head jerking up to meet the older woman.

“What… what do you mean…?”

“They’ll make it through this time,” She soothed him, his entire body softening almost immediately with a relief he hadn’t known to be possible until then. “but I can hardly promise anything if this were to happen again. You need to keep an eye on them, I’ve seen how they look at you. They’ll listen to you.”

He didn’t respond, quiet as she left the room with a curt dip of her head.

The way you looked at him.

He hadn’t ever noticed.

He saw all of the other things. How you’d smile the second you’d spot him or how you’d wrap your arms around his neck when you embraced him, the tips of your fingertips always finding a way to wind their way into his hair.

But he hadn’t figured how you looked at him.

Not until that night when you finally woke.

He swore he nearly leaped from his seat when you began to stir, yawning as you stretched out drowsily.

“M-Maker’s breath…!” He bit back a yell, clasping your palms in his own, a fond thumb brushing against your knuckles “Y-You’re awake love!”

Your eyes flickered confusedly, giving him that same familiar grin as you focused on him.

And that was when he noticed it.

The affection and adoration that slipped into your gaze the moment you saw him left his stomach fluttering with butterflies in his stomach, his heart melting into your hands for you to hold.

“I um… I suppose I am…” You droned. “What… what happened?”

“You passed out this morning,” He explained. “You were sick, and you didn’t tell me. You didn’t tell anyone. Why would you do that?”

“I… I don’t know,” You huffed, guilt washing over you. “I just… I don’t like others worrying about me. I need to focus on Corypheus if I don’t everything could fall apart. How… how I feel isn’t important.”

He furrowed his brow, frowning at your words. “How you feel is incredibly important. You cannot forget that you are still a person, harbinger or not. If something were to happen to you then we’d be doomed.”

He weakened, his shoulders dropping with a deep, exhausted breath.

“I… I wouldn’t even know what to do with myself if something were to happen to you.”

You sat up slightly, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to his nose, laughing lightly as his features scrunched up embarrassedly.

“I’m not going anywhere, Cullen… you know that.”

“You need to take care of yourself if you’re going to uphold that.” He remarked, rising to his feet. “I recall a certain Inquisitor telling me the same thing once before.”

You nodded, pulling him onto the bed beside you, feeling his arms ivy around your waist, pulling you into his lap.

“You have been with me every step of the way,” He purred, your body that had been frigid hours before, warmed by his touch. “I will do everything I’m able to do the same for you dear.”

“… You mean that?”

It didn’t even take long to know with utter and absolute certainty.

“More than anything.”

127 notes · View notes

shiphaussecretsanta · 7 years ago

Text

Merry Christmas, You Big Dork (In An Ugly Sweater)

gift from @partyatmyhaus to @kovihaus!

ship: killems

message: man, having to write fluff was tough -wipes sweat from brow-, but i think it turned out okay :p. Merry Christmas!

The apartment was a mess. Only 1 of the walls has been painted the new color, and it took 2 weeks but they finally got their bed frame. However, boxes and boxes still littered the hallways and the kitchen was mostly still bubble wrap and moving blankets. The mess only got worse after they got back from Thanksgiving and Adam determined,

“It’s time for Christmas.” Which made James, who had only just sat down, sigh a long sigh. God dammit.

“It’s December 5th, Ad.” Adam makes a ‘whatever’ sound and James rolled his eyes. God he really loved that man.

“Can we start tomorrow?” James asks as he slumps further and deeper down into the couch. He’s flipping through Netflix, squinting at the long list of already appeared Christmas movies.

“Why tomorrow when we could do stuff now?” Adam is smiling from over a stack of boxes leading into the bedroom and it makes James snort.

“How much coffee- did you have?” James asks, making sure that his voice comes across as playful, as he hauls himself off of the very comfortable surface. The way he asks somehow makes Adam 100 watt smile go to 1000 in an instant.

“Alright, my darling, where do we start.” James asks coming to stand next to Adam, who is looking over all the boxes- most likely trying to remember if they had even labeled the holiday decoration boxes. They hadn’t last time.

Ah, that Thanksgiving sucked. Fucking hilarious, but it sucked.

They found half of the decorations in a box labeled “Kitchen”, and the other half were still missing. At some point, somehow James ended up tangled into the (for some reason) plugged in Christmas lights, and trying to hang them around the top trim of the apartment walls.

Adam, however somehow maneuvered his way into the kitchen, occasionally throwing out songs or questions for Alexa to ask. [Usually followed by a “well fuck you too- AI my ass.” If the question went unanswered. James didn’t realize that Adam knew so many Christmas songs off the top of his head]

At a point the sound of lights clanking against the walls stopped and Adam turned from the stove to where James last was. Only to see the blue eyed man just looking. Looking at him. The soft light from the lights casting onto his face. The smile of pure admiration seems to reflect even better from the lights.

The look made Adam feel giddy for some reason. He found himself staring back. His ridiculous man, in a neon green sweater, wrapped in multicolored lights. Just smiling like a fool.

“What?” Adam asks with a smile. James starts to laugh before shaking his head,

“You’re making christmas cookies with 20 days to go- and you got us matching sweaters.” James and Adam both chuckle, “You said you hate Christmas but here we are.”

