#five times

The first time you almost revealed your relationship, you were drunk in the bar bathroom.

You swayed on your feet a few feet in front of Ryland, in the dim lighting, music sounded softly in the background, along with cheers from your medical team — doing shots off of the science teams bodies — you smiled at Ryland’s adorable face. 

You and Ryland had agreed to arrive separately to the party, so as not to cause any attention. You had gotten a few coolers to pregame before from Ilyukhina, so you were already pretty tipsy when you showed up. 

You spotted Ryland at the bar with Carl, he never really socialized much at parties, more of a lab socializer. But you knew Ryland got along with Carl very well. The bartender was cleaning the top of the bar behind them. 

You walked up to Dubois who was leaning against a table drinking a beer. 

“Hey! You’re here at last!” Dubois cheered, raising his beer at you. 

“I’ve been looking forward to it all day.”

“Yea? Med bay not treating you well?” Dubois asked over the music.

You barely registered the question. You pretended to look around, before casually locking eyes with Ryland, who was already checking you out. You looked back at Dubois who was looking at you expectantly.

“Oh, uh yea it’s kinda been a slow shift,” you sighed. Thinking of a way to get out of that conversation. “You know what I need? A drink.”

“Alright, make sure to get something strong then.” Dubois exclaimed. 

You nodded, patting his back before turning toward the bar and walking over to Ryland slowly. Casually as if you didn’t expect him to be there. 

“Hi Dr. Grace, how’s the research going?” You asked, just as Carl saluted you and walked away, you were attempting to hide your tipsiness.

“It’s going good, I guess,” Ryland mumbled, his eyes following to watch where Carl was headed before turning them back to you.

“I’m about to order a drink, what are you having?” You asked. 

“You seem pretty tipsy already, bad day?” Ryland asked.

You expected the question to be playful, but when you finally scanned his eyes, you remembered who he was. Genuine and caring, and genuinely interested in hearing about anything you tell him. Even when you were tipsy, and even in that packed bar with everyone around. 

You weren’t unfamiliar with his sweetness. Just unfamiliar with relationships.

You let out a sigh, Ryland’s presence already helping you unfold.

“Do you really wanna hear about my day right now?”

“Yea! I’ve been staring at Astrophage data for hours. Please.” 

“Alright.” You said.

“Thank you. Go ahead.” He whispered.

“Well it’s been kind of boring, I mean sure the coma research is interesting I just miss treating people.”

“What do you miss about it?” He asked, his attention fully on you despite the chaos behind you.

Your heart melted at his genuine interest. 

You tilted your head to the side, suppressing a smile that would reveal your admiration, and Ryland imitated you playfully, his shoulders lifting adorably.

“I just miss helping people, figuring out what exactly is wrong, things that aren’t immediately obvious. Now it’s head bumps and painkillers for headaches. On top of that, the coma resistance research team has been pretty hard on me lately.” You explained.

“I’ll be sure to be less careful in the lab then, to make your life more interesting..” Ryland teased.

You laughed.

“God no,” you said, “I don’t know what I’d do if you got hurt.” It came out playful, but hit truthfully.

Ryland must’ve seen the worry on your face at his words. 

“Hey, I know I was joking.” He said, slipping his hand discreetly to tug the bottom of your shirt.

Ryland began leaning closer to you, he moved his glasses to hang below his chin.

“You’re doing great work, don’t be too hard on yourself.” He reassured. 

“Thank you.” You sighed.

He shrugged like it was nothing at all.

“Also, you look really good when you’re not in scrubs.” Ryland spoke quietly. “Not that- not that you don’t look good in scrubs.” Ryland cleared his throat.

You blushed in response, biting your lip to suppress the laughter at his clarification.

“Thank you. No need for clarification I got it Ry. Not like you haven’t seen me out of scrubs before.”

“Just wanted to remind you.” Ryland stated.

You discreetly placed your hand on the bottom of his blazer. Your tipsiness pulling your guard down. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad — people knowing. But what you did know was that Ryland could leave you at any minute, you could be pulled off the project. There were so many reasons your relationship with Ryland could end. Keeping it to yourself, kept you safe.

“Nice blazer.” You whispered. “Keep the glasses on please?” 

He smiled, and pulled his glasses back up to his eyes. 

“I was given the blazer by my high school science teacher, he was like a mentor to me, I wanted to be exactly like him when I was a teacher.”

“I’m sure he’d think you were just as good of a teacher as he was.” You said.

He nodded proudly and you reached out to grab Ryland’s hand, feeling for the first time like you didn’t necessarily care about your guard coming down in front of him. Were you opening up? In a way you had never felt safe to do before?  

Ryland blushed, pulling his hand from yours.

“People are looking.” He reminded you.

“Alright, alright.” You chuckled. 

You resisted the urge to run your fingers through his hair. 

Ryland blushed again, looking around the room shyly. You loved how awkward he got when he was flustered, you had so much warmth in your heart for him, he was so sweet. You knew exactly what you needed, to kiss him.

“I miss kissing your face.” You whispered, pouting. “God you’re adorable when you blush.” 

“Well, why don’t you follow me into the bathroom in a minute.” He said, smirking. 

“Really?”

Ryland bit his lip shyly and nodded.

“Wow. Okay I didn’t know you were so risky.”

You didn’t get to hear his response because he pushed himself off the bar and headed toward the bar bathroom. You asked the bartender for a shot of vodka to stall, swung it back with a wince, and headed toward the bathroom too. 

The bathroom door swung open as you pushed the door, and you stepped into the empty bathroom. There were rows of about five stalls, and you smiled as you saw Ryland standing in front of the bathroom sink. When you stood in front of him, he automatically placed his hands on your waist, and your arms swung around his shoulders naturally. Sometimes, you couldn’t believe he had chosen you, he was so goddamn attractive, and so smart. He practically led the project. Then you remembered how awkward he was around you, and how you practically had to make the first move because he was so oblivious.

Ryland leaned forward so your noses brushed.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day.” He murmured.

You had only heard people say things like that, in that specific deep tone, in romance books. You couldn’t believe how much he seemed to care about you. Or even think of you.

