#and basically they do shots together and it turns out he rented the most expensive suite they have for the night

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

this is making me wanna write but idk what

[slashbitch2]

lead me into your darkness

TW: alcohol, drugs, death, just sally being sally basically

You didn't believe in ghosts, the supernatural, paranormal, occult or however else it was labelled. Every 'true story' was shrouded in inaccuracies, every video surfacing on the internet nothing more than a farce. But despite it all; the logical stance, the lacking belief and boring pessimism, you still enjoyed every predictable, campfire ghost story and low-rent horror movie. The incredulous promise of each haunted attraction was alluring, even though you had yet to witness any viable proof.  Still, you had found yourself searching for 'most haunted locations in Los Angeles' as soon as the plane touched ground, signifying the end of your flight.

"For a place named the City of Angels, Los Angeles definitely isn't heavenly by any means." You called out, eyes remaining glued to your phone screen.

"Already with the spooky shit?" Eve glanced back at you with mischievous eyes, the rest of her face too tired to express anything beyond disgruntlement. "We haven't even found a place to stay yet, thanks to him." She shot a despairing glance towards Aiden, who remained clueless as he focused on frantically scrolling through Tripadvisor.

After a few seconds subjected to her scrutinising glare, he finally looked up, quick to catch on. "I thought I'd reserved a room!" The rebuttal did nothing to deter the blame placed on him. "And now, apparently, everywhere is either completely booked or way too fucking expensive."

You could feel tensions were running high: the fatigue of the day finally catching up as seasonal humidity weighed down you. Eve sighed before stepping closer to grab hold of Aiden and attempt to calm him down. For the sake of giving them some space, your attention switched back to the most haunted locations list.

"There doesn't happen to be a hotel on your spooky list, does there?" Bryan shifted to stand beside you, his height casting a shadow over the screen. Out of the four of you, he appeared to be the calmest, maintaining both appearance and a sense of humour.

"Actually," His comment jolted your memory. "I think there might've been."

"That could work. It won't be busy seeing as no one chooses to stay somewhere creepy besides freaks like you."

He elbowed you lightly, though you were too preoccupied to return his witty remarks. Instead, you concentrated on scanning the website. Paragraphs about sites of massacres and cursed houses blurred past with every swipe, eventually halting as you read the title you'd been searching for.

"The Hotel Cortez." You read aloud, attracting the group's attention and putting an end to Eve and Aiden's distant bickering. "This building's violent history began long before its construction had even finished, playing host to notorious serial killer James Patrick March. However, despite the morbidity associated with the hotel's first owner, it has remained open for business ever since the opening in 1926. Since then, numerous deaths and disappearances have been associated with the property..." You trailed off, deciding not to read any further for fear that the others would be disturbed by the more recent history.

A conflicted silence fell over the group as they considered the option.

"It's at 317 South Spring Street. We could get a taxi." You added, if only to encourage them.

The silence continued for another beat.

"It'll be cheap." Bryan chimed in. "And probably empty."

"True." Aiden muttered, seemingly having made up his mind. "Probably a dump, but it's the best we can do right now."

He turned to Eve, the only one who had yet to say anything. She shrugged, the gesture of indifference contrasting with the general disgust reflected on her face. Clearly the prospect of staying at the Hotel Cortez wasn't an appealing one, but she was reluctant to argue and bicker anymore.

"It's settled then." Aiden clapped his hands together, happily relinquishing  his prior responsibility for the accommodation. "Murder hotel it is."

---

As the taxi pulled up outside the Hotel Cortez, evening was just beginning. The endless hoards of businessmen and families that had once filled the streets were slowly being replaced by club goers and junkies. Or perhaps it was due to location rather than time of day. The hotel didn't exactly look like the fine establishment your friends had been hoping for.  To you, however, it looked intriguing.

With the sun skimming across the horizon, the building was highlighted by a thulian pink hue. The colour danced dimly across the walls, concentrated in the glass of each window and cast back out like the hotel was emitting its own light. There was an otherworldly appearance to the phenomenon, piquing your interest and adding a bounce to your step as you exited the taxi. Without the confinement of the vehicle, the building loomed menacingly overhead, accompanied by a chilling breeze.

You remained transfixed by it, hypnotized by the stillness of it. There was no sign of the chaos usually associated with hotel lobbies. No one entering or exiting. Not a single sign of life.

"Well at least we don't have to worry about reservations." Eve appeared to your right, handing you the suitcase you'd neglected to unload from the taxi. "Place looks deserted."

"Yeah, it's quiet." You added, then politely stepped back to allow a group of people to pass by. They already looked partially drunk, though were unusually quiet while walking past the building. "Like the hotel is absorbing the noise rather than creating it."

"Wow." Eve shook her head in mock contemplation, then dramatically gestured toward the door. "Poets first."

You rolled your eyes at the mockery, but lead the way nonetheless, hearing her call out "Let the hotel be your muse!" from behind you.

Each step closer to the hotel felt lighter than the last. Like an invisible weight was being lifted from your shoulders- the burden of the modern world left behind as you pushed open the intricately designed doors. Your fingers itched to run across every groove and notch of the Art Deco engravings, but curiosity compelled you onwards into the lobby. A rush of cool air suffused around you, although the tell-tale hum of the aircon unit was missing. But the strange detail was soon overlooked when you craned your neck upwards to admire the grandeur of the foyer.

It was indescribable. A glorious mix of red and gold that both surpassed your expectations, and unnerved you. Even though the lobby was distinctly beautiful, there was something disconcerting about it also. Perhaps it was the vast ceiling, or the eerie silence. Maybe the lingering smell that numbed your senses, or the ominous haze that seemed to engulf the opposite end of the room. Still, despite the dreamlike appearance, you'd never felt more awake. Your eyes darted all over the lobby, pursuing each dark corner and chasing after every minute detail with unprecedented eagerness.

At first, you glossed over the figure poised lifeless, half hanging over the edge of the banister without a care in the world. Oh, but she had certainly seen you. Even with the distance between, you could see her eyes raking over your form, not bothering to spare a glance at any of the others. You felt your attention for the hotel dwindle as your curiosity about the woman increased. She stood out from her surroundings, yet you struggled to picture her existing anywhere else. The hotel had formed around her image; the hazy atmosphere from the smoke of her cigarette, the colour scheme made to match her leopard print coat, the inconsistent mix of light and dark to frame her frizzy hair. It was all for her.

You watched as she reached some kind of conclusion, discarding her cigarette with a flick and backing away out of view, staring at you all the while. She was ominously enchanting. An almost morbid interest- similar to the strange enjoyment received from watching something be destroyed.

A gentle tap on your arm yanked you back into reality.

"You alright?" Bryan asked tentatively, ducking into your line of vision to keep you reluctantly tethered to the present.

You smiled reassuringly. "Yeah, just tired." Though he remained unconvinced.

A shrill ring reverberated throughout the empty lobby. And again as Aiden impatiently hit the bell once more. Taking advantage of the distraction, you dodged any further questioning from Bryan by joining the other two at the front desk.

"Someone must've heard that, right?" His hand hovered over the bell, posed to ring it again.

"Yes, someone definitely did." The low, raspy voice sounded closer than it was. Echoing round your head like she'd been there the entire time. Smoke seeping in through your ears, wrapping itself around your skull, curling and stretching to fill every crevice.

Gentle footsteps passed alongside, proceeded by the distinct scent of nicotine, perfume and something else entirely unique to her. Or rather, to the hotel. You could only describe it as aged, accumulated over years and years of human suffering and sentiment.

The woman was stood in front of you now, purposefully turned away from the group. Casually, she hoisted herself over the counter to stand behind the check in desk, her eyes trailing along to Eve, Bryan and Aiden, as though only now noticing them.

"Welcome to the Hotel Cortez." She grinned unkindly. "Reservations?"

Your friends exchanged glances, silently arguing about who should answer. They appeared uneasy around her. So were you, but your curiosity persevered. "We don't have a reservation."

Slowly, she turned toward you, a malicious smirk stretching across her face. "Well, maybe you'll just have to bunk with me." She bit her lip with mock, taunting innocence.

"For Christ's sake, Sally!" A shorter woman entered from the correct door, bustling about behind the desk with practiced familiarity. She- not so subtly- whispered something about behaving to Sally, who looked at her with such disgust that you immediately shared in her hatred.

A hushed insult and a roll of the eyes and Sally was gone, slamming the door behind her, perfume lingering in the air. Without her nearby, the scent had a palpable air of melancholy to it.

"Sorry about that." The woman said. You looked back at her, eyes darting down to read her name badge. "Dumb junkies- can't get rid of 'em. Anyway, let's get you folks checked in." Iris clapped her hands together, smile no less malicious than Sally's.