Adam just shrugs before turning around to slide on the reindeer shaped oven mitts (which James does not recall owning last year).

“Just finish hanging up the fucking lights.” The apartment is warm and it settles something in both of them.

“See this is the acceptable time for Christmas.” James mumbles into Adams hair. They’re curled on the couch, the matching sweaters returning from the depths of the laundry basket- despite what he says James absolutely did not shove the sweaters there in hope of them being forgotten. Totally not.

“J, it’s Christmas Eve.” Adam doesn’t move, but James can feel the smile. James lives for the days like this- a movie on the TV and his favorite person somehow managing to sit both on top of him and arguably too far away.

“Acceptable.” Is all he mumbles, letting out another small laugh when Adam moves, curling his arm tighter around James’ chest.

“Merry Christmas, James.” Adam mumbles a bit later, the credits for Die Hard running on the TV- neither of them making an effort to move.

“Merry Christmas, you holiday fiend.”

Christmas morning starts with groggy heads and stretching. The light is coming through the cracks in curtains. But it’s comfortable. Something warm about it.

“Good morning.” James mumbles, turning to look at his boyfriend. Adam just groans, trying to push his head further into the pillow.

It takes a little bit to get going, but eventually they find themselves on the sofa. Cups of coffee in their hands as they trade their gifts back.

‘Nothing big’ they had agreed.

Adam hands James a box, a little smaller than his fist.

James unwraps the paper with the carefulness of an 8 year old boy.

He obviously knows what it is before he gets the box open. He just smiles at Adam before opening the box and gently removing the object from inside.

“I did keep saying I need a watch.” James laughs, Adam huffs a bit of air at.

“More accurately whenever you asked what time it was, LAwrence kept telling you it was time to get a watch and you just kept saying ‘yeah. Yeah i should do that’.”

“Well thank you, Adam.” james says with a wink before sliding the silver metal over his hand and onto his wrist.

As soon as it’s on his wrist James leans forward and places a slow and loving kiss on Adams lips. He doesn’t move until he feels Adam begin to smile.

“Okay, okay, “ James says moving back, smiling wide, “Your turn.”

James reaches under the couch and pulls out a smaller box. Maybe a few inches wide.

It’s not wrapped, it’s a generic black jewelry box.

Adam cocks his head and levels a weak glare at James.

“What are you doing?” Adams voice is already tight and James just smiles and hands the box to Adam.

Unsurprisingly a ring sits inside the box. It’s grey and sleek. Adam feels his heart swell at the sight.

“I.” James stops and laughs to himself, “I had been planning this for weeks, but now that I can see you holding it, and- and it’s Christmas and I just. I love you. Let’s, fuck i don’t know. Let’s hang out forever.”

Adam laughs and the smile makes his swelling tears fall over, “Let’s hang out forever?”

James laughs too, taking the ring out of the box and sliding it onto Adam’s finger.

“Yeah. You and me. Hangin’ out. Ya know. Forever.”

Adam looks at the ring, and then at the light around the apartment and finally back to the blue eyed man in front of him. Adam nods.

“Alright. You and me. Hanging out.” Adam says leaning forward and wrapping James in an embrace and then a long kiss.

When they break apart it’s quiet for a long moment followed by a content sigh from Adam.

“Merry Christmas.” Adam moves his head to lay on James’ chest. Wrapping his arm around his fiance.

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Willems.” James says with a wink. Adam snorts,

“Yeah nice try Mr. Kovic.”

#shiphaus #killems #shiphaus secret santa #fic gift #submission

14 notes · View notes

blondthndrninja · 7 years ago

Text

Wrote another fun YowapedaAU oneshot because why the hell not. Now I was inspired to write this because I’ve seen fanfic AUs where Onoda is a face in the crowd and Manami is the famous one, however I want to see that twisted up a bit maybe even...reversed. Thus, this oneshot was born, it can even be considered a sequel to this. Anyways, here it is!

Title: Otaku of Rock - Part 2

Rated: K+

Pairing: Manami Sangaku X Onoda Sakamichi if you squint

‘Wow, I’m having so much fun!’ Onoda thought as his fingers moved quickly across the strings of his electric guitar, ‘Imaizumi-kun sounds amazing as always, Sugimoto-kun is doing great with the drums, and Naruko-kun is incredible too!’ he smiled brightly as the end of the second chorus approached which Onoda knew meant it was almost time for his guitar solo, ‘I’m having so much fun!’ He stepped out on stage and performed his solo with great enthusiasm the screams of the fans fueling the ecstasy he felt on stage as people called out the name of their band.

‘I can’t believe these people love us so much!’ Onoda thought as he played the last chords of the song and listened to the cheers of the audience, ‘I’m so glad we got a chance to perform at the school festival!’

Naruko let out a loud laugh before picking up the microphone, “Thank you everyone! We’ll be back in a few so sit tight!”

Onoda smiled and moved off the stage with the others wiping the sweat off his brow. A short break was just what they needed, playing the guitar was fun but his fingers needed a good rest.