You shivered and pressed your lips against his. A singular kiss, long and hard, before you pulled back and dove in to deepen the kiss, latching onto his bottom lip. You pressed him against the bathroom sink, and just as he was about to put his hand up your shirt you heard footsteps approaching the bathroom door.

You jumped, grabbing Ryland’s hand and pulling him into the bathroom stall on the end. You reached out to lock the stall, and you both looked around as you heard the bathroom door swing open. Ryland’s hands still grasped tightly onto your waist, and he leaned in again to kiss you, but you yelped away as you heard the footsteps approaching the bathroom stalls, and quickly stepped on top of the toilet seat, and kept your head low.

“What are you doing?!” Ryland half hissed half whispered.

“I don’t know!” You whispered back.

You both patiently waited for the individual — who ever they were — to finish peeing, you holding onto Ryland’s blazer for dear life, your knees shaking from crouching. And when they left the bathroom after they washed their hands, you let out a sigh of relief.

“So…any other plans tonight?” Ryland quipped.

You smacked him on the arm.

“Shut up.” 

You stepped off of the toilet, using Ryland to balance yourself.

“I will admit, that was a little fun.” Ryland sheepishly mumbled.

“Yea?”

“Yea really.”

“Meet me in my room in ten then.” You said.

You sent Ryland a wink as you unlocked the stall and left the bathroom stall, then out back into the party passing the bar and past Dubois into the corridor.

The second time you almost got caught was when you woke up in Ryland’s room. 

You and Ryland had not planned to spend the night. But when you had mentioned you had a headache the night before, and when you didn’t really feel like going to your room on the opposite side of the boat, you inevitably ended up sleeping over.

You woke up to the sound of your alarm, it was 5:30am, the supposed start of your shift in med-bay. Your eyes shot open and you groaned as you felt Ryland’s biceps wrap tighter around you, pulling you closer to his bare chest. You turned in his arms to look at his sleepy face.

His blonde hair was a mop of messy, and his glasses-less face was groggy. He groaned as your alarm continued to go off.

“Ry, they’re gonna wonder why I’m late.” You mumbled. 

He shook his head silently, his eyes still closed from sleep. He leaned forward and kissed your mouth softly and barely, as if he was too tired to fully latch on. You sighed into the kiss, and kissed him deeper, eliciting a soft moan from his lips.

“God, you’re so perfect.” He whispered.

You whined as he began sleepily kissing up your neck. Sucking perfectly along your neck, biting gently at your jaw, before he kissed behind your ear. Your hands tugged at his hair, as you moaned softly. Your alarm was still sounding, but Ryland had you in a dangerous position. 

“I want to show you off so bad.” He whined.

“Not yet.” You sighed. 

It had been a month since you and Ryland had decided to keep your relationship a secret. You weren’t ashamed of Ryland, far from it. You were scared of sharing your relationship with everyone if you and Ryland were just going to be separated by the end. You were from different cities, with different professions, you just didn’t know where this was going. You were thankful that Ryland was so patient.

“I know, I’m just realizing how lucky I am that you chose me, I’d like to rub it in everyone’s faces when the time is right.” He mumbled, still half asleep.

You imagined what that would be like, realizing that if you really did want him in your future, if you really wanted pure love, then you’d have to open up a little bit more. You were working on it to say the least. 

“I gotta go.” 

He gave in and slumped back into his pillow. He loosened his grip on you.

You slid off of Ryland’s bed out from under the blanket, and hurried to pull your scrubs on, and grab your pager and phone, you turned off your alarm. When you turned toward the bed, Ryland’s eyes were closed. You walked toward him and pulled the blanket over him. 

You grinned, and checked your pockets, making sure your pen was still in there.

“Lunch with me at 2:00pm?” You whispered, planting a kiss on his head.

Ryland just nodded. 

You made sure to run your hand over your messy hair before you hurried out the door, and as you pulled the door shut, you ran into Carl walking by. 

“Oh sorry.”

“All good.” Carl said, he looked at you then at Ryland’s door number. He squinted his eyes at you. “You came out of Ryland’s room?” 

“Uh, yea I was just grabbing some…papers from him.” You fumbled over your words, it was 5:30am in your defense.

Carl nodded.

“At 5:30 in the morning?”

You knew what Ryland really wanted finally, was for you both to tell the truth. But you also knew Ryland would never say anything if you weren’t ready to. So you decided to keep going on the train of thought you were going.  

“What can I say, work never ends.” You laughed awkwardly.

“So where are the papers?”

Damn. You forgot about the logistics of this argument. You thought for a moment. 

“Oh-yeah, it turns out he didn’t have what I needed, said he left them at the lab and he’ll grab them as soon as he starts shift.” 

“Huh, I guess that makes sense,” Carl mused. “Well, cheers.” Carl waves slightly, before continuing down his path past you.

That was a close one. You let out a sigh of relief and hurried back to med-bay. 

The third time you almost revealed your relationship was in the lunch hall.

You and Ryland were sitting at a long table, next to Ilyukhina, and Dubois and Carl. Your lunch trays all lined up. You were sitting across from Ryland, and beside Carl. You were all eating the soup of the day.

The food on board the boat wasn’t good to say the least. But it was edible and filled you up. That was when you weren’t feeling especially motion sick that day.

You glanced down at your bowl of orange gloop, and twirled your spoon around before resuming your glance on Ryland — who was talking about who knows what.

Ryland moved his hands, spoon in one of them, deep in conversation with Carl.

“So then I ended up drawing up the data on these data analysis sheets that y/n showed me, and they fit information so perfectly right–” Ryland explained.

You were proud that you had offered him a good piece of advice. You had been using specific data analysis sheets you found on an online website for your coma resistance research, and thought they would be equally perfect for Astrophage data. You had been spending a lot of time in the lab with him, of course after hours. It was becoming easier to integrate yourself in those parts of his life. It made you begin to think maybe your relationship wasn’t so doomed. 

“Did you figure out the miscalculation you were talking about?” Carl asked.

Ryland nodded absentmindedly, you watched as he scooped up soup with his spoon and fed it to himself. A little bit of it dripped onto his chin, Carl laughed at the sight.

“You’ve got–” Carl began, gesturing to Ryland’s chin.