---

"There's no Wi-Fi or functioning aircon- not that it needs it, the entire place is freezing, and it smells so bad!" Eve flopped down onto the bed, pinching the bridge of her nose as she finished rattling off her list of complaints. "Oh, and that woman! The way she stared at me when I said I wanted a double to share with Aiden- then inconveniently informed me all those rooms were booked. Fucking prude."

"You mean Iris?"

Eve finally turned to look at you from where she'd collapsed on the adjacent bed. She frowned. "Who?"

"The check in lady. It said on her name badge."

"Oh."

"Yeah," You sat up, swivelling round to let your feet touch ground. "thought you'd want to know the name of the person you're complaining about." You sighed. Despite the exhaustion of travel, you were unable to relax fully and had started to lose your patience.

An idea sprung to mind. Not necessarily a good one, but an appealing one. "I'm pretty sure I saw a bar downstairs in the lobby." A libation would soothe your nerves, and with some alcohol in her system, Eve would be more forgiving. "Wanna go investigate?"

"Not tonight, sorry." She shot you an apologetic glance. "But go ahead."

Seeing how she'd basically sunk into the mattress, you concluded that no amount of convincing would get her to change her mind. Though surprisingly, the prospect of drinking alone had greater appeal.

"Ok, well." You reached across the bed to grab your phone and wallet. "I have my phone, so text if you need anything."

"I would if this building wasn't a fucking dead zone!" She called out as you shut the door behind you. Unable to resist throwing one final insult at the hotel.

All four walls of the corridor were identical, with odd patches of darkness strewn throughout that made it especially disconcerting to navigate. Standing at what felt like the site of a crime, you could understand how the hotel had amassed such a dark history. The carpet seemed to stretch endlessly, pattern and colour worn from usage. As your eyes trailed further down, they fell upon a figure.

She was wearing a traditional maid's uniform, striding toward you at breakneck speed with a towering pile of laundry balanced precariously in her arms. The type of character you'd expect to see in a black and white film from a bygone era. So, when she eventually took notice and spoke to you, her antiquated accent didn't come as a surprise.

"Room 51!" She exclaimed while breezing past. "One of the few rooms misfortune has yet to spread. Her brisk pace didn't falter. "Good luck!" She turned the corner, leaving you alone once more.

You paused, mind attempting to comprehend the numinous encounter that you had experienced mere seconds ago. Everything about the hotel was strange, but it didn't deter you from resuming your pursuit for a drink. You went left, praying it was the right way, relieved to spot the elevator doors wide open and waiting.

The sinister silence of the building had been weighing down on you since arrival, so the creaks and groans as the elevator descended were a welcomed reprieve. You found the quietness of the hotel perturbing; as if there was something, or someone, that you could neither see nor hear. Out of all the places you had visited that were supposedly 'haunted' the Hotel Cortez was the only one that you truly believed could be.

The doors opened, screeching across the floor in protest. A wave of familiarity rushed over you. Despite having spent barely ten minutes in the lobby, it was already so familiar to you. A home away from home. You guessed your attachment to the hotel was due to the history gnawing at its walls, wearing away at the structure while simultaneously adding a certain charm to it. Whilst inside, you could sense the many stories untold, lurking in the air, becoming a part of you.

In comparison, the lobby and bar felt strangely empty.

Upon reaching the top of the stairs, you had noticed even from a distance that you were alone. A quick glance at your watch confirmed it was nearly 10pm. You would've expected to see a gaggle of businessmen drinking away their sorrows by now, yet even the bartender was missing. Was it not open?

As you approached, a gentle tune begun playing. A ballad: not quite melancholic, not quite cheerful. The coincidentally perfect timing convinced you to take a seat, if only to appreciate a moment of isolation in the company of good music. Perched at the bar, you rolled your head back with a sigh, finally feeling your joints loosen from the arduous journey.

"Wow..." The word was dragged out by a new voice, the stranger encircling you, then stepping into view as they took place behind bar. "An actual paying customer- well. Assuming you pay, that is." Her voice held an ounce of threat, though she had kind eyes. "I'm Liz, what can I get you?"

"Whatever's cheapest." You smiled, grasping your hands together and leaning forward.

"Let me guess. You're a student," She pointed an accusatory finger at you. "worrying about debt. Probably on a budget?"

You nodded.

"And every last dime you currently have went into this trip?"

"Spot on." Distracted by the idle conversation, you completely forgot about the drink until it was placed before you.

Liz grimaced pityingly. "Trust me, you're at the wrong hotel."

Taking a sip, you winced at the taste, opting to down it in one go. "As staff aren't you meant to be promoting it?"

"Well, yes I suppose." Wordlessly your glass was refilled. You watched as Liz poured from an unlabelled bottle, her eyes flickering up to something over your shoulder. "But if you don't believe me, then have a little chat with her..."

Before you had the chance to reassure Liz that you very much would like to hear what she had to say, someone slid into a seat a few spaces away. You didn't need to look up to know who it was.

"Sally. What can I get for you?"

Sally glanced in your direction and tried to smirk, though the expression didn't go beyond her eyes which were surrounded by smudged makeup, tear streaks staining her cheeks. "I'll have whatever she's having."

She was unique. A phantom of the past who screamed to be heard, unashamedly expressing herself in a way that you longed to. You weren't going to waste this opportunity.

"You're going to be disappointed." You swivelled round to face her. "I ordered the cheapest thing on the menu."

She let out a laugh, short and high pitched. "Doesn't matter. Everything tastes the same anyway." There was a genuine bitterness to her voice and glossiness to her eyes that you recognised as the hopelessness of a junkie. The type of person you'd been warned to avoid.

This only enticed you.

Taking your response as an invitation, she smoothly slid into the seat next to yours, mirroring your position by leaning in. Up close, the scent of her perfume was overwhelming, you were drowning in it with every breath you took. Neither said anything for a beat, both content staring at one another, certain of the other's intentions and willing to take it slowly. Savour every second of the chase.

"So, what brings you to the Cortez?"

You smiled to yourself, momentarily breaking eye contact with her. "A series of bad luck, really."

Liz ambled over to refill both your glasses. "That's the case for most people."

Sally looked up at her, quirked an eyebrow. It must've been some kind of silent communication between them as Liz responded by shaking her head almost imperceptibly. Nevertheless, she left shortly after, leaving you two alone with your drinks.

"My friend forgot to reserve a room in the hotel we'd all agreed on." You explained, purely to fill the silence left by Liz's departure.

"And how'd you find this place?" She seemed only mildly interested in the conversation, but was transfixed watching you.

You hid a smirk behind your glass, answering once you'd placed it back down. "A list of the most haunted locations in LA."

"Oh." She chuckled, reaching into the pocket of her coat folded on the seat to the right of her. "You're one of those psychos who gets off on the idea of seeing a ghost." Fumbling round for a minute, she eventually produced a packet of cigarettes.

"Actually, I don't believe in ghosts." For the first time in your life, the words sounded wrong. You weren't sure what had changed, but if you had to guess, it was something to do with the woman sitting beside you.

"Really?" She lifted the cigarette pack up for you to see. "Want one?"

"Sure." You watched her flip open the top, scowling at there being only one left. "Do you believe?"

"What? In ghosts?" Balancing the cigarette between her lips, she lit it with rehearsed ease, puffing out a mouthful of smoke and pausing to think. She eyed you up and down, a predatorial look dancing across her features. "You're looking at one."

She was insane.

You scoffed. "Not sure I'm drunk enough to believe that yet." You reached for the bottle Liz had generously left on the bar, pouring yourself another drink.

"How about something a little stronger?" Her voice tickled your ear, leaving you to wonder when she'd got so close. The cigarette was raised to inches away from your lips, her other arm slipping around your back as she shifted closer, trapping you. "Go on."

Your eyes flickered down, noticing the lipstick staining it. There was something so intimate about the act that gave you hesitance, as though she were offering you a binding contract: for what, you had no clue. Staring into her eyes, you felt that you would be willing to sell your soul for whatever this woman was offering.

Slowly, with eyes never leaving hers, you pressed the end to your lips and inhaled. It had been a while since you'd last smoked. The sensation was still vaguely familiar, although breathing something other than air felt a little like breathing underwater. A warmth filled your chest. The heat of the alcohol inflamed by the smoke in your lungs.  One drag was enough for you. And for her to realise you were completely under her control.

In her mind, she had won.

Observing your every move, Sally bit her bottom lip, a supressed smile lifting up the corners of her mouth. She also looked to be on the verge of tears, though you suspected she often was. "Not many people appreciate this hotel." She sat back, taking another drag, waving the cigarette round as she spoke. "But I think you will."