Onoda hummed happily to himself as he walked around the tents. Imaizumi had promised to text him five minutes before they would be performing again. He glanced at his phone to check the time noting he had some time to at least buy something to drink before going back on stage only to collide into someone by accident.

“Ah! S-Sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going!” Onoda said as he looked at the person he had ran into, he was a few centimeters taller with blue hair and blue eyes that were slightly lighter than his own. The stranger smiled, “Please don’t worry about it, I wasn’t paying attention either.” He then blinked and suddenly his smile widened, “Hey! You’re the one who was playing the bright yellow guitar on stage earlier, your performance was amazing!”

Onoda blushed at the compliment and waved his hand, “A-Ah…I-I’m not that impressive I only play an instrument!”

“But your solo was incredible! I had chills just watching you…you’re really an incredible performer.” The boy said.

“Heh…well I-I’m glad you think so.” Onoda said with an embarrassed smile, “Sorry to take up your time…I’ll go on my way.”

“Where are you going?”

“Oh…I just wanted to buy a drink before I go back on stage.”

“Let me buy it for you.” The blue haired boy said.

“Oh please you don’t have to! I’ve caused enough trouble!”

“Nonsense! You’re not troubling me at all!” the boy said grabbing Onoda’s hand, “I want to hear more about you! Will you tell me your name?”

“It’s Onoda. Onoda Sakamichi.”

“You have such a great name Sakamichi-kun!”

They talked for a good while. The boy’s name was Manami Sangaku, he explained to Onoda that he wasn’t exactly from this area of town. He had been wandering through Chiba when he hear the music from the school festival and walked over to see their band performing. He had been enthralled by the music, especially Onoda’s electric guitar playing. He claimed Onoda was better than most he had heard in his life. Onoda of course thought the compliment was too much but Manami claimed that he meant every word he was saying.

Suddenly Onoda’s phone vibrated and he flipped it open, “Ah…it’s almost time for the show to start again. Sorry Manami-kun I need to head back.”

“That’s fine, I’ll walk you back.” Manami said.

“Really, you don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind Sakamichi-kun, besides someone needs to make sure you don’t get hounded by fans.” The blue haired boy said as he grabbed Onoda’s hand once more, “We better hurry, you don’t want to miss your performance.”

“Okay.”

“Thank you for walking me back here Manami-kun.” Onoda said with a sincere smile, “I really appreciate it.”

“No, thank you Sakamichi-kun. You made my day a lot more exciting.” He said, “Say, would you exchange numbers with me? I know that might be forward but I really would like to see you again if there’s a chance.”

“O-of course!” Onoda said, “I had a lot of fun hanging out with you Manami-kun.”

After numbers were exchanged Manami stared at Onoda with an expression the otaku couldn’t place, “Good luck on stage, Sakamichi-kun.”

“Thank you!” Onoda said cheerfully as he waved at Manami before making his way to the back of the stage only to be grabbed by Sugimoto who had a wild look in his eyes, “Onoda-kun, what was that?!”

“Huh?!” Onoda looked at Sugimoto in confusion, “I-I was just exchanging numbers with Manami-kun!”

“You exchanged numbers?!?!” Sugimoto asked practically in hysterics, “That easily?!”

“Um…yes?”

“Oi calm down idiot, you’re freaking Onoda-kun out!” Naruko said smacking Sugimoto on the head before looking at Onoda, “Onoda-kun…you know who Manami Sangaku is, right?”

“Huh? Do you know him too Naruko-kun…is he a friend of yours?”

“Oh God…you really don’t know much outside of anime do you?” Naruko shook his head, “Manami Sangaku is also known as Blue Angel, he’s a J-pop idol…like…top of the charts J-pop idol.”

“Eh?” Onoda blinked a few times, “N-no way! Manami-kun is famous?!” he then looked up the name on his phone and came across multiple searches for ‘Blue Angel’ and ‘Manami Sangaku’, “EHHHHHHH?!?!?!”

Manami smiled to himself as he left the school festival, ‘I thought today would be boring but now I’m glad I came here.’ Suddenly he heard his phone ringing and picked it up, “Hello?”

“Don’t you ‘hello’ me mister! Where the hell did you take off to?! Your manager’s about ready to pull out her hair so you better tell me where your ass is so I can come get you!” a shrill angry voice said on the other line.

“I’m sorry Toudou-san, I didn’t mean to worry you I was just so bored hanging out at the studio so I decided to take a walk. I just left Sohoku High School…they were having a school festival and there was a band performing.”

“Is that right? Well stay over there and don’t move until I find you!”

“Their performance was really nice and I even got to talk to their guitarist. He was really impressive.”

“Oh? That’s a huge coming from you considering you never dish out compliments. You never have anything to say about other performers in the industry except for me, but we all know I’m perfect so that’s to be expected.” Toudou said, “So he’s an amateur?”

“Yes but he’s got the potential to be professional.”

“Hmmm…interesting. Tell me more when I get there.”

“Of course Toudou-san.” Manami said before hanging up the phone and looking back towards the festival as he heard the music start playing again, ‘He deserves a bigger stage…I want to see you shine Sakamichi-kun.’