But before he could finish, you were already leaning forward and wiping off the orange soup from Ryland’s chin with a napkin. You hadn’t even realized you were doing it until the rest of the table went quiet, you turned your head to the rest of the table and pulled back from Ryland who’s eyes were slightly wider than before.

You laughed nervously, and shrugged your shoulders, you didn’t know how to cover this one up, so you went for,

“Hey, crewmates helping crewmates, am I right?” You asked.

The whole table burst out laughing, and you and Ryland both let out a sigh of relief.

“Try not spill soup below the neck region.” Ikyukhina exclaimed, her euphemism making everyone laugh, except for you and Ryland, who were mortified. 

Carl laughed before jabbing you in the side with his elbow playfully, and Ryland’s thigh grazed against yours under the table.

The fourth time was when you fell asleep in med bay. 

Ryland had been ready to see you when he walked into med-bay. Your almost daily visits were the highlight of Ryland’s time on the boat. Yes he loved spending time studying Astrophage, it had felt like he had been given a research opportunity he hadn’t been given in a long time. But seeing you was also a plus.

So when Ryland walked into the empty med-bay to find you asleep at your desk, he was a little disappointed. Although he was happy to see you sleeping for the first time in three days. The coma research was finally almost done, and you had been supervising the whole project — since Stratt promoted you.

You were slumped in your chair with your head on the desk, your face to the side and your mouth open. Ryland found you so adorable like that. Even more adorable than when you fell asleep in his bed, most of the time when you didn’t mean to.

He walked closer to your desk, and when he spotted yellow post-it notes beside you, it was like a lightbulb appeared over his head. He chuckled to himself, at his nerdy little prank he was about to pull on you.

He grabbed a sharpie, and started writing a few suggestive, and flirty notes, and walked around you before gently placing the sticky notes on your back. He leaned down and kissed the back of your head before heading out of the med-bay door. Satisfied with his work.

You were woken up by a shake of your shoulder, you groaned when you opened your eyes to see Stratt standing in front of you holding two massive binders. You sat up and Stratt placed the binders on the desk, you crumpled your nose.

“No time for sleep now, okay? I need these filled out tonight.”

You sighed, rubbing your hand over your face.

“Why tonight?”

“Because we don’t have time to work slow.”

You groaned again, that was the answer she gave for almost everything.

You opened the first binder to the first page as Stratt walked around you to grab something from one of the stations. Suddenly you felt her touch your back, you gasped as you jumped, before realizing she had pulled something off of your shirt. 

You turned around and saw her holding two sticky notes in her hands. Those were on your back?

“‘Came to see you, saw you were sleeping, come back to mine and I’ll help you relax’ winky face.” Stratt said, reading the sticky note.

Your eyebrows furrowed in sleepy confusion, and you yanked the sticky note from her hand, instantly recognizing Ryland’s hand writing. A blush rushed to your face.

“‘I think I might be Astrophage, cuz I’d eat your star anyday’–”

You grabbed the last one from her hand.

“I don’t even—what are these—I—no need to even continue—” You fumbled.

Stratt did not even laugh, just looked at you seriously.

“I did not know you were ‘seeing someone’ as they say.”

“I’m not. I’m not!”

“Funny. I saw Ryland come in here a few minutes ago.” Stratt pondered.

“He was borrowing some—” You started.

“Not important. Less talk, more work, thank you.” Stratt said, as she headed out the door.

You slumped your head in your hands, swearing you were going to get Ryland back.

The fifth was when a newly recruited scientist was flirting with you in front of Ryland. 

You had been feeling much more confident about you and Ryland’s relationship. You had begun the next couple steps into completing the project and there were only a few months until launch day. 

You and Ryland had talked privately about what you were going to do. You felt vulnerable enough to explain to him how much you cared about him and didn’t want to have to let him go. So you both decided to make plans to visit each other frequently outside of the project. You weren’t entirely sure how much you expected, or whether you were less afraid or less unsure than you were before. But again, you were working on it.

The next step was introducing the technology to scientists who were added to the crew for additional supervision during launch, just to make sure everything went as smoothly as possible.

So there you stood beside one of the new scientists in the lab — Dr. Cox. He was very clearly attempting to flirt with you, and at first it was enough to just shrug off. This astonished you, as you couldn’t believe this guy was more interested in flirting with you then paying attention to this planet saving information.

Stratt stood on the sidelines chatting with the astronauts, and Ryland was preparing the Astrophage for the final test of the tour of the lab — melting the cubic ton of metal. Ryland was preparing the Astrophage with Carl on one end of the spindrive.

“So what is your specific involvement in this project?” Dr. Cox asked, folding his arms over his chest.

Your mouth formed into an unimpressed line, maybe now he’d finally catch a hint.

“Oh, I worked on the coma resistance gene research to select our very inspiring astronauts, and I worked to perfect the coma inducing drugs, also I helped make sure the ship was fully stocked with medical supplies before it launches.” You declared proudly. “I don’t know how I even had time to socialize on board.” You laughed, at your own thoughts, not Dr. Cox’s.

Dr. Cox nodded, his eyes drifting up and down your body, you didn’t like the way he was looking at you.

“Oh nice. That all means you're single right?” He asked.

His directness surprised you, but you saw no regret in his face at asking.

“Uh, no it means that I’m the most qualified in this field.” 

Dr. Cox nodded, like he didn’t even hear a word you said.

You shifted slightly as you stood next to him, looking at Ryland, who very clearly was overhearing this conversation. His back was turned to you as he started to load the Astrophage inside of the spindrive. But his back was tense enough for you to understand what he was feeling and that he had heard every second of the interaction.

Dr. Cox shrugged his shoulders and said,

“I’m surprised a doctor like you has a body like that, I’d be all over you myself.”

He must’ve spoken just loud enough for everyone to hear, because just as his words finished, Stratt turned around at the same time as Ryland did. Both with strong expressions of shock on their faces. 

Ryland turned to Carl, whose face was in an angry expression directed entirely at Dr. Cox. Ryland handed Carl the vial of Astrophage and his glasses.

“Sorry, can you hold these?” He asked. 

Carl nodded without a word, taking the vial and glasses in his hands.