---

You sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, unable to relax with the prospect of an approaching high. Sally was busy in her own world, preparing everything while softly humming the tune of a song you vaguely recognised. The scene was strangely normal, a distant sense of deja vu creeping up your spine. Not from your own own lifetime, but Sally's. As if you could see into her memories and sense what she elected to ignore: the regretful familiarity behind every action, a resigned sadness that she was gradually succumbing to.

Soon enough, Sally's cold hands were grasping your arm. Her attention solely focused on searching for a vein, yours stolen by the chance to admire her in a moment of distraction. She trailed a finger across your skin as though indulging in the feel of it, the warmth it emitted which she seemed to lack. You shivered and drew closer, your free hand resting on her waist. At the contact, she jolted, finally looking up at you. For a brief pause, you saw how she was taken aback at the closeness. You felt her breath fan across your face, the intimate act imploring you to lean forward just a little.

Her temporary display of vulnerability hardened into a mischievous smile. It was too late now.

"This shit is the best, I promise." Her hand lowered, resting the needle against your skin, posed to pierce at any moment.

You took a deep breath, clearing your mind of the previous temptation. "I'm counting on it."

A prick just below the crease of your elbow alerted you to the oncoming wave. Soon confirmed by a surge of euphoric energy suffusing across your entire body. From the tip of your head to the ends of your toes, all you could feel was pure bliss. Your vision was blurring, the world spinning all around you. And yet you still saw Sally. A taunting ghost of normalcy standing out in the heroin induced haze. A necessary grounding to Earth.

You were staring at her for an indiscriminate amount of time, and all the while she she was staring right back at you. Her hand raised, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The taste of her touch was addictive. You instantly craved more, chasing after her hand as it lowered, disappointed when she moved to stand up. She was leaving- but you weren't sure you could live without her anymore. It felt as though you lived purely for her, and that if she left, you'd simply cease to exist. Your hazy mind concluded that you needed to stop her from going.

As she went to walk past, you grabbed hold of her arm, though you were unsure of how strong of a grip to use. Too light and she might fade away, too tight and you would hurt her. With all the anxieties clouding your judgement you hadn't thought any further ahead. What were you supposed to do now? How should you keep her here?

A mix of confidence and panic prompted you to tug Sally towards you.

Thrown off balance by the unexpected movement, she fell down onto you. There was no hesitation this time. With both hands you grabbed her face, bringing her lips to crash against yours. Sally allowed herself to be dragged down as you fell backwards onto the bed. Your limbs settled into a tangled position, both of you too distracted to care. You bit down on her lip and she hissed in pain, encouraging her to press impossibly closer. The taste of blood created an unprecedented hunger within you as you longed for her to draw your own blood: to seal some kind of unspoken pact with equal sacrifice. Sally groaned when your leg shifted to press between her thighs, though you didn't have the energy to apply any real pressure.

All around you, the room seemed to dissolve into a dreamlike blur. It became impossible to focus on anything, your mind sent reeling and aching. The only respite from the nausea was keeping your eyes shut. Darkness did less damage than light. Your muscles relaxed, your body surrendering to exhaustion. It became tiresome to think, let alone pursue anything further with Sally. A twilight state of sleep was falling upon you, although the usual peace accompanying it was missing and fighting the sensation was futile. So, even when Sally's lips eventually left your own, you didn't bother to open your eyes.

You couldn't.

[seokiloquy]

Pumpkin Spice - Miya Osamu

AU: Regular, coffee shop(?)

Server Collab (Linked)

Tags/Warnings: GN Reader, swearing, time-skip spoilers

Word Count: 9.2k+

Working at a cafe in the middle of the busy streets of Tokyo’s business sector often led to many customers in need of a nice brew and in association, tips. Lots of tips that often fell into your pocket at the end of the day. The pay was good enough and made up for the moderately long commute from your campus that you spent sleeping on the train. On top of that, your boss was the nicest and most supportive old woman in downtown Tokyo. 

The interior of the cafe was soft and homey in comparison to the reflective silver exterior of the building outside. Seats with red vinyl cushions filled the open area leading to the wooden top counter that you worked behind, mixing up whatever ludicrous drink they asked for. The customers loved you. You loved the money. It was the best.

It was sunny that day, people were smiling for once as they walked to work for once. The traffic was light, people weren’t running late, and to top it all off you had just gotten an email that morning with the mark for your latest assignment, a perfect grade.

“We’re closing.”

“Like, just for today, right?” you asked Juri, brows furrowed as a disbelieving smile pulled on your face as if you were being pranked. She gave you a sad look. “Right?” you repeated, pouring in a measured amount of coffee beans into the espresso machine.

“(Y/N), I’m so sorry,” Juri gasped. “The building owner jacked up the renting price and I just can’t afford it now.”

You reached behind you for the counter, gripping it tightly between your fingers as you pulled yourself closer to slump onto it. A dull ache began to grow right between your eyes. “Don’t apologize, Juri. There’s nothing you can do. I’m fine.”

“Well, that’s a lie,” she spoke after a moment, skating over the thin ice that froze over your conversation. “You can spend more time studying now at least, university gets harder in your final year.”

“University’s the reason I needed this job though.” You walked around Juri’s stout form, reaching for the coffee machine, grabbing hold of a mug and readying yourself for the freshly pressed beans. “I have to pay for it somehow.”

“(Y/N), darling, maybe a three shot espresso isn’t the best thing to have right now.”

You gave the old woman a sour look over your shoulder before shooting back the mug of dark bean soup. Immediately, your tongue tried to escape your mouth. “Oh god, you,” you gagged momentarily. “You were right. That was horrid.” An uncomfortable shiver ran over your shoulders and through your spine.

Juri’s wrinkled hand came to rest over the black strap of your apron that hung desperately to your shoulder, squeezing it tightly to the point of bruising. She pulled you down roughly and flicked your forehead with her nail. “Stupid,” she chastised. 

Walking to the sink, she grabbed the mug you held and rinsed it out before handing it back to you, filled to the brim with cold water. She rubbed your back, encouraging you to suck back the water to rid the bitter taste from the corners of your mouth. “If you want, I’ll write up a letter of recommendation for your resume.”

“I’m not sure whoever would hire me would take the time to read it, no one uses reference letters anymore. But thank you, I’d appreciate it.”

She smiled, making the wrinkles on her face shift slightly. “Anything for you sweetheart. Besides, you’ll need every advantage you can get with your horrid cooking.”

On your last day of work, Juri sent you off into the dark streets of Tokyo with a notebook filled with homebrew, baking and cooking recipes —the last two being one’s you have never and likely never will touch— and a container of cookies that she had made that morning. 

The book, in and of itself, was innocent enough. A relatively mute earthy colour palette that made flowery designs from one edge to the other. But, you knew there had to be some secret spells of torture within the pages, or just something that you’d injure yourself with.

Not even a day later, far into the night, a sugar-covered cookie was left forgotten on your table as you scrolled through job listings on your computer, occasionally getting distracted by the scantily clad fictional characters that promoted a game on the edges of the webpage. You reached for the cookie, shooting your eyes back to the list and scrolling.

Your dorm was rather modest, more like a small apartment when compared to some of the other dorms on campus though. Which admittedly saved you money and made it more expensive at once. With your own kitchen and modest living space attached to a bedroom and bathroom, you successfully managed to isolate yourself from any other students in the building for just an extra fee. Luckily, having a kitchen meant that the school didn’t supply you with food, saving you money, but also leaving you starving since the only recipes you had in your head were for coffee. Moment’s spent in your kitchen alone with a grumbling stomach sometimes made you wish you were roomed with another person, or had taken the university's food plan. Curse your late teenage pride. 

The walls were off white, surrounding a room filled with mostly dark furniture —namely navy— and reflecting the light that came off your computer screen. They made large shadows against your floor and walls. Your two fingers swept along the mousepad, moving the dry list up your screen. You bit into the cookie, quickly scarfing it down and clawing for another, mumbling to yourself as you skimmed over all the nanny jobs, and full-time positions. Corporations that would likely not give you enough pay were quickly forgotten, also.

The neighbours above you were playing study music rather loudly, letting the smooth sounds seep through the walls gently, it made you want to sleep, they probably had an essay to work on. You sighed, rubbing your eyes before sparing a glance at the time displayed in the corner of your screen. 1:32 am. Swallowing down the tired taste in your mouth, you swiped your fingers harshly against the pad, entirely too tired to do any more thinking and letting the loading screen of the website choose your job for you. You threw your head back, slumping into your seat with a worried wince, desperately hoping that you wouldn’t regret it.

You squinted at the top result of the most recent listings. “Huh.”