END

#sansaka #Manami sangaku #onoda sakamichi #imaizumi shunsuke #naruko shoukichi #sugimoto #yowapedaAU #yowamushi pedal AU #oh yes I did #I made another one #because Onoda needs all the love #and let him be in the spotlight #he deserves to shine

34 notes · View notes

milotalks · 6 years ago

Text

Memories 2/?

It was a normal day in the forest of Tethir, or at least it would be if a harsh cough hadn't been following Milo Greenwillow for weeks. It had started as a tickle in his throat and over time it grew to a creeping cough. For any adult this would be trivial, something that would disappear in a few days. However, for Milo who was only three years of age reaching four, this was something to be concerned about.

"He's getting worse, Jameson. We have to do something." Annalise looked at her husband as she held their small child in her arms. He behaved normally but his coughing fits were coming more frequently. "Listen," Jameson approached his wife wrapping his arms around her and their babe. "In just one more day we'll be near the next town. I'll take him to a doctor there and he'll be just fine." He looked at Annalise and saw a tear threatening to fall from her eyes. He touched her cheek gently turning her head to look at him. He said nothing else and after a few moments she nodded her head at him and turned from him leaving her husband's embrace and heading into their tent to let Milo rest.

The day passed without issue but the night was not so fortunate. Overnight Milo had come down with a high fever and his small body shivered in a cold sweat. Before the sun rose Annalise and Jameson had already packed up their things and hurried to the next town. Annalise held Milo the whole way whispering sweet things to him trying to calm his fussiness.

At the next clearing it was well into the morning and Jameson hurriedly put together their camp. Wiping the sweat from his brow he turned to his wife and child holding out his arms and walked to them.

"Let me take him." He said. "I know this town, I'll get the right help and get him well again." Annalise, almost hesitantly, gave Milo to Jameson and touched a gentle hand to his cheek.

"I trust he will get better, please take this with you." Drawing her hand away from his face Annalise reached down at her side and grabbed a jingling pouch. She held it out for Jameson to see to which he nodded and she placed it in his bag for him. With a few more sweet kisses and worried goodbyes Jameson hurried off to town seeking out a doctor.

The town had changed since he’d last been there, he stood at the side of the road clueless on where to go. Looking left and right he saw no immediate clinic and hearing Milo cough in his arms forced him to choose a direction. When he turned the corner at the inn he found the church of the town standing proudly and he rushed up its steps to give its doors a hard knock. Without waiting for an answer he reached for the door handle and let himself in when he found it unlocked.

The inside of the church was empty not even the priest was there. The place was eerily quiet excluding the sound of Milo’s harsh coughing.

“I thought you were going to take the door down!” an elderly voice chimed behind him. Jameson turned on his heel and faced the priest of the church. He looked relieved to see them. “I need your help, or, rather my son needs your help.” He gestured to the shivering boy in his arms and the priest walked up to the both of them reaching out with a wrinkled hand. They touched Milo’s forehead and chest and closed their eyes, they seemed to be thinking about something. “Can you heal him?” Jameson finally asked. “I don’t have much money but I’m a hunter -- and a druid.” He said it almost like he’d forgotten. “If you can heal him my wife and I will be indebted to you.” The plea in his voice was equally as evident on his face and the priest saw that. He was desperate and the priest was sympathetic. They stepped away from Milo and Jameson looking at them with a sorrowful expression.

“Someone like me doesn’t have much use for a druid or a hunter these days, I’m afraid.” They said and Jameson immediately frowned. “For me this place is all I have... though it’s not without it’s own issues.” The priest gestured to the grandiosity of the church stopping for a moment to point out the leaky roof and the cracks in the walls.The priest walked away from them and toward an altar at the back opening up an old tome that was resting on it. Jameson approached him and was about to say something when the priest spoke again. “I can heal your son, completely cure his illness. It will cost you 400 gold pieces.” The priest tucked their hands behind their back and looked at Jameson. “Every bit I earn here goes into fixing this place, I’m sure you understand why I have to insist on money.”

Jameson frowned and thought about the cost. Even with the coin pouch Annalise had given him, their funds just weren’t enough to cover it all. “Please,” he begged, “there must be something you can do for him. I don’t have that much money right now. Just help him enough for me to find someone else to cure him, just enough to give me more time... he’s only three.” The priest looked thoughtful for a moment and nodded. “I can relieve him of his symptoms, that should give you the time you ask for. It will cost you 50 gold pieces.” The priest stood still looking between Milo and Jameson. “That’s fine,” he replied “I have that much. Whatever you can do is just fine.” The priest nodded and stepped forward to the pair reaching out again with a wrinkled hand resting it on top of Milo’s head and chest. A glow of magic appeared from under the priest’s hands and as quickly as they had appeared they were gone. Jameson looked at Milo and saw him resting peacefully, no longer shivering or coughing. However now that he was still, Jameson noticed Milo wheezed with every breath. “Gods be with you.” He said looking up from Milo to the priest and he reached into his pocket pulling out the gold. He handed it over to the priest who took it and put it in their own pocket. As Jameson turned to leave the priest called behind him: “There is a doctor who operates a few homes down from here, there is a sign outside. You can’t miss it!”