Ryland smiled politely as he walked across the floor away from the spindrive and toward you and Dr. Cox. 

Dr. Cox held out his hand expectantly, and Ryland took off his gloves slowly. Once they were off, he lifted his right fist and punched Dr. Cox square in the jaw. Your hands went to your mouth in shock.

Dr. Cox dropped to the ground, and you held back a laugh, and simultaneously a scream, as you stepped away from him.

Ryland sent you a fiery look, and you were overcome with this feeling of safety for the first time in a long time. 

Ilyukhina gasped, realization spreading across her face.

“You and Ryland are–”

Before Ilyukhina could finish her sentence Stratt chimed in.

“What exactly were you thinking when you did that?” Stratt asked, pretending to be annoyed, sending you a wink.

You were thankful Ilyukhina’s thoughts were interrupted.

Ryland straightened his back.

“I was thinking that I felt very strongly about our sexual harassment policies.” Ryland grumbled, the sexiest you’ve ever heard a statement like that be said. You didn’t even know that was possible.

It was like his protectiveness over you had finally convinced you that you were allowed to be less afraid. Less afraid of being hurt, less afraid of losing him. 

“Let’s start the demonstration!” Ryland exclaimed, like nothing had happened at all.

+1. When you finally revealed you and Ryland were together, it was an accident.

You and Ryland had been walking toward a conference room, where Stratt had asked to meet with Ryland. You walked side by side, your hands subtly brushing each other, but not intertwined, you finally reached the door. You were there to deliver the final pages of your coma resistance research to her.

You opened the door following Ryland inside, Stratt was sitting at a long table, staring out into the ocean as the boat moved. She smiled a little when she saw you both enter, Carl stood on the far end of the room.

“Hey guys, let's try to make this quick.” Ryland groaned.

Carl laughed in response, you rolled your eyes carrying your papers to the table.

“The meeting will be as long as is efficient, Dr. Grace.” Stratt said pointedly.

You had to admit, sometimes you liked how effectively she carried her authority.

“So this is the research summary, I think it needs some tweaking in the graph areas, since I didn’t update them since we last talked, but I will today.” You explained, placing the stack in front of her.

She nodded.

“Very good. Will you be joining Dr. Grace and I for the meeting?” She asked.

You shook your head.

“Just dropping him off.” You said with a grin, patting Ryland on the shoulder as he sat down.

Ryland grinned back up at you shyly.

“Alright, I’ll let you all get to it.” You said.

And the next thing you did surprised Ryland, and yourself. You leaned down and kissed his mouth absentmindedly, before pulling back. Ryland blushed and you wondered why he was so flustered, it was just a kiss? Until you realized that that was the very first time you had kissed him publicly.

After your initial shock, you realized how right it felt. How stupid it was that you were keeping this a secret. You cleared your throat awkwardly and were about to speak when Stratt let out a sigh.

“Thank god, now we can stop pretending we did not know.” She grumbled. “American idiots.”

You and Ryland gasped.

“You knew?” Ryland inquired.

“Man, we all knew.” Carl chimed in.

Warnings: Mentions of injury, cuddling, nightmares, but mostly fluff. Gender Neutral reader

A/N: Here is my first fic for my end of the year Five Times Series (here). Hope you enjoy! Will be doing an AoT fic next! ❤️

First Time:

The first time you had slept with the Wind Hashira was simply because the two of you had no choice. Bad weather had sent the two of you on a hunt for any place of shelter when you had finally spotted a cave. “Let’s go there”, you shouted to him over the howl of the wind. Shinazugawa was not pleased, but with the rain already soaking the both of you to the core he begrudgingly agreed. After about twenty minutes of waiting by the entrance you knew the rain wouldn’t be stopping anytime soon, so you looked for the most comfy spot among the rocks and debris that littered the cave floor before sitting down. “The hell are you doing?”, Shinazugawa barked as he turns toward you. “Sitting. We are going to be here for a while, might as well get some rest”, you tell him straightforwardly. He grumbles something that sounded like a curse word before moving to sit down as well. “Do you want me to take the first watch?”, you ask him after a couple minutes of silence. “No, you sleep first”, Shinazugawa says, eyes focused on the weather. You don’t respond, simply laying your head back against the cave wall. Hours later when you awaken you come to realized that your head had moved to rest on Sanemi’s shoulder. “Shit, Shinazugawa I’m sorry-“, you start immediately scooting over. “It’s fine”, he sighs, tone surprisingly calm. “The rain seems to be letting up so we should get moving soon”, he says standing. “Why didn’t you wake me?”, you question him. The Wind Hashira shrugged his shoulders, “Seemed like you needed it more than me”, he tells you before taking off, leaving you to do nothing but follow him.

Second Time:

“Oh my you two make a cute couple”, is what lead to you and Sanemi sleeping together again. You had never seen the Wind Hashira blush so much before, but given the situation of needing a room at this late hour, the two of you had no choice but to follow along. Sanemi coughs slightly as you carefully slip your arm through his. “Thank you”, you tell the inn keeper and follow her along the sparsely lit hallway. “Please make yourselves comfortable. I’ll be along later with some hot water”, she tells you before closing the door softly behind her. With the click of the door you immediately slip your arm from Sanemi’s as the two of you stare at the single futon with two pillows. “You had to go along with the old woman and say we were a couple”, Shinazugawa mutters turning to give you devil eyes. You scoff, “It’s the middle of the night and we turn up at her door, what did you want me to say? Oh hello ma’am we just slayed a demon”, you tell him mockingly. He just rolls his eyes, “I’m taking the futon”, he responds. “After the shit we just went through, you expect me to sleep on the bare floor?”, you ask voice raised. “You expect me share a bed with you?”, he asks, tone matching yours. You sigh, “Let’s just put the pillows in the middle”. It’s quiet for a moment, “Fine”, Shinazugawa mumbles before moving to the other side of the bed. After quickly wiping yourselves down with the hot water the innkeeper brought by, removing your haori, you finally slipped under the covers back facing Sanemi. Hoping the pillows would be enough of a barrier, the need for sleep pulled you under. But the next morning when a knock on the door awakens you, you find yourself locked securely in the arms on the Wind Hashira, you face lying against his well toned chest. As the knocking continues, Sanemi comes too, pulling you closer for a moment before a split second later pushing you away harshly when the reality of what he had just done hits him. Before you can even say anything Shinazugawa flees the room and the two of you barely speak for the remainder of the journey home.