The black uniform wearing man scratched his head through his matching, logo crested hat, making it shift slightly to reveal his dyed hair underneath it. You sat silently on the plush stool at the counter as the older man —he couldn’t be much older than you, could he?— skimmed through your resume lightly before reading the reference letter Juri had written for you. The sweater he wore tightened at each opening, puffing out into what looked like a cozy crewneck. Definitely not the most common uniform for a food establishment, but you wouldn’t complain, it was starting to get colder. He rested his elbow on the counter-table, turning the top of his stool to face you directly.

“You’ve never worked in food before?” 

The open-concept space of the man’s restaurant/cafe seemed to close in rapidly, making the light brown tables and decorations blend in with the white walls and red seats. The colours spun in your vision, blurring all your surroundings except for the tall, hunched man in front of you. He seemed to pop off the screen of your static vision with a halo of light surrounding him. You blinked rapidly, mentally shooing away the loopy visions. There wasn’t enough sleep in your system. That and it felt like you were about to be penalized. 

Noticing his intense, stoic eye-contact, heat from your stomach rushed up to your cheeks and ears. He had pretty, grey eyes. Your lungs vibrated under your sternum as you tried to suck in enough air to speak. A bashful smile crept onto your face as your fingers fiddled together, occasionally dragging the pad of your thumb over the length of your nails.

“If I’m being honest, I’ve never been very good in the kitchen. Juri, my old boss, wouldn’t let me help her with baking the pastries because I would always burn myself. I’m working on it though.” That was a lie, a total lie. You weren’t working at it at all. You continued, laughing at yourself, “Because of that, Juri always had me doing beverages. So when I saw you were looking for a barista, I applied.” Well, that was only a partial lie.

The silver-haired man chuckled lightly, “I received your request for an interview, your request, 5 minutes after I posted the listing.”

Biting your lip, you reached for a napkin from one of the dispensers as you forced yourself to maintain eye contact. He seemed to enjoy watching your fingers fiddle with the limp piece of paper. You coughed, “Is that a good thing? Cause my desperate self is in need of a job. I’ll even risk burning my hands off if that’s what’s needed.”

He laughed again, taking the black, curve-rimmed hat off his head and set your papers down next to it on the sleek wooden counter. “(L/N), relax. I am looking for another barista, I had my previous one go work at our second location because it’s closer to home. So I’m short-handed and know only the basics about coffee, and with winter fast approaching I need help.”

You ripped the tissue paper in your hand in half before compiling it and stuffing it quickly into your pocket. “Does that mean I’m hired? Cause I need to pay for my tuition.” He watched, an amused smile pulling at his face, he stood up gesturing for you to follow him. With an awkward grin, you followed his silent instruction. 

The rectangular counter you were sitting at wrapped around the back corner, creating a two-metre space walkway that led to the bathrooms and cut off an unlabeled wooden door from being easily accessed by customers. You followed his steps, watching his black Adidas sneakers step over the lines of the large wood floor panels. He opened the wooden door, gesturing you inside, before pulling a box off of the shelf that sat against the back wall and dropping it onto the counter next to a sink. Pulling out a cozy-looking crewneck sweater with a proud and yet desperate smile. 

“This is the kitchen and break room,” he said, throwing out an arm to the rest of the large space, before walking back over to you, sweater and cap in hand. “Can you come in tomorrow? I can show you the ropes.”

“I’m sorry Miss, but we don’t have that drink here, it's not the season yet.” You smiled apologetically at the older woman who was digging through her bag in frustration. You hated telling customers little white lies, the feeling dug at the sides of your stomach each time you had to. It was becoming more frequent with October fast approaching.

“I’m sorry too,” she replied, letting her purse drop onto the counter with a smack. “My daughter has been nagging me all day to pick up one of these drinks and no one has it yet.”

You flexed and clenched your fist underneath the counter before adjusting your cap to try and give the woman a confident facade. “We’ll be getting the ingredients next week, so hopefully she can hold off until then. For now, would you like some onigiri? They’re freshly made.”

“Please.”

After ringing up the woman’s total and sending her out the door with a wave, you turned to your co-worker with an anxious grin. Taichi scoffed in response, openly laughing in your face. “You have to stop lying to our customers!” he berated with a lopsided expression.

“I know, I know! But I hate seeing them annoyed or upset. I can’t help it that they keep asking for a drink that we can’t make!”

The 1st year university student (who you quickly found out went to the same school as you) chuckled, leaning against the onigiri display. “What are the ingredients for it anyway?” he asked, watching you rest your hip against the counter next to the cash register.

“One cup of pumpkin puree, half a cup of sugar, half a teaspoon of pumpkin spice seasoning but that’s optional. That’s to make the pumpkin sauce. Then you need a quarter cup of pumpkin sauce, two ounces of espresso, eight ounces of milk, and then whipped cream and cinnamon on top,” you listed, staring off onto the floor.

“You have that memorized?” Taichi asked rhetorically, mouth hanging open.

You crossed your arms. “I’ve been working as a barista for over 3 years now. You start to remember things.”

Taichi lifted his hat, taking a moment to ruffle his straight cut black hair before setting it back down on his head. “Well, you can just ask Miya to order some, right?”

Snapping your finger, you sent the younger boy a finger gun with a pensive look pulling your eyebrows upward, “I hadn’t thought about that.”

On your next shift, after an early morning lecture about the global economy and stock market (which you tried not to sleep through), you walked into the break room to find your silver-headed boss curl over the edge of the small round table in the corner of the room while sitting on the old futon next to it, hair tousled in an oddly pleasant way. His hands moved quickly as he scribbled into the papers before him, the tight grip on his pen making his muscles flex slightly in his arm, that was made visible by his rolled up sleeves.

You quickly looked to your shoes, trying to calm your breathing down. “Um, Miya,” you called lightly, trying not to startle him. Nearly dropping the pen in his hand, he looked up. “Sorry,” you said, pulling your hands into the sleeves of your uniform.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m almost done,” he said, watching your fidgeting hands. “Did you need something?”

“Pumpkin sauce.”

He gave you a strange look, nose scrunching as a single eyebrow lifted. “Pumpkin sauce? Oh right, that’s a thing isn’t it?” Miya said as if just remembering the time of year, looking away from your wiggling fingers to the empty kitchen across from him.

You gulped. “Yes, for pumpkin spice lattes. A lot of customers have been asking about it.”

He raised the other eyebrow in your direction, trying to strangle down a teasing laugh. “You lied to the customers didn’t you?”

“I might have told a little white lie so they wouldn’t get upset.”

Miya sighed, holding eye contact with you for a moment, before signing the last sheet of paper in front of him with an entertained smile. He looked back up while gathering the papers into a neat pile. “I’ll get an order in by next week.”

“Thank you.”

Why did you ever decide that philosophy was a good thing to take in university? Seriously. What were you thinking? You stared at the empty document before you, blinking tiredly as you groaned.

 Aesthetics. The first unit that your professor chose to discuss for a university-level because it’s likely the easiest to discuss. The essay itself was more introductory than anything. The instructions were to write an essay about how aesthetics and attraction to particular aesthetics are created, how society plays a role, and finally, your own personal stance.

You clearly remember glaring at the young professor when she said she wanted to gain a deeper understanding of each student. That’s for high school, you thought, mentally going over the three years of university you’ve already suffered through. Then again, maybe an easy grade. The only downside was that even though you’ve gone through nearly a decade and a half of school, you’ve never been good at writing an introspective piece.

“Professor Suzuki, How introspective should it be exactly?” you had asked her after the lecture had finished.

She gave you a sharp pointy smile with a light, slow shrug. “However much you think is needed. But I do want to learn about you and your experiences.”

Your brows were pinched together tightly, as you tried to understand. “So like an attraction autobiography?” That's deeply concerning. 

She never did give you a clear response after that. Dancing around the direct answer you needed to hear. She must’ve been a high school literature teacher at some point.

A self-deprecating chuckle escaped you, making the younger boy who was lazing about on your couch turn his attention away from the tv. “What crawled into your pants?” Taichi asked, pouring the last remains of your chip bag into his mouth.

“I have to write about stuff for a philosophy essay.”

“Isn’t that the whole point of an essay?” The empty chip bag crinkled loudly in his hands as they folded the plastic messily.

You scowled at him. “If you’re going to be a smart ass you can stop eating my food and go back to your dorm.” Standing up from your kitchen counter, you scanned the junk-filled counters, eyes landing on the small carpet patterned notebook that sat sadly on the corner edge.

Taichi ran up from his seat, pleading for you to not send him out, claiming that his roommate was mean and hogged up the whole space. You partially ignored him, letting his yapping ring numbly in your ear as you flipped through Juri’s old recipe book.

“Wanna help me make cookies?” you asked, turning your head his way and effectively cutting off his rambling.

He paused, letting his bottom lip hang open before snapping it shut in a cautious sneer. “You’re deciding to bake? I’d rather risk getting bullied by my roommate. Bye.” He ran out of the dorm. Ran. 

