Taste of Freedom
After escaping a life of violence, Eliot Spencer finds solace in the rhythmic precision of cooking. But his carefully constructed world of routine and empty spaces is shattered when a tiny blonde thief breaks into his apartment—only to declare she's 'stealing his home' rather than his valuables. As Parker infiltrates his life with stolen artwork, lava lamps, and an unsettling ability to see through his defenses, Eliot must decide whether to push her away or embrace the chaotic, fragile connection forming between them. A story of healing, found family, and the unexpected ingredients that make a home.The apartment smells different now. Not just the garlic that still lingers on my hands from the kitchen, but something else—something like... life. I stand in the doorway, keys in hand, staring at the impossible: color. A Cézanne hangs on the wall where yesterday there was only bare plaster. The lava lamp pulses orange on the floor beside my mattress, which has been moved to escape the morning sun. None of this makes sense.
Three weeks ago, this place was just a hole to sleep in between runs and cooking classes—a deliberately empty space that wouldn't hurt to abandon when the past inevitably caught up. Then she broke in. Parker.
The thief who decided my apartment needed fixing instead of robbing. Who leaves stolen masterpieces and eighties rock posters like interior decorators leave swatches. Who eats my food and critiques my life choices and somehow became the closest thing to a constant I've had in years.
A noise from the kitchen area makes me tense. I don't reach for a weapon, but old instincts still sharpen my senses. The sound resolves into humming—off-key and entirely too cheerful for this hour. I round the corner to find her sitting cross-legged on my new (stolen?) couch, surrounded by what looks like... herbs?
"What are you doing?" I ask, setting my bag down. My voice is gruffer than I intend, but she doesn't flinch. Parker never flinches.
She looks up, blonde ponytail swinging, holding a sprig of something green. "Naming them. This one's Maleficent, this is Stapler, and that one over there is definitely Gerald."
"You can't name my plants."
"Our plants," she corrects, poking a finger at the basil. "And Gerald likes me best."
I sigh, but it comes out closer to a laugh than I want to admit. "You're impossible, you know that?"
Parker just grins, that feral, brilliant smile that still catches me off guard. "You should try to stop me."
The challenge hangs in the air between us, and for a moment, I wonder if I even want to.
and you know (we're on each other's team)
The library has taken everything - our memories, our magic, our friends. Now we're taking it all back. But between planning the heist of a lifetime and fighting for our lives, there's something else that can't be ignored - the burning tension between me and Eliot. The way he touches me like I'm the most precious thing he's ever held, the way he looks at me like he's been starving for years. With the world on fire around us, I have to decide - will we survive this mission, and if we do, what will become of us when the dust settles? The library may control magic, but it can never control how we feel.
At the End of the Day (Or Even When the Day is New)
The weight of his body against yours feels both foreign and inevitable. After everything - the fights, the injuries, the near misses - there's still this: Hardison, at your door, vulnerable in a way you've never allowed yourself to be. The bed still holds the warmth of his body from last night, a physical reminder of how easily you're breaking your own rules. You've never been one to share your space, your body, your fears... but with him, it's becoming impossible to keep your distance. The question isn't whether you want him - that's never been in doubt - but whether you're strong enough to stop fighting what you both need.
and indeed, there will be time
When two strangers fall through a supernatural rift in your boring government office break room, covered in blood and claiming to be from another dimension, you know it's going to be more than just another late night. Especially when one of them has eyes that glow like acid and a voice that sounds exactly like the creepy text-to-speech program you hear every day at work.
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.