Third Time:

An injury is what leads you to your third night with Shinazugawa. When a particularly tough fight has you gaining some badly broken ribs, you find yourself being uncomfortably poked and prodded by the village doctor. “You need at least twenty-four hours rest before you can even consider traveling”, the doctor says, eyeing you carefully. “Any sudden or harsh movements could worsen the injury”, he continues. You let out a pent up sigh. “You should head back Shinazugawa, I could be here for a bit”, you say, craning your neck to look at the white haired man who was staring at the doctor. “Is there someone who can stay with you? You cannot move on your own yet”, the doctor speaks again as he packs away the unused wrapping. “Me”, Sanemi says before you can open your mouth. “Good, I’ll be back in the morning to check on your condition, please try to stay still”, he tells you before heading out. “You’re an idiot”, Sanemi says once the door is shut. “You’re lucky it’s some broken ribs”, he continues before moving to sit next you. You open your mouth to retort, but he’s quick to cut you off “Don’t, you need to rest and arguing isn’t going to help your condition”, Sanemi says. He brushes some hair off your forehead, something you didn’t expect him to do. “I’m sorry I’m keeping you here”, you eventually say. You watch as Sanemi shrugs his shoulders. “It’s not like it’s our first time sharing a room together”, he says causing your cheeks to blush. “Sleep”, Shinazugawa continues and though you weren’t tired you find yourself listening to the Wind Hashira. Later, you couldn’t be quite sure, but you find yourself being lulled to sleep by the rhythmic brushing of fingers through your hair.

Fourth Time:

Nightmares is what sends you to the Wind Pillar’s bed for the fourth time. In your wildest dreams you never thought you’d find yourself here, staring at his door, the man who wielded anger like it was the only emotion he knew. But you knew deep down there was more, that though Sanemi hid it well, he cared deeply. So when your fist makes contact with the door you are unsurprised how quickly it opens. Sanemi stands before you, eyes tired, grumpy from the late hour summons, but filled with concern. “Come in”, he tells you, the dark circles under your eyes a dead give away of your reasoning for being at his door. You follow him quietly as he leads the way to his room. After countless missions and long nights spent together, there was no longer a need for formalities. Though it was unspoken, both of you felt more at ease with the other. So you don’t question it as Sanemi sheds his shirt before laying down on his futon, you simply join him. “Do you want to talk about it?”, he asks after lying in silence for a few moments. You turn your body to face him, “Do you?”, you question back. “Fair point”, he responds, before turning on his back. Another few minutes pass in silence before, “I just don’t know how to get their screams out of my head sometimes”, you tell Sanemi who turns his head to look at you. “Somedays you just accept it, you can’t escape the past, but you can learn from it”, he tells you. You scoff slightly, “What?”, he asks a bit angrily. “Nothing, just didn’t think you’d give good advice”, you tell him plainly. “Whatever, I’m going to sleep, you should too”, Sanemi says before closing his eyes. “But what if I can’t?”, you whisper a bit later and even Sanemi hears the fear in your voice. So he turns on his side before grabbing you, pulling you closer. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, so just sleep”, he says, his lips brushing against your forehead as you nestle yourself against his chest. And for the first time in weeks you managed to get a full night of sleep.

Fifth Time:

“Why don’t you just stay here permanently”, Sanemi suddenly asks aloud as the two of you settle comfortably underneath the blankets. You look at him shocked. “What? We both know that you get better sleep when you stay over”, he continues. “Well it’s just that…we haven’t exactly talked about this..about us”, you stammer out. “What is there to talk about?”, Sanemi questions. “I thought the other day when Obanai walked in on us kissing it was made clear where we stand”, he says. You close your eyes as the shocked and almost horrified expression Obanai had on his face pops into your brain. “I just want to make sure we are in the same page”, you finally say, shaking your head. “Do you not want to stay here?”, Sanemi questions, worry evident in his tone. “No, no, I do but-“, you begin. “But what? I help you move your stuff tomorrow”, Sanemi interrupts you. You sigh in defeat, “Alright”, you tell him. “Then it’s settled”, he says with a soft smirk before leaning down to kiss you. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad thing, you think as you find yourself being pulled into the familiar spot against Sanemi’s chest, knowing sleep would come quickly.

Crap, he might be making hot dish. His mom was originally from northern Minnesota and he’d grown up eating her recipe. Lois was pretty sure that only being from another planet allowed him to digest the casserole. She’d have to choke down a few bites, claim she was full, do that thing that knocked him out, then sneak to the fridge around midnight and finish off the leftover doro wat she’d planned to eat when she thought Clark wasn’t coming over tonight.

(That thing that knocked him out was hardly a chore and his breathless response Fuck, honey was basically the highest compliment he could pay her, given his general reliance on Golly as an exclamation and her first name as a signifier of his respect.)

“You’re going to love this, I promise,” he said, catching sight of her in the front hall. 

She wouldn’t, she was sure she wouldn’t, but he was so confident—

“It’s not hot dish,” he added.

Maybe she wouldn’t hate it. Simply not having to eat anything bound with cream of mushroom soup suddenly sounded like a win.

“Why’m I going to love it?” she asked. She knew he wanted to tell her. She would have said she knew him better than he knew himself but then she hadn’t known he had an icicle palace in Antarctica or the dog. He beckoned her over to look at the pan on the stove.

“It’s got cherries and you love cherries,” he said.

“In a Manhattan,” she said. She was close enough for him to release the pan and put his arms around her, to lean over and kiss her and let her find out if he’d tasted any of the cherries while he was cooking, but he frowned at her and she remembered how he needed to be encouraged as much as challenged. 

Also, it clearly wasn’t hot dish.

“What is it? I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it,” she said.

“Cherry almond Dutch baby,” he said, watching her. She smiled, because the name was silly and because he was smiling at her, knowing she’d find the name silly.