“God, my baking skills don’t warrant that kind of a reaction, jeez,” you huffed to yourself, slamming the notebook shut. No longer in the mood to experiment in the kitchen.

“Did the new rice come in?” the blond asked, letting his whole torso lie flat on the short table extension of the main counter.

The light click of a plate resonated in the empty restaurant. “You’re lucky,” the grey-haired one said, monotone response making the other look up to the large, meat-filled onigiri waiting for him on the porcelain plate. “Fresh shipment just came in this morning.” At the entrance of the building, the bell attached to the door sang lightly as it opened. Notifying your entrance, while a cool autumn breeze rolled past you. “Speaking of shipment. (L/N), the pumpkin sauce came in!”

You unravelled the scarf around your neck as you walked, giving your boss a large grin that made him gulp slightly. “Really? That's amazing, Miya..” The blond, noticing the other man’s reaction upon your entrance, spun in his chair, making his honey brown eyes meet yours. “There’s t-two. Two of you?” The scarf you had taken off sat limply in your hand as you stared off blankly at the two identical men.

“(L/N), this is my brother. You can call him Atsumu.”

The blonde sent you a small vibrating wave and a smirk, leaning his elbow against the counter as he tilted his head in your direction. With tightened brows and a tight, awkward smile, you nodded in response, bowing as your hand began to grip your colourful scarf a bit tighter. The blond followed up his brother’s introduction. “If you’re gonna call me Atsumu, you might as well address him as Samu.”

“Samu?” You questioned.

Over the table, ‘Samu’ smacked his brother with the black cap from his head. Hitting his shoulder with a loud smack before facing you. “Osamu is fine.”

You nodded hesitantly before bowing again. “Call me (Y/N), then. The both of you.” Facing your silver-haired boss, who still gripped his black baseball cap tightly between his fingers, you pointed to the back room with a meek smile. “I’m gonna go put my stuff down. Sorry for being a bit behind. I was up late working on an essay.”

Osamu nodded. “Sure thing, I have a new recipe for you to try out when you come back out,” giving you an understanding smile before ushering you off to the back, watching the folds of your jacket move with each step. He gulped. As soon as your back fell behind the door frame's edge, he weaponized his flimsy hat again, making the older twin howl as the top button hit his temple.

“What was that for?!” the fake blond screeched.

Osamu sent him a deadly glare. “Don’t flirt with my employee. They’re too young for you.”

“We’re the same age, Samu,” Atsumu teased, as he dropped his voice a couple of semitones. “I don’t see you restraining yourself.”

Atsumu left Onigiri Miya with a number of small bruises running along his hairline that morning. Though, he refused to leave without sending you a request to watch his upcoming game. “I want to have everyone watching,” he said, forgetting to even tell you what you’d be seeing, leaving his younger twin to take the burden.

You sat on one of the red plush stools, swinging it side to side and Osamu stood on the other side of the counter, onigiri filled plate in hand. He wore a hesitant grin as he set the plate down in front of you. Then, he started talking as he walked around the counter. “They’re slightly different than the ones I usually make so they look a bit weird, but we had the ingredients so I thought I'd play around with the different flavours.”

The store was empty. As expected for an early Saturday morning. It was also windy outside, making the inside of Onigiri Miya feel that much warmer as the howling wind ran loudly against the glass wall of the entrance, occasionally making the polyester awning above the entrance flap around like paper.

You gave him an encouraging smile as he walked around your seated form, nearest hand brushing over the length of your shoulders through the black sweater. A chill ran down your spine as his hand fell from the end of your shoulder. He sat down beside you, spinning the stool to face you head-on, much like how you both were during your interview. “I’m sure they taste great. What are the fillings?” you asked, reaching for one-half of the two pairs of onigiri on the plate.

“Well, since the pumpkin sauce came in, I figured I would play around with it a bit,” he said, reaching for one of his own.

Once you bit into the centre of the rice ball the smooth sweet flavour of the sauce rolled over your tongue. The orange sauce dyed the rice on the inside, making the colour soak in the individual grains. You let the flavour sit on your tongue for a moment. “Were you going for a sweet onigiri?”

Osamu chuckled a bit. “Kind of. I made the other one more savoury though.”

You looked at the other slightly misshapen onigiri on the plate, then up at the maker of them, meeting his eyes with a kind supportive smile. “The choice is yours,” you said, taking one off the platter and taking a large bite out of it. “But I think they’re both pretty tasty.”

“Really?” he asked, resting his elbows on his knees, leaning toward you in earnest. “Not too sweet or bland?”

“They’re perfect. Just like the chef who made them," you complimented happily.

Osamu flushed slightly, trying to pout as he chewed away at his onigiri. "You don't have to be so nice, they still look a bit lopsided."

"Does the appearance of the food really matter? I thought the taste was the biggest factor," you teased lightly. Whenever you made a brew for a customer, most never really cared if there was a cute design sprinkled on the top, or if the layers were visible from the side of their plastic cup if they took it to go. All you ever focused on was the taste, and when the 7 am rush comes through, patrons are typically too tired to even care about the look so long as they get their dose of coffee in.

"Do you never look at the exterior of things? Most consumers judge their first impressions of things based on their appearance. Like book covers."

You furrowed your brow. "I've never really thought about it. A lot of the books I read are digital now so there's no need for a fancy cover."

"What about people then," he prompted, leaning further forward, forcing you to maintain eye contact with him. His normally grey eyes seemed to hold tints of the honey brown from those of his sibling. "Have you ever... let's say, been attracted to someone based on their appearance alone?"

Your gaze shot back and forth between his eyes and the fringe of his silver lightly brushing over his eyebrow before finally settling on his left, blown out pupil that started more directly at yours.  "Maybe subconsciously." It came out in a light whisper.

The bell at the entrance rang, a ragged, tired looking suit-clad woman wobbled in. Eyes blinking slowly as she waved her hand in the air. "Light roast, double shot espresso with whipped cream! I am running late!"

You shot out of your seat, knocking off Osamu's hat by the brim with your own, before grabbing a mug from over the counter and rushing to the mixtures. "On it!"

"Thank you," she panted, handing her card to Osamu to ring up.

Your head and shoulder twitched as you bounced on your toes outside the glass wall of Onigiri Miya. The wet concrete and frozen air of the early morning made the idea of curling against the polished glass with your face tucked into your scarf all the more tempting. Another silver tickled your spine.

Groaning you spun around to face the golden brown and red streets. Wind carried the dry leaves over their drowned sibling until falling into a puddle themselves. You closed your eyes, trying to redirect the heat in your body to your hands that were tucked into your pockets, clenched tightly.

Something cold lightly smacked against your nose and eyelids.

Cracking your eyes open, your lashes pushed against a brown decaying wall that blocked out all the light of the early morning. When it was away, leaving a cold residue behind, the light made your squint.

“You're here early,” the silver haired man said, tossing the old leaf over his shoulder before pulling a collection of keys from his coat pocket and gently tucked you out of the door with his free hand. Opening it up, he placed the keys into his back jean pocket.

“Did you just give me a face mask with an old leaf?”

“Sure did,” he said, matter-a-factly. “Why are you here so early? You’re not a morning person.”

You followed him through the glass door, letting him take the responsibility of flicking off the lights as you pulled your coats and scarf off. “You said today was your brother's game, I didn’t know what time, so I figured I'd be here a bit early.”

Mouth open, Osamu stared at you without blinking, as if searching for a joke. “You know most post games happen in the evening right?”

“So I’m here early for nothing then.”

The two of you walked through the empty restaurant, coats slung over your arms as you conversed.

“I wouldn’t say nothing,” he teased, hanging up his coat on the hanger in the back, lifting the bottom hem of his shirt slightly. “You get to work.”

“Yay,” you yawned, reaching for your uniform sweatshirt.

“For money.” He added.

He had trouble making you laugh throughout the morning, only receiving yawns and frustrated pout in response as you made coffee for all the equally tired customers.

You’ve never seen a volleyball game before, only ever having tried to play during gym class in high school. On top of that, you never understood the rules, but you blamed that on the phys ed teacher rather than your own inability. 

The live recording of Astumu’s game was being played on multiple sports channels. It got pulled up on the large screen of the tv that sat against the wall 30 minutes before the game even started. Osamu stood with you and Taichi —who had made it to work at a reasonable time to watch the game—, explaining the rules and positions over layers of customer chatter, as he made onigiri in view of the game instead of in the back where he normally worked. He pointed to the screen.

“That’s Hinata in the opposite hitter position. He pretty much does the same thing as Bokuto,” he shifted his arms angle to point to the duo-tones haired player on the screen. “An outside hitter.” Then, facing you, he watched as your nose scrunched in thought.