Jameson turned and gave the priest a smile and a thank-you and raced out the door nearly running into two citizens who were coming in for their morning prayers. “Sorry!” he said as he continued to run past them and down the street with Milo in his arms.

The door to the doctor’s clinic burst open and startled everyone on the other side of it. Jameson stood in the doorway panting looking around at every face none of them looking like a doctor.

“Sir, this is a recovery clinic you can’t just burst through the doors like that!” A voice came around the corner and Jameson smiled at the man in the white coat. “Are you a doctor?” he asked. “I am, can I help you with something?” The doctor raised a brow and looked at the weak child in Jameson’s arms. “Please, my son is sick. I took him to the priest but he only relieved his symptoms, I don’t have much money but I’m a druid -- and a hunter.” He said it almost as if he’d forgotten. “If you can heal him my wife and I will be indebted to you.” The doctor looked at him for a moment and after some time of considering he motioned for Jameson to come inside.

“Follow me, shut the door.” He said and he led Jameson past the patients and to the room at the back. Against the wall was an examination table to which the doctor told Jameson to lay Milo on and he did without hesitation. Right away the doctor took out his tools and checked Milo’s heartbeat, his temperature, and his breathing. After a few minutes the doctor turned to face Jameson “He looks very bad, but he isn’t going to die. It looks like whatever he had most of it has passed. Maybe that priest did more for you than just relieve some symptoms.” A wave of relief washed over Jameson like a tsunami. “He still needs a lot of rest and medicine but I can take care of him for you here.” Jameson felt stunned by the good news and was shocked about how much his sons illness had gone away. “How much?” He asked. “I won’t charge you for the medicine or the care.” The doctor said swiftly moving to his cabinet pulling out a mortal and pestle. Jameson felt confused and his feelings were written right on his face. “You said you were a druid, yes?” The doctor asked him as he tossed some herbs into the tiny bowl. “The local alchemist charges me too much in bulk for tonics and herbal remedies that I use. If you can get me the supplies instead I will take care of you and your family every time you need me.”

Jameson took no time to think about the offer and nodded his head. “Of course.” he said “just tell me what you need and when you need it by and my wife and I will make sure you get it.” The doctor smiled and nodded continuing to fix up a medicine for the weak boy at the table. “For now let’s take care of your son, we’ll talk business later.”

Back in the forest Annalise worked tirelessly with their usual trade partners taking extra long breaks to pray for Milo’s well-being. She prayed to Silvanus day and night pleading for her son to be saved. “He is your pupil, you’ve blessed him, please let him be saved. There is so much for him to learn, let him learn. Let him grow.” She tearfully prayed through the long days and was restless at night. Her worries never stopped until she was caught by surprise from a blue wisp in the air that conjured a sheet of paper and it floated down delicately resting in her lap. She held the parchment and as she read tears welled in her eyes as the last sentence caught her attention:

“He’s going to be just fine, he’s probably going to be able to come home soon. Wait for us. - J”

Reading the last few sentences of the note made her cry and she thanked Silvanus over and over mumbling prayers and songs and everything that she could think of.

A week had passed and Milo looked better with each passing day. Jameson sat at the table at the end of Milo’s bed writing out a letter to Annalise telling her everything that had happened. Once he finished he rolled up the small paper and a spark of blue magic swirled around it burning it up in the air with the smoke travelling out of the window. “Telling the missus?” The voice startled him and Jameson looked up to see the doctor in the doorway holding Milo in his arms. “Milo’s much better now, I’d say he’s ready for you to take him home. He still needs to take some medicine for a while to make sure the sickness doesn’t come back, but after another week he should be just fine.” Jameson stood up and walked to pull Milo into his own grip who laughed at him when he saw him. “Thank you so much, Gods be with you, we truly owe you our service.” Jameson sounded as grateful as he looked and the doctor was appreciative of that.

Over the course of the afternoon they discussed business deals and trade offers as well as the list of herbs Milo would need to continue consuming until he was fully healthy again. After another day or so the pair left the clinic and made their way back to Annalise who was going to be more than delighted to see her happy, healthy, boy again.

Annalise kissed her boy with tear filled eyes when he ran up to her for the first time since he’d left. She scooped him up in a big hug and held him tightly kissing his cheeks, forehead, and nose. She told him how much she missed him and Milo laughed into the embrace. She looked up at Jameson who was watching them endearingly and she walked to him with Milo in her arms and welcomed him home with a kiss. She set Milo down and he ran off into the tents probably looking for his favorite blanket.

“Silvanus has saved him.” She said to her husband wiping the tears from her cheeks. “I prayed every day, and here he is hale and hearty.” “I would thank Silvanus too, I’m sure He had a hand in this somewhere.” Jameson took his wife’s hands and touched his forehead to hers. “Though for this, I think we give credit where credit is due.” It was at that moment Jameson reminded Annalise of the priest and doctor who helped nurse Milo back to health. She nodded and smiled and walked back to the tent to see Milo cuddling with the heavy blankets in a nest of pillows. They smiled at each other and went about their usual duties.