“That’s a mouthful,” Lois replied.

“It’s also called a Hooligan, but that’s just the Dutch baby part,” Clark said.

As Lois expected, it wasn’t as good as its name, too much like a dessert to feel like dinner, but again, it wasn’t hot dish. 

2. Eggs in purgatory

“I don’t believe in hell. Or heaven. So purgatory is a non-starter,” Lois said, eyeing the crusty loaf of bread under its folded napkin, the napkin hand-woven, given to Clark by the woman at the farmer’s market who had been so taken with his earnest questions about her loom she’d basically shoved the square of cloth into his hands. 

Lois might as well have been a tree stump for all the attention she’d garnered.

(Tree stump wasn’t her best analogy, but the woman had been beautiful, her eyes an usual pale green, her lips the color of a freshly picked berry and she’d been so obviously taken with Clark Lois had been about to spit nails or toads or ready to grab Clark’s arm in the most proprietary, girlfriend-y fashion, to mimic her Aunt Earlene’s Savannah accent and call Clark darlin’ in a way that would make his eyes pop out and now the freaking napkin was wrapped around a loaf of bread Lois wished was stuffed with myriad Italian cured meats and instead there was a cast iron pan full of eggs.)

“I wish I’d taken a religion class at college,” Clark said. “Mom felt like it was a waste of time, so I didn’t press it.”

“Is that your biggest regret for your college experience? Not taking religion 101?” Lois asked.

“No. I wished I’d tried out for an a capella group. The Blabbermouths. They were freaking awesome but I was scared—”

“Of what?” This was fascinating. He was the strongest being on planet Earth and he’d been scared of something related to an a capella group. Named The Blabbermouths, which was a terrible name that had nothing to do with singing. He’d gone to school in Kansas, the group should have been the Ozzies or the Tin Men or the GaleTones.

“Scared I’d get in and they’d want me to beat-box. They were really into beatboxing, the Blabbermouths, but I wasn’t any good at that. My background was more youth choir and jazz,” he said, like that was something someone could say like it was unremarkable. 

(Clark, in a youth choir gown, cheap blue polyester silk somehow bringing out the blue in his eyes. Clark, holding a mic in his hand, fronting a jazz combo, singing “Mack the Knife,” Frank Sinatra clapping while rolling over in his grave. Christ. She was going to have to eat the eggs swimming in red sauce before she could ask him to sing something for her, risking getting “Amazing Grace” when she wanted “Body and Soul.”)

“Do you miss singing?” she asked.

“You’re deflecting,” he countered. “Try the eggs. I think you’ll like this one—it’s Italian.”

“Italian is made in Italy. By an Italian,” Lois replied, but she lifted up her plate so he could serve the dollop of eggs. They were perfectly poached and he didn’t break a yolk doling them out.

3. Bagel egg-in-a-hole

“What travesty is this?” Lois said. The golden yolk was like a Cyclops eye staring back at her balefully from its bagel lid and somehow, there was also smoked salmon and was that Hollandaise?

“I think that was rhetorical,” Clark replied, but he did sound a bit crestfallen. And of course it was Hollandaise, silky and unbroken. 

“Whose idea was it to ruin a bagel this way? A bagel needs a schmear, maybe some Nova. It’s the star. You don’t jam an egg in the middle and bake the already baked bagel,” Lois said. 

“I got it from the Pioneer Woman,” Clark said.

“So she appropriated bagels? And you decided to make it for dinner?” Lois retorted.

“Um—”

“Also, pioneer my ass. She’s married to a rich rancher,” Lois said. 

“You like bagels, so I thought—”

“I know what you thought, Clark,” Lois said, suddenly exhausted by her own irritation. She would have said bitchiness, but Clark really didn’t like the term, which he said was unkind and judgmental, and being around him, she found she started modifying her own internal monologue in a way she was frankly ambivalent about. 

“I didn’t use all the bagels for dinner and I got a tub of cream cheese at the deli,” he said. 

“Let’s save those for breakfast,” Lois said, picking up her fork and knife to eat a bagel and muttering an apology to her dear departed Great-Aunt Leah, whom she’d been named for and who would have taken the gefilte fish carp from the bathtub to wallop Clark if she’d ever known her great-niece was eating a bagel with cutlery.

“You still want to stay over?” Clark said.

Lois put down the fork and used the free hand to reach over to his. He lifted semis with it and scaffolding and trembling squirrels. He lifted her chin sometimes to raise her lips to his for a kiss, the gentlest person she’d ever known.

“I always want to stay over,” she said and nothing else. Sometimes he needed her to be very clear, the closest she ever got to being uncomplicated. It wasn’t the same but it was near enough.

4. Tofu scramble

She had to tread lightly this time.

“Are you vegetarian now? Or vegan?” she asked. Given how he felt about saving lives, it had felt like a matter of time before she was eating Tofurkey with him and sneaking a BLT on her lunch break. She’d have to start taking lunch breaks just for the BLTs and the burgers and the slice of pepperoni pizza and maybe it wouldn’t be the worst to actually eat three meals a day and to increase her leafy greens.

And tofu had come a long way, they said.

She’d never discovered who that they was. An anonymous source, perhaps? 

Perhaps she needed to spend more time away from the Daily Planet.

“Nope. I’m still a Kansas boy and as long as the meat’s free-range, pasture raised, I’m good but I thought this was a good idea,” Clark said. “Because of your dad.”

“My dad?”

“Lucy called, said he got his labs back and his cholesterol was sky-high,” Clark replied.

“Fu—fudge,” Lois said. Clark was old-fashioned about swearing, so she tried to watch herself around him. 

“Yeah, Lucy said something about statins, but I guess that’s not a day trip on the ferry. I figured it would be smart to try and eat a little healthier, so I asked around at the office. Cat said this was a good recipe and that you wouldn’t touch a quinoa salad with a ten-foot pole, not even if Superman offered it to you with an exclusive,” he said.

“She’s not wrong about the quinoa,” Lois said.

“Hey, don’t yuck my yum, Lois,” Clark said.

“Don’t yuck your yum? Are you five? And you like quinoa now?” 

“I didn’t say that,” he answered, grinning. “And I think you know exactly how old I am.”