“What makes them different, then?” Beside you, Taichi nodded along, handing a customer a plate of onigiri.

“Their orientation with the setter,” Osamu replied. Before letting out a loud cheer, fist clenched and elbow tucking quickly into his side as his brother scored another point.

You let out a loud, exasperated laugh, shaking your head slightly. “There are a lot of rules and stuff you want me to memorize.” On the other side of the counter, a girl came up to stand in front of you, asking for a pumpkin spice latte. “Sure thing. Taichi, ring her up for me would you?” you asked, making your way to the coffee machines that sat along the length of the counters, continuing to talk to Osamu. 

You looked at the available ingredients. “We’re gonna need more pumpkin sauce.” 

“I’ll order it. Is it that confusing?” He asked, following you to the machines.

Mug in hand, you gave Osamu an unsure look as you reached for the whipped cream, stretching your arm only to knock it farther away. “A little? But at least their mascot is cute.”

“The black jackal?” he laughed, taking hold of the whipped sugar and placing it in your open palm, to which you smiled in thanks. He quickly diverted his gaze, staring at the blank walls as he bit inside of his cheek. “Didn’t even bother to listen to me ramble then, too busy gushing over the cute mascot. I thought visual exteriors weren’t important to you.”

“Oh shut up, I was listening,” you scoffed haughtily, smacking Osamu’s shoulder as you walked past his tall figure to give the girl her mug. “And he was interacting with the young fans, it was cute.” You looked at the clock. “It’s 6:30, I’m gonna take my break. I got an essay to write.”

Taichi laughed mockingly. “Good luck. We’ll hold down the fort.”

Osamu watched your back as you walked away, adjusting his hat as he turned to face the upcoming customer that had just walked in.

“Bake at 450? Oh, that's Fahrenheit? Why, though? Okay, got it. Oh shit, did preheat it too much then?” 

Juri, as lovely a lady as she is, had terrible handwriting, or terrible in your opinion because you couldn’t read it. Whether it was a letter, or note for an order of cookies and bread, the intricate curls of her connected lettering always made your brain feel like it hit a brick wall. Holding the book in your right hand, you used the other to carry the tray of separated butter cookie dough and hooked your foot underneath the oven handle to pull it open. Still glaring at the writing, you slowly lowered the metal tray onto the racks.

“Hey, (Y/N)! Can—”

“Fuck!”

Taichi let himself in, turning the corner of your kitchen counter to quickly pull your hand away from the immense heat source. You clenched your teeth tightly, airy and painful laugh falling through your grimace. Dropping the notebook, you wrapped your hand around your left wrist, squeezing it tightly as Taichi helped you stand up. An endless series of insults left you, directed at the large cubic fire instrument.

“Okay cold water, here we go.” Taichi then left your side to finish tucking in the metal tray, silicone glove on his hand. He turned back around to see you hunched form leaning over the running sink, choppy breaths flying out of you. “Why are you baking?” he scolded.

“Oh, I can’t bake now?”

“You’ve never been able to bake.”

“Oh screw you, dude. I’m trying to learn a new skill.”

“Learning how to kill, more like it.”

Hand still stuck under the cold running water, and pain still crawling up your arm like red ants deciding to feast on your flesh, you slowly turned your head to face the younger boy, smacking your lips. You glared, “Why are you here, Taichi?”

The new university student dug his socked toe into the tiled floor of your kitchen. Pursing his lips and sending you a pair of finger guns as soon as he met your glare. He lowered them when you didn’t laugh. “I was hoping you could take care of my closing shift tonight? I have a group assignment due tomorrow and no one did any work.”

Spinning your head and torso uncomfortably to look behind you, you stared at the clock on your wall. You bit your lip. “Taichi, your shift starts at 6.”

“Uh, ya.”

“It’s 5:30.”

“Uh-huh,” he continued, barefaced, as he tucked his hands into his jean pockets.

“You're working here and waiting for the cookie timer to go off.”

Taichi nodded, moving his feet to look at the oven counting down. “Okay, got it. Do I get to eat some of them?”

You sneered at him as your blistered hand throbbed painfully at the movement of you grabbing your things, notebook included, in haste. “If they don’t kill you.” 

“Osamu! I’m so sorry for being late!” You yelled rushing through the main door and startling a few customers. You ran towards the staff only door unravelling the warm scarf from around your neck and letting your jacket fall off your shoulders as you went. 

Osamu’s eyes followed your frazzled movements, chuckling lightly as you kicked the wooden door open. He yelled through the door as you changed into your cozy uniform. “Calm down, (Y/N). You’re not late. Taichi called in too, so don’t worry.”

You poked your head through the door, brows pinched in the center before slowly walking up to stand next to him. “So I’m not late?” you asked, adjusting your hat. 

The customers had gone back to their individual activities, typing away at their computers or reading whatever book in hand or chatting over a simple brew and snack Osamu had put together for them. You looked out the front window, the sun was already beginning to set over the darkening leaves, letting a warm glow pour in through the glass to cover every surface inside the cafe despite the temperature outside being the opposite.

The evening was spent with both of you helping the late-night customers with their requests, often having to dance around each other's forms with a light ‘sorry’ or ‘excuse me’ to notify the other.

“Thank you both. Have a good night!” the last customer called, waving, as they walked through the door.

Osamu waved back as you collected the mugs and plates that were left at the tables, taking them to the back room. “I’m gonna wash these up then take my break. Is that alright?”

“No problem, we probably won't see anyone else for the night so I can handle it.”

The door swung shut behind you. 

When you turned on the tap hot water poured out quickly, and without thinking much of it, you stuck your left hand under it. You flinched, letting out a strangled yelp before switching the water to cold, letting it wash over somehow forgotten burn on the back of your hand. You sighed at your own stupidity, grabbing a dirty plate. Luckily the dishes were quick to clean, the light music you set up on your computer beforehand helped. Before you even realized, the dishes were washed and dried, and you could get some work done on your essay.

You sat down on the couch futon, blowing cold air onto your burnt hand that you switched tabs on your laptop. The constant yawns escaping you only seemed to make lying on the slightly deformed seat way more tempting than trying to get some school work done. 

“Can’t do beauty standards, everyone’s gonna do beauty standards,” you yawned again, taking your fingers off the keyboard and turning your eyes away from the bright screen. Your eyes burned as you closed them, leaning your head back against the back of the folded futon. Another yawn. “Maybe books covers?” you breathed slowly. “Hmmm.”

On the other side of the door, Osamu wiped down the table seats and counters until they were spotless, letting the red vinyl and wood patterns shine through uninterrupted. As he cleaned the glass front, squeegeeing it to crystal clear perfection, Osamu watched as the last bit of sunlight that bounced off the top of the buildings across the street disappeared. It suddenly looked a lot colder in the streets.

Hanging up the damp towel, he made his way into the backroom, flicking off the lights in the main area as he walked through the door. “(Y/N) how’s the essay going?” he trailed off, catching sight of your curled up body lying sideways along the old couch, laptop continuing to play a soft tune.

You had one foot off the couch, touching the floor, and another resting on the wooden armrest. The open legged sweats you often wore were crunched up at the knees. Your torso was twisted so you were partially on your side and your hands were pulled into your chest. Mouth slightly parted, Osamu could hear your small breaths as your chest rose and fell.

He chuckled, walking over to your side, and glancing slightly to your screen. The essay you had been rushing to complete was left open, unfinished. He closed the computer, tucking it into your bag, pulling out a small notebook to make space. The bookmarked page fell open as he set in down on the table. With a curious huff, he read the recipe over.

“Huh, simple enough.”

As he reached to gently shake your shoulder in hopes to wake you up, he caught sight of the burn that ran along the back of your hand. Huffing, he lifted his hand, put the book back in its place  —tucked between your laptop and the side of your bag—, and walked over to where the first aid kit was.

A scratchy hum was the first noise you made upon waking up. Bleary-eyed, and drained of energy, you slowly blink up to see your hand being gently wrapped in a soft cloth-like bandage. You squinted up to the black-clothed man as he fastened the bandage together.

“Did I really fall asleep?” you asked sadly, voice slightly hoarse. “I have to… write.”

The light in the room was dreadfully bright, making you squint as you tried to look at Osamu’s face. All his features were hard to see, leaving only his hair as an anchor point for you to admire as the light bounced off of it.

He said something, but in your delirious state, all you could make out was the smooth deep hum of his voice reverberating in your head like a slow waltz. You hummed again, letting out a lethargic ‘nice’. Your eyes shut again, and you drifted off to his low, breathy chuckle. An unconscious mumble followed, but you were too tired to hear his immediate response.

“Come on (Y/N),” he cooed, massaging your shoulder gently. “Time to wake up.”