As Annalise prepared a meal over the fire Jameson talked with her about the business deal he’d made, about the plants and herbs he’d need to gather for the doctor, and the plentiful basket he wanted to give the priest for giving Milo more than what he’d paid for. They came to their agreements and went about their business from then on.

Milo continued to get better and recovered completely from his sickness, resuming his druidic studies as soon as he was able to. His parents would later tell him of this happening, since was too sick to remember this incident happening but he has vague images in his head of the doctor and his clinic. He will always remember the lengths his parents went through to save his life and he uses this as inspiration to help other people and animals in need.

#ic post #dnd rp #dnd 5e #druid rp #milo had another memory trigger #ic memory

0 notes

sooibian · 4 years ago

Text

Flambé (Preview)

poster and edits/collage credits to @is-that-baekhyuns-shirt !

🍜 pairing: kyungsoo x fem!reader

🍜 description: pull up a chair. take a taste. come join us. life is so endlessly delicious. - ruth reichl

🍜 themes: fluff, crack (ish), slight angst, a lil bit of spice (in the future), rivals to lovers au

🍜 word count: ~ 2.8k

🍜 a/n: a little preview of a chef kyungsoo story that i've been working on. while i have the plot fleshed out it'll honestly be a while before the long one/two-shot comes out since a lot of research goes into the details. and....i write at a snail's pace. thank you for your patience and lmk if you'd like a tag in the updates!

this story is inspired by a lot of random yt videos and netflix's shows - street food and chef's table.

tagging *deep breath* @j-pping and @changshapatrol (the real rotten banana is here!)

___________________________________________

Water bobbed in frenetic bubbles in a massive ancient stone pot that was perched atop a fort of raging wood. Amidst brutal peals of thunder, a gushing stream rose from a nearby hill, obscuring the shrill cries of the sacrificial crab.

Chanting a spell, you lifted the enormous crustacean by its pincers and lowered it into the growling, pitch black utensil. Blubbering helplessly, it lodged its claws at the rim of the pot in desperation - seeking escape. The sound of your maniacal laughter reverberated through the cave as you thrust it back into the violent undulation with the flick of a bladed-spatula.

All of a sudden, a wave of unconsciousness swept over you. You felt your skin singe as boiling water started to fill up your lungs.

You were alone - at the bottom of the very same utensil.

“Help!” frantic, you staggered up, gasping for air. But the bladed-spatula wielding crab, who was now free and hovering over you, roared at your defenseless form.

Maybe your spell didn't land, you thought.

“Please, Chef!” you whimpered.

In one swift motion, it swooshed down to your eye level.

Bushy black brows sprouted on its forehead, just a little over a pair of big brown circles for eyes. Then came the nose, followed by a bloody red mouth that snarled at you.

zzzz...

“Late again?” It drawled in a jarring tenor.

zzzz...

zzzz…

4:00 a.m., your phone blinked.

In a sleep befuddled state, your hand reached out for the wailing device. ‘Late again’, Chef’s cold, deep voice sounded in your consciousness as you wiped the droplets of sweat off your forehead.

Chef.

Doh Kyungsoo had insisted on the title and you'd defiantly refused to call him that. What business does a man working at a Kalguksu stand in Gwangjang Market have, being called a chef. You'd seeked redressal with the higher ups. The owner. Your aunt.

"Aegiya, he has something that you don't."

"A dick?"

"YAH! He has a degree in culinary arts. It's only befitting that we give him the respect his degree deserves!"

"Imo, haven't you watched Parasite? Anyone can forge documents these days and if so then why is he here? He could very well get a job at Four Seasons like Hyun Jin. Think, Imo. Think!”

“Exactly! With forged documents, he could be anywhere. But he’s here, no?”

“Maybe you’re just easier to manipulate.”

"Chef. You're calling him Chef."

Every time the egotistical madman opened that darned mouth of his, it made you want to knock him down with a roundhouse and beat the living daylights out of him.

But, with a deep breath, you always resisted the temptation.

Because one day, one glorious day, you’d take over your aunt’s business and the very first item on your agenda would be….well, the obvious. With a glimmer of hope, you floundered out of your comforter, muttering every cuss word you’d learnt...and crafted in the course of working with the devil himself.

“Ahh 3000 is a bit too much for cucumbers", he said to the middle aged vendor, flashing a boyish grin.

The face of sourcing had drastically changed in the last six months since Kyungsoo’s arrival. Prior to his dictatorship, your aunt had a tie up with some of the local vendors who’d hand deliver the produce every single day, without fail. Guess Kyungsoo didn’t fully comprehend the benefits of customer loyalty. ‘There could be better quality ingredients out there, Sajangnim...economically priced, I might add’, he’d convinced your aunt using his military corporal voice. No matter if it meant awkward break-ups with the vegetables ahjumma or the prawns ahjussi. You had to do the dirty work.

And tag along for the routine 5 a.m sourcing runs. Every morning, he greeted you with an accusatory ‘you’ve killed my cat’ expression.

You groaned, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. If only he’d quit flirting with every woman in the market and hurry up! The purchases had long exceeded the capacity of your humble cart. Flailing your numb arms awake, you urged him to speed up with a nudge of the knee but he glared at you like you’d asked him for a kidney.