“Old enough to know better,” she muttered. 

“It’s spicy, the scramble. Masala and red onion, cauliflower, kalamata olives. Before you mention something about tofu being too bland or tell that story about how you thought blancmange was made of tofu when you read Little Women, which I still find hard to believe,” he said, lifting up a hand to gesture to stop her from interrupting. “Not you reading Little Women. I believe that.” 

“I thought maybe the Hummels—”

“Lois, don’t. You never thought the Hummels, who were starving to death and also immigrants from Germany, had introduced the March sisters to tofu. The whole Hummel food arc is about popovers anyway,” Clark said. He’d rolled up his sleeves to make the tofu scramble and maybe that was going to have to be enough to make her choke it down, because he was flat-out right about Little Women. She’d told the story once a while ago when she thought he was the most naïve rube and he’d laughed so heartily and kindly about it that it had become part of her personal story repertoire. It made a decent entry into two truths and a lie icebreakers, which would be handy if she ever left the Daily Planet and took a shitty corporate job where she had to play two truths and a lie. 

“I like popovers,” she said.

“I know, but they’re hard to build an entire dinner around. And I’ve been saving them for a pop-themed dinner party where we serve them with popcorn, Pop-tarts, and popsicles, with a big pop punchbowl,” he said.

“Are you kidding me?”

“You don’t like it? I thought it would be fun,” Clark said.

“Where are we hosting this event? Who’s coming?” She had a vision of Jimmy double-fisting frosted strawberry Pop-Tarts in her kitchenette and a sweating galvanized tub full of cloudy ice and glass bottles of Mexican Coke. “Are we getting fried chicken from Popeye’s? Because that’s the part I can get behind—”

“It feels like you’re pretty invested in this, for someone who only seconds ago said, and I quote, ‘are you kidding me?’ And also, I haven’t failed to notice you have not taken one bite of tofu,” Clark said.

I’d just rather eat fried chicken, Lois thought, restraining herself from poking morosely at the tofu with her fork. She stabbed at a lump, making sure to get a cauliflower floret and an olive on the tines, and then ate it, Clark’s blue eyes watching her the whole time.

“It’s good,” she said.

“Liar,” he replied cheerfully. “But maybe it’ll grow on you.”

It did not but at least he didn’t make her a breakfast burrito with the leftovers and he used her French press to make her a mug of coffee while she was in the shower.

5. Creamed chipped scrapple

Lois Lane had faced terrors beyond the imaging of most residents of Metropolis. She was in a relationship with an alien that had left it’s complicated in the dust miles back and she did her own taxes, by hand, no software. No calculator. It took a lot to scare the bejesus out of her.

When Clark set the plate down in front of her, she screamed.

(It was not a yelp, not a cry that could be deemed anywhere adjacent to delight or mere surprise. It was the scream before the killer got you, the axe raised, the soundtrack wired directly into your amygdala, the bass an anchor keeping you from moving.)

(She’d faced terrors, all right? She was a damn good journalist, she didn’t exaggerate.)

“What the fuck is that?”

“What?” Clark cried and yeah, it was a cry, the kind that was filled with urgency and protection and a curious amalgamation of fury that anyone would try to hurt her and a confident assurance that he would make it right, whatever it took. He suddenly seemed bigger, the power pouring off him like pheromones. Suddenly, she was the entire world. He was looking around, at everything other than the plate and she sank back in her chair, suddenly (in the way of threes) tired and relieved and resigned, because she knew what was coming.

She didn’t have to be a damn good journalist for this one. She just knew Clark.

“What is this stuff?” she asked, poking at the greyish, lumpy slop with the tines of her fork. She was going to have to take a bite, there was no allergy she could claim he wouldn’t have accounted for, and he’d clearly tried so hard, again, and she wanted a saucy meatball sub or some lamb vindaloo and not whatever the heck he’d worked so hard over.

“Creamed chipped scrapple. Over sourdough. I didn’t bake though, I picked the loaf up from the bakery—”

“The one on 9th or the one in midtown? The midtown one’s—”

“Not worth its weight in salt, I know. I didn’t go to the cruddy bakery, I went to the good one,” he said.

“That would have taken an extra forty minutes, unless you Suped it,” she said, trying it out.

“Unless I Suped it? Do you mean unless I flew?” He looked amused, not offended.

“I’m sure there was someone to save, a stray cat or a tourist about to walk in front of a garbage truck or a space goblin that couldn’t figure out how to return a library book,” Lois said. She would have said a lot more, anything, to push off the time when she had to take a bite of the creamy slurry, which probably ruined several things that might have been good on their own.

“It took an hour. I took the subway and then I walked four blocks,” he said. “No space goblins, whatever those are—I guess I’ll look on page two for your exposé.”

“What’s scrapple?” she said. She swallowed the sigh, the desire for kare-kare, for a meal she could justify pairing with a glass of pinot grigio.

“It’s from the Pennsylvania Dutch, it’s seasoned fried pork scraps,” he said, as if that were a complete explanation. Correction, as if that were the entire explanation Lois could tolerate, in and of itself a damning admission.

“It’s offal, isn’t it? And headcheese and all the bones and gristly bits,” she said.

“They call it ‘everything but the oink,’” Clark answered, finally sheepish, which was rich given that they were solidly in the realm of pigs. 

“Is this like a dare? Is this because Jimmy wanted to play Truth or Dare and I said that was juvenile and we could reassign him to the funny pages, because Truth or Dare is juvenile even if you never played it back in Smallville, you absolute Boy Scout, but the reason I said I wouldn’t play was because I had a deadline and you were far too likely to give yourself away with either the truth or a dare,” Lois said.

“It’s not a dare. And I wouldn’t have given myself away,” Clark said.

“Clark, sweetheart, you have nearly given yourself away twelve times in the past week,” Lois said, exasperated. She shoveled in a sizable bite of the scrapple, to get it over with, and found he was looking at her with what could only be called adoration.

She did not give the plate the same look, but it was…okay. Like, she wasn’t going to gag.