Another incoherent mumble bubbled out of your mouth as Osamu tried to sit you up. Your head bobbled as you moved to be upright, falling backwards before he could catch it. Chuckling at his own mistake, he stuck an arm out, curling his hand around the back of your neck to bring it forward again. As he cradled your head gently in one hand, he used the other to continue prodding at your shoulder.

“Okay, sleepyhead. You gotta wake up now.”

There are those moments where people wake up and they think they see an alien, or shadowy figure at the edge of their bed. Those scary figures that seemed to carry a negative connotation a majority of the time. Most people, if they were to wake up, eyes fuzzy, and see a silhouette immediately before them they would very likely think the same, flail about, and duck for cover. You were not most people.

Eyelids hanging millimetres away from shutting, you gazed drowsily at the blurry from before you, tired mind trying to put together the dark shape as your body swayed back and forth. Falling forward slightly to get a closer look.

Osamu grunted slightly, catching your limp weight. The hand he used to rub your shoulder had now made its way around your back, lifting you from a different angle. His other hand still protected your neck from strain, holding your head closer to his chest. He looked down at your hazy gaze, perfectly timed with your own sudden need to lean upwards.

A near chortle of a huff forced its way out of Osamu’s nose, painting your cheek in warm air as your eyes shut fully. The feeling of your lashes dancing against the bridge of his nose tickled, making his shoulders scrunched up slightly. His grip tightened, pulling you ever so slightly closer. The light scent emitting off of your hair washed over him like a wave of fresh air, and the heat radiating off your body felt like a warm blanket on a cold night. There was a light tug at the end of his sweater as you wrapped the fabric gently between your fingers. Tough dried from being parted in your sleep, Osamu could feel the malleability of your lips as they pushed against his.

This one last surge forward, you let your arms relax, falling almost entirely limp in Osamu’s arms as you pulled away.

He blinked slowly, trying to look at the colour of your eyes between the slits of your lashlines.

Another warm hum left you was your head curled into his shoulder. “Cute.”

Osamu scoffed quietly to himself, laughing as he shook his head. “You never stop lying.”

Osamu liked to think he was a nice brother, a good brother, the best even. He kept his twin out of trouble, made sure he didn’t get injured and protected him from bullies. All for the payment of letting Osamu torment him for all eternity with repeated punches and kicks. Osamu liked to think he was a nice brother, but he wasn’t.

“Assumu, shut up or I’m gonna punch the daylight out of you.”

“Vulgar. That’s a new one, Samu. Try me.”

Hinata grabbed hold of the blond twin’s forearm as he made taunting motions to his brother, pinning it down onto the table. The smaller red-head cried out for the two brothers to stop, calling for Bokuto’s aid.

“Ya, both of you stop it. I’m trying to eat here.”

From behind his white mask, Sakusa let out an exasperated sigh, brushing a hand through his wavy hair at the part. “Would you all calm down?”

Atsumu teased out a laugh as he settled back into his seat between Hinata and Bokuto, who both happily went back to eating their donated snacks. The blonde leaned his elbows onto the counter and bounced a leg beneath him as he looked up to his uniform wearing brother. 

“So,” he drawled, smirking at the grey-haired man. “You kissed (Y/N). While they were asleep no less. Doesn’t that seem kind of rapey to you?”

Osamu groaned, ripping the black cap off his head before throwing his arms into the air. “I didn’t force it! (Y/N) was hardly even awake, definitely in some sort of dreamscape, and then just kissed me.” He groaned again, knocking his forehead into one of the coffee machines, making it rattle lightly.

“Damn,” Atsumu replied, finally relenting his mockery and reached for his own onigiri. “Guess I lost my chance then. Do you know if they even remembered it though?”

Setting down his hat, Osamu walked around the counter, pulling up a chair from one of the tables to sit with the four teammates, making them spin in the stools.

“No idea. I just drove (Y/N) back to the university dorms with Taichi’s help.”

Bokuto’s muffled voice spoke up, as he tried to talk through his full mouth. “How is Taichi doing anyway. It’s been a while since we’ve seen him.”

Osamu grimaced at the visible mushed rice poking out between the duo-toned man’s teeth. “He had a project to finish, that’s why (Y/N) was here last night. Overall he’s been doing good though.”

Hinata swallowed his last bit of onigiri, turning the top of his stool to face the older man more clearly. “When will we get to meet (Y/N), then? We could probably see them both at the same time.”

Osamu scrunched his nose up, digging his face into the palms of his hands and let out a tired, run-down laugh. “Hopefully soon if I don’t get arrested for sexual misconduct.”

Sakusa glanced at the drink orders that were written in chalk against the side wall. “Hey Atsumu,” he switched the subject. “Can you make me a pumpkin spice latte?”

Sighing, the owner of the restaurant got up from his chair and walked back to the coffee machines he had earlier abused with his forehead. “I can give it a go, but it definitely won’t be up to (Y/N)’s standards.”

Sakusa just waved it off, not caring.

“I mean, they’re still bad, but at least they’re better than last time.”

You stopped your slow typing and let out a puff of hot air. “If you actually helped maybe you’d be eating better cookies.”

“Hey hey, no no no,” Taichi laughed, munching into another dry cookie from the pile. “You’re the one that wanted to learn a new skill.”

You threw your head back into the soft couch of your living room and grabbed one of the throw pillows from the corner, shoving your face into it to muffle your angered scream. Running out of air, you dropped the pillow into your lap, shutting your eye tightly as you panted for air.

“Here,” he said, stuffing one of the burnt biscuits into your open mouth. “Eat a cookie.” 

Taking the box of poorly made cookies with him, Taichi stood up from the wooden bench at your kitchen counter and made his way to flop down onto the other side of your couch. He stuffed another straight into his mouth as he kicked his slipper clad feet onto the coffee table right next to your laptop.

“So, What’s got you all wound up? It has to be more than these cookies.”

“I,” you paused, taking a large intake of decaying leaf air into your lungs through the open window. You got up, wiping your hands on your well worn sweats, and shut the window lightly, so the only thing coming in though it would be the view of red leaves. The palms of your hands dug into the window sill. “I need to get this essay done. It’s due in two days.”

“Not buying it. Keep going,” he said, flicking his finger in a circular motion in the air.

You sighed, still looking at the old piles of leaves in the courtyard outside your dorm. “My baking skills still suck, this essay is due in two days, and I still haven’t written the personal reflection portion of it.” You spun around and leaned against the window, challenging Taichi’s disapproving expression.

He tsked, sucking in the air. “There’s something you're not telling me. What happened?”

You quickly diverted your gaze to the top corner near the exit. Your nails made a clicking sound as they flicked against each other. “I, I can’t.”

“(Y/N),” he strained.

“Nope.”

“(Y/N).”

“I can’t.” You played with the bandage on your hand.

“(Y/N). You’re lying to yourself.”

“I’m gonna get fired.”

Taichi stood up from the couch, stalking over in your direction, meaning to pin you into the corner. He stood tall in front of you, arm crossed as if he were a principal. “(Y/N), what happened?”

“I kissed our boss.”

“You did what?”

You squeaked uncomfortably, thrashing your arms about and shaking your hands to calm your nerves. Head thrown back, you yelled. “I kissed Osamu!”

His arm dropped. Taichi threw his back into a curve, spinning around as he laughed wildly in sharp honks. “That’s amazing!” he squealed, throwing himself onto the couch and kicking his feet into the plush armrest.

“Shut up, I could get fired!”

Taichi, gasping for air, sat up from his fit of giggles and sighed. “Okay, what the hell happened?”

You puffed out an annoyed gulp of air and waddled over to the couch, slumping into the open space next to him. He leaned forward, beckoning you to talk.

“I was half awake, delirious after trying to write an essay about fucking aesthetics and attraction of all things. Osamu tries to wake me up, and I plant a big one on him before falling asleep again.”

Taichi laughed, happy to hear your tale. “That’s what happened yesterday? I just thought you were overworked.”

“I was!” He smirked, watching you squirm around. “Don’t take it out of context, you know what I'm talking about.”

“Fine, fine.” He relented and reached for the half-empty box of cookies, holding it in your direction. “Eat one. You need it.”

You frowned as you bit into the over-salted cookie, swallowing it as fast as you could before the taste settled in your mouth.

“Besides,” He said, grabbing another for himself. “I don’t think getting fired is something you’ll have to worry about.”

Long night shift. The sun had fully set, making the neighbouring stores’ exterior decorations glow in all their spooky glory. You shivered as you yawned, feeling cold air run over the length of your shoulders underneath your sweater.

With a spray bottle and damp towel, you swiped down all the counters, really digging into the coffee stains that were left by an overworked mother and her grumpy toddler. For the umpteenth time that night, another yawn tore it’s way out of you as you walked toward the sink behind the counter to wash the dirtied cloth. You kept your bandaged hand out of the hot water, doing your best to just use the one.