Kyungsoo had a tendency to overbuy but never would he help with a single bag. ‘I don’t like to sweat’ was his excuse. Which was pretty ridiculous considering he spent over ten hours a day overseeing a scorching frying pan. But you knew better than to argue. Because as much as you loathed every fibre of his existence, he terrified you a little. The man possessed the duality of a psychopath. As fierce as he was in the Market, ruthlessly competitive even, he was quite the sweet talker. And you could bet your life on the fact that every woman - whether or not a rival - would take a bullet for him.

“Ahdeul-ah”, the woman cooed at him, making your insides violently contort, “you know how tight the market is these days. But I’ll throw in some more only for you.”

The additional weight of three kilos on your right arm ended your sourcing run for the day.

***

“Chef”, huffing, you said to him on your way out, “I had a late night last night.”

“And I need to be privy to this little nugget of unwarranted information because?” He paced ahead of you at his usual lightning speed.

“No, I meant, could we stop”, panting you continued, “could we stop for a quick cup of coffee.”

Halting abruptly, he turned around to look you in the eyes, “No.”

“Asshole!”

“I heard that.”

Monday at Choi Yoonsun’s was busier than usual.

It went by in a daze amidst a cacophony of a sizzling girdle, clanging of pots and pans and your aunt’s relentless vocalization inviting customers to the stall. Having served thousands of bowls of Kalguksu and Kimchi Mandu, you heavily relied on muscle memory to get you through a workday’s demands.

Despite its chaos and commotion, you quite enjoyed working in the Market.

One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.

At the end of yet another gratifying day, you left a wet towel soaking in vinegar for Kyungsoo to clean the iron girdle and proceeded to tend to the dirty dishes.

“Yahh!” Imo called out for Kyungsoo and you, thumping her hand on the table, gesturing for you to join her.

“Ahh! Imo, there’s a huge pile of dirty dishes!” You cried, only to turn around to find that ass-kisser already at the table, schmoozing with your aunt. Hastily taking off your grubby apron, you washed your hands and wiped them clean with a rag cloth. Straightening your black shirt and flattening unruly flyaways, you rushed toward the table but she was already up and ready to leave, “We’ll have dinner together tonight. I want to have a chat with the both of you.”

“But -”

“Sajangnim”, Kyungsoo interrupted, wagging a finger in your direction, “this one’s had a late night last night -”

“Chef! So I guess I’ll be seeing you tonight. As if seeing you every day of every week wasn’t enough already!”

An overtly saccharine smile spread across your face and his jaw tightened in response.

“Aish….you two...I’m leaving now”, she sighed, shaking her head, “see you both in two hours.”

Kimchi jjigae, pajeon, tteokbokki, jajangmyeon, some leftover bibimbap with sides galore from Hong Lim Banchan Stall. She clearly had something important to talk about.

But the vibe at the dinner table just didn’t sit right with you.

The reason could be the bespectacled black hole of negativity that was seated besides you in all black clothing but there was something off about Imo.

She was being a little too...nice.

Fear gradually started to settle in your bones. Was she finally closing down? Was this delectable fare an attempt at softening the blow? After all, she’d settled her husband’s debts and her sons were doing well for themselves. Quite well, in fact. One of them was a banker and the other even went to culinary school and was working as a chef at Four Seasons’ Chinese restaurant. It only made sense for her to trade the Market’s gruelling ways for some much deserved peace and quiet.

“We’re closing down the stall”, she said coolly.

It was like a punch in the gut.

“Imo -”

“Aga”, she said resting her chin on her hand, “the Market’s given me everything. It’s given me a sense of pride...a sense of independence. It put my family back together. I used to think that I’m nothing without my husband and my sons...but the Market gave me an identity.”

A million scenarios cascading through your head drowned out your aunt’s voice. Would you now have to go back to Bucheon? Or invest in a stall of your own at the traditional Gwangjang that’d never accept your big and bold ways with cooking? And to start from scratch? With a new recipe? Kalguksu with a twist, perhaps? But you had no insight into your aunt’s special broth. She’d barely even let you whip up the hand-cut noodles.

You realized that you weren’t the only one caught in the eye of the storm. Kyungsoo’s eyes were scarily fixated on the bowl of jajangmyeon before him. His seemingly miserable state gave you a fleeting sense of relief and it was right in that moment that he chose to say something unpalatable.

“Sajangnim, you’ve worked too hard. It’s time for you to reap the fruits of your labour. We’ll be fine you don’t have to worry about us.”

Of course he’ll be fine.

All the stall-owners in the Market have been vying for him ever since the day he set foot into Choi Yoonsun’s. Whereas, you had nowhere to go. The world conveniently assumes your aunt hired you only because you were her poor sister’s daughter who she sought to help financially. Not because you had what it took to be there and survive.

"Did I say I was ready to retire?” She laughed, eyeing Kyungsoo quizzically, leaving you dumbfounded.

“Here’s the thing..I met up with a friend last month. She was looking for a buyer for her little family run marinated crabs restaurant in Gangnam. So I took out a loan, made her an offer”, balling her hands into fists she sighed, “put in the deposit...and the place is pretty much mine now!”