“I may not be as good at concealing my identity as I think, but no one else is as astute as you are, Lois,” he said. He reached across the table and took her hand, giving it enough of a tug she got up and came over to him. He promptly pulled her onto his lap, his thighs in their khakis definitely living up to his Man of Steel moniker. He wrapped one arm around her, angled her so his free hand cradled her cheek and the nape of her neck. He kissed her once, his mouth open against her throat, then moved slightly so he could whisper in her ear.

“No one else would figure it out except for you because you’re the best fucking journalist in the country,” he said and the obscenity, uttered in his earnest baritone, was possibly the most erotic remark she’d ever heard or imagined. Which meant she moaned and he couldn’t resist that, moved to kiss her lips, grazed her bottom lip with his tongue before she broke away.

“Don’t. I taste like scrapple,” she protested. “Shit on a shingle—”

Clark laughed and she felt it as she heard it, the sound its own caress.

“I like scrapple. That’s why I made it for dinner. And I like how you taste, however you taste,” he said.

6. Chicken and waffles

Something smelled good.

Delicious.

Lois walked into her apartment and hung up her coat, toed off her loafers, and dropped her keys in the L-shaped painted ceramic dish Clark’s mom had made for her at a wine and pottery night she’d gone to with Clark over the holidays. He hadn’t brought back what he made, insisting it was too sloppy and that he cared more about the experience than the outcome.

(His mom sent her a photo. It was a wreath painted green with holly berries and a variety of ornaments he’d recalled from their tree carefully scattered on it and the ceramic studio owner had asked Clark’s permission to put it on her Insta. Clark’s mom had texted he knows ur people aren’t observant + didn’t want to trouble u and the most shocking part was Mrs. Kent’s use of abbreviations.)

She thought she’d maybe sneak up on him in the kitchen, put her arms around his waist, make another (likely fruitless) attempt to discover whether he was ticklish, but the kitchen was empty. The counters had been wiped down, the dishtowels were hanging neatly, centered on the magnetic bar Clark had gotten for the side of the fridge. There was a little bouquet of flowers in a jam jar, which meant he’d stopped by the bodega on Clancy, but no other evidence of Clark or dinner and for a moment, she wondered whether she was experiencing an olfactory hallucination or a seizure’s aura, which meant she’d been listening to Jimmy do his pitch on the old asylum north of the city. 

(It was a pretty good pitch and he’d reminded her of what she’d been like when she first got to the Daily Planet, looking for darkness, not aware it was all around her.)

She took a deep breath. There was no mistaking the rich scent of something wonderfully, perfectly fried, the more subtle note of nutmeg she’d sniffed out after wrinkling her nose like a rabbit.

It was real. 

She was hungry.

Where was Clark?

Her apartment wasn’t that big and she could see most of it from where she stood. Which meant he had to be in her bedroom.

“You’re kidding me,” Lois said, standing in the doorway of the bedroom, gobsmacked. She discovered she had a gob and it was smacked, everything a little fuzzy and glittery around the edges, including Clark, who was fucking reclining on her bed in a ratty old pair of joggers and a Blabbermouths tee-shirt absolutely clinging to his shoulders. His feet were bare and they shouldn’t have been sexy, because that wasn’t a thing she had (not judging not judging) but his were and now it was a thing she had for Clark, who had set up a folding tray on her bed and put one of those silver domed platters that hotels must buy at restaurant supply stores but which Lois admitted she associated with luxury, even if that would make someone like Lex Luthor hoot with laughter.

“Nope,” Clark said. Every other word out of his mouth could have come from central casting for “country boy hick” but somehow only sounded natural, unprepossessing and cheerful. “Not kidding, completely serious. I think I’ve got a winner this time.”

He could not mean hot dish. 

“Yeah, well, I guess the proof is in the pudding. Crap, it’s not some kind of weird savory pudding, is it?” Lois said.

“No, though you’ve piqued my interest. I bet there is some kind of weird savory pudding you would like, if it were from Malaysia maybe,” Clark said, grinning at her, which was dizzying and embarrassing, because they’d been together for months and his grin was not supposed to still do that, even accounting for his whole Superman gig. While she had that thought, he’d whisked away the silver dome to reveal gold.

Golden fried chicken.

Golden waffles.

A golden drizzle of maple syrup (closer to amber, but even in her internal monologue, Lois was damned if she wouldn’t follow the rule of threes.)

“I had it delivered from Mama Erlene’s,” he said.

“But it’s still hot,” Lois pointed out, literally pointing at the steam rising from the plate, which was really a platter, holding more than enough for four people. 

“Okay, had it delivered isn’t the most accurate. I had an assist, if you will. As you might put it, I Suped it,” he said.

Lois experienced an erotic thrill similar to those she read in the overstuffed paperback romances her sister took out of the library and which Lois would never have admitted to devouring. Clark held her gaze and she had an idea that innocent, earnest, country-boy Clark Kent had a pretty good idea of his effect on her and was mighty pleased about it.

Not smug, Clark wasn’t capable of smug, not as Clark and not even as Superman.

But he was happy as the proverbial pig in mud (Lois didn’t buy clams were especially joyous, on any occasion) to have made her hot and bothered; he was beyond circumspect when it came to using his powers in the course of their relationship, had hemmed and hawed about power dynamics and inequalities, and tonight he’d flown across the city to bring her home a breakfast she’d actually enjoy for dinner.

Game, set, match to Clark Kent. She shrugged and climbed onto the bed.

“Breakfast in bed? Guess you weren’t totally confident I’d go for the waffles,” Lois said. She had to make some attempt to rebalance the scales and boy howdy were they tipped in his favor.

“Oh, I thought you’d go for them,” he replied.

Lois reached over and swiped her forefinger in a little eddy of syrup and whipped cream, then put her finger in her mouth, keeping her lips slightly parted and adding a soft hum.

“Lois,” Clark said, all warning, all yearning.

All hers. 

She took her finger from her mouth and folded her hands in her lap.

“I have a question. Can breakfast for dinner become dessert?” she asked.

“It can if you want,” he said.

She tilted her head to one side, as if she were considering. As if anything else mattered besides Clark.

“Cold fried chicken is good but cold waffles—ugh,” she said.

“Lucky for you I’ve got heat vision,” he replied.

She didn’t argue. She knew she was one lucky woman.