“IMO!”, you yelled, “why did you scare me like that! I thought I was laid off!”

“Well, it’s a big move, I’m not sure the two of you are ready to make...requires a tonne of work and I may not be able to pay half of what you earned at the Market for at least two months until we open! It’ll take us two years or so to break even and only then will I be able to afford you a pay raise. I could help you get a job at the banchan stall since you love seasoned spinach so much and Kyungsoo stands a chance at even managing one of the Pakgane stalls!”

Pakgane was the mung bean pancake stall that had gotten so popular that the owner had managed to branch out of Gwangjang. So even your beloved aunt believed that you’d make for a better “help” and Kyungsoo, a Manager.

Ugh!

“I’m coming with you”, you said firmly, “I’ve saved up a little and Mom will gladly pitch in, if need be...”

At this point, you’d expected Kyungsoo to be ready with his luggage considering the little sycophant he was but his expression was stoic, eyes still glued to the jajangmyeon bowl. It filled you with insane hope.

He was going to jump the ship...finally!

“Chef...”, you couldn’t resist, “you don’t have to worry about us...I’m more than enough for Imo. You may...”

He shot you an angry glare making you chew on your unsaid words. But you wanted to rile him just a little more. So you excused yourself to bring a bottle of ketchup and squeezed it generously atop the stack of pajeon while eyeing him maliciously.

Ketchup.

The tangy, unassuming condiment was the sole reason Kyungsoo despised you. As this dinner marked the end of his torturous regime, you celebrated with ketchup - lots of it - right in front of his nasty eyes.

Steam swirled in different directions and at every twenty metres a contrastive redolence tickled your olfactory senses. Experiencing Gwangjang as a customer was a far richer experience compared to the donkeywork involved in a life as a vendor.

A proper send-off was essential lest Kyungsoo decided to stay, even if it burned a hole in your pocket. You planned on giving him a final tour of the Market where he (and you) could say his goodbyes while receiving a premium fuel of vitamins, minerals and carbs.

A whole lot of carbs.

“Let’s start with Pakgane”, said Kyungsoo, with a skewered sausage in his hand.

You shook your head in response. You wanted to start with the best and mung bean pancakes weren’t it. This was going to be a farewell he’d never forget.

With every step you took, the aroma of scallops drizzled with butter and cheese grew stronger. You started your tour by ordering two portions of the delectable street food which set you back considerably. But you were too elated to care. You refused Kyungsoo’s offer to pay as the woman set the scallops on fire with a blow torch.

“Do you know what that technique’s called?” Kyungsoo gave a little nod in the direction of the aflame food.

Another teachable moment.

You’d made a firm resolve to not let any of his condescension bog you down so with a sweet smile, you replied, “No, Chef. I do not.”

“Flambé. But minus the alcohol. Do you know how they manage that?”

The ahjumma came to your rescue and you jumped to collect the order. You could’ve sworn that you caught the corner of his mouth twitch slightly.

***

The Market supposedly looked the same as it did fifty years ago and you quite enjoyed eating your way through it. The tour made your heart grapple with nostalgia even though your partner’s personality was akin to a mug of insipid coffee.

Although you’d spent only a little over a year with Choi Yoonsun, the goodbyes were long and hard. Some of the vendors squeezed you and Kyungsoo in heart wrenching hugs, the others gave you a little cash to help you through the transition and for some of the food, you paid in smiles and love.

After a gastronomic fiesta that entailed tteokbokki, pajeon (minus the ketchup - you did it Kyungsoo’s way), sashimi, kimbap, different types of banchan, a thousand more teachable moments, the both of you ended the day on a sweet note with hotteok.

The ahjussi wished you both luck, making you choke back tears.

Kyungsoo noticed.

“Are you…. Is the hotteok spicy? No, I mean it’s obviously not...erm”

The dam of your tears burst.

You were going to miss this place. Even the less appealing aspects of it. You were going to miss the kimbap unnie who greeted you with a hug everyday, also the snooty mandu ahjumma who could hardly stand the sight of you. You were even going to miss washing dishes in the winters with water that was supposed to be ice and the sweltering summers which had you sweating through every layer of clothing.

Hell, you were even going to miss Kyungsoo.

“No”, you sniffled, “No, no Chef, it’s nothing. Take care of yourself. As much as I’m glad that our fateful working relationship has met its rightful end, I truly, genuinely, wish you luck. And learn to smile more often, yeah?”

“Are you dying?” He gleamed.

“What? NO! What? You’re leaving. What is wrong with you?”

“Who says I’m leaving?”

“You! You’re not coming with us to Gangnam!”

“Says who?”

“Your stupid face that looked like it was hit by a freight train when Imo broke the news last week!”

“I’m not leaving?” He mused.

“This is no time to joke, Chef. You are leaving!”

“Says who!”

“Your stu-”

“Stupid face? I wasn’t planning on leaving at all. I’ve even found myself a place close to the restaurant. Oh yeah, sorry for having misled you. It was really just - my stupid face.”

123 notes · View notes