After ringing out the both you grabbed one of the clean mugs from the counter, stalking over to the coffee machines to whip up something for yourself. You yawned again.

“Tired?” From the backroom, Osamu emerged, hands tucked neatly behind his back.

“Hmm? Oh ya. I’m whipping up a pumpkin spice mocha of sorts. Don’t want to fall asleep again.”

Osamu coughed and leaned against the counter next to you, setting down a small box that you didn’t bother to look at, too busy with your coffee. “Ah, right. Do you mind making one for me too? I’d like to be coherent, tonight. I’ll grab some fresh onigiri too.” He smiled at you.

Trying to beat the heat that was quickly climbing up your neck to try and darken the colour of your cheeks, you bit your lip and poured all your focus into the orange-hued liquid in front of you. Behind you, Osamu reached for the freshly made onigiri from the chilled display case. You could hear the fabric of his sweater shuffle as he bent down to pull it out. You reached for the whipped cream with your eye tightly sewn shut.

“Got it,” he said as you turned around with both mugs in hand.

Once in the back room, you set down both mugs onto the table, before sitting down in one of the corners of the futon, letting him take up the other half. Osamu sat down slowly, pushing the second onigiri your way. “Eat up. You can restore some energy.”

You thanked him before taking a bite from the rice ball, it was filled with spicy salmon. Smiling, you took another bite.

Osamu took a sip from his coffee, trying to lick off the leftover whipped cream from his upper lip. It looked like a small mustache, and you laughed.

“Enjoying the food, over there?” 

You chuckled again. “It’s great, but. Jeez, you have a mustache.”

Osamu grumbled, whipping the top of his lip with his thumb. “Here,” he said, grabbing the small box off the table and holding it out to you. “These are for you.”

Setting down the half-eaten Onigiri, hesitantly took the box between your fingers. You gave him a confused look as you brought it into your lap. Lifting up the attached paper lid, you found yourself staring at a small collection of cookies, iced and cut to look like the adorable black jackal mascot from his brother's team.

“I saw the recipe in your notebook that...night. I wanted to make you something as an apology, and you said that the mascot was cute.” You looked up to see him scratched back of his head, staring pensively into his mug before glancing up to meet your eyes. He flinched back, pursing his lips and racing to look at the mug again.

“You don’t have to apologize, Osamu. I initiated it.” you reached into the box, pulling out one of the cookies and took a small bite out of the jackal’s ear. “I didn’t hate it either.”

You chuckled in embarrassment, watching from the side as his ears turned a rosy colour. Taking another bite from the cookie, you leaned forward a bit, trying to catch sight of his pink cheeks through his hanging fringe. You prodded.

“I did call you cute too, remember?”

Your fingers danced over your laptop’s keyboard.

I don’t often find myself thinking about the way aesthetics affect my opinions. Looks, trends, and opinions are always evolving and changing. I don’t have the capacity to keep up with such superficial things in the same way a majority of people do. Though, on a rare occasion, I will find something endearing enough to call ‘cute’. /

Outside your window, you could see the last few leaves fall off their branches. You sat down, curled up on your dorm’s couch as you saved the final copy of your essay, nibbling away at the cookies that sat on the table next to you, pumpkin spice latte in hand.

This is now the longest thing I’ve written thus far, and so the next few I write will be short cause I’m lazy. 

Once again, this oneshot is part of a fall themed server collab, the masterlist is linked at the top, so I recommend that you give all the other stories a read, I would appreciate it. -Bacon

Posted: 25/09/2020

[selfmadesuperhero]

i’m very much not okay 

and i’ll probably take very long for me to explain why

i don’t know how to write this. i don’t know where to even start. i’m here because i just don’t have anywhere else to go. i can’t afford therapy. i no longer have any close friends other than Mabu (gf).

it’s getting pretty bad inside my head

i know most people’s lives are hell this year and i’m not special. i know that. to me, this year is feeling like the last nail in my coffin because 2019 had already chewed me up and spit me out. 

i kept my last job for eight years. after my first year there, another developer came in, and we became friends. we worked side by side less than 4 feet apart for six years. our hours were flexible but we always agreed upon our schedule just so work would be more bearable, because we both hated it and often had to team up against our boss’ downright abuse. it was a very small company (at its biggest we were only 7 employees). we were also going to graduate at the same time from the same school (different majors), so we had a bit of a pact to leave our shitty boss once we’d graduated and start developing our own, way less shitty games.

at the start of 2019, he got an excellent job offer. i was thrilled for him and told him to of course get out of that hellhole we hated so much, we were only there because the pay was decent and the hours were flexible so we could get our degree, you know? it stung, but i was happy for him. on the last day i gave him a ride home (which is also something i did almost daily), he surprised me by hugging me and telling me i was like a brother to him and our plans weren’t going to change. 

i believed him, and went back to work. he was soon replaced, obviously, by a junior developer because that’s how capitalism works. but suddenly, i no longer had someone to take a stand with me against my boss - there was no one left that i knew, everyone had resigned or been fired and i was the oldest employee. you’d think that’d earn me something, after eight years being dedicated to the same company, right? 

(shortly after, my grandma passed, after years and years of agonizing in a wheelchair. we lived together)

fuck that

the first months were fine. i was being the senior developer and teaching the junior constantly, so my boss stayed out of my way. but see, this is where he started to get ansty. the more the junior stopped being a junior and was actually useful for something, the more that piece of gigantic ass just started thinking only about our salaries. i started in that company in 2012 making little more than 3 bucks/hour (remember i live in a third world country, but it was still specialized work), but by 2019, my salary was pretty much double of what the junior was making, and every penny extra i got during those years was a CONQUEST. i also worked six hours while he worked eight, so.

my boss basically started treating me even more like shit. he wasn’t nice to be around before, but he was bearable in small amounts. suddenly it was obvious to everyone that he was really fixating on me and my performance, and to me it was obvious he just wanted me to walk away too so he could replace me with TWO junior developers instead of just one measly charlie. 

then, the nationals elections began. oh boy.

this probably wouldn’t read as news to anyone, but i’m a huge leftie, obviously. if you’re at all interested in politics, read about what socialist policies have done for uruguay during the past 15 years and how they turned us into AT LEAST a developing country, but i digress. 

the people that sat in my office even shared my political views or whatever, but my boss is actually part of the conservative party and started actively campaigning. every time something involving politics happened, he made a point to come barging in the office and telling me and specifically me about it like i was personally running against his party. i actually recorded him once to have proof of him at least screaming at me, so i could check if i was crazy for thinking he had something against me. he frequently called me communist and just mocked my views. if you’re wondering, yes, this is illegal, but nothing happened. 

then, two big things happened at once: we lost the election, and my recently adopted puppy was diagnosed with distemper. yes, it happened on the same that and it’s a day i’ll never forget. 

my girlfriend and i had talked about getting a puppy once we moved in together. we’d named him like two years before it actually happened. we moved in together on may 2019 and on september i found the most precious boy for adoption on facebook and i was innocently all like “oh i’ve had to put rescue dogs for adoption before, let’s give back!”. 

on october 27th, he had a seizure and the vet told us it was likely we’d have to put him down because only 20% of dogs survived, and it was even less for puppies. 

when i went to work, i had to put up with my boss laughing and mocking me for winning the election “against me”. i guess i missed my running for anything?

this post is already too long for me to get into details about my dog’s disease. for months, every day we looked after him constantly. i read everything there was to BE READ about distemper online, spent thousands of pesos on medicine and treatments just in case he had a chance. good news is he did! this is the only positive note in this post. 

it still wasn’t easy. he made us cry at least three times a day. we really thought he was dying, and we’d made the mistake of naming him 2 years before he was even born. we’d taken PERFECT care of him while he was unvaccinated, but the vet told us it was most likely he was already infected before he came home to us. i’d never seen such a small puppy so sick. he hallucinated constantly. if you don’t know, distemper is a neuro/digestive/skin/bone/HELL disease that’s really nasty. he’d have seizures almost daily and poop and pee himself. he stopped being able to control his body other than his two front legs, which he didn’t even have full control of. when he stopped being able to walk, he started crying constantly, it really tore the heart out of my chest

we called another vet, a dog physical therapist, so she’d tell us how we could help him. she told us to make him stand as long as possible, so every time he had a meal, i’d bend down with him and hold his hips - so he’d be able to stand, and slowly gain back some muscle mobility. every day we massaged his legs and flexed his joints, even his tiny toes, so he’d avoid atrophy. and we did it!! as i’m writing this, he’s one year old now, he’s no longer sick even if he’ll carry with him plenty of lifelong sequels, and he walks and runs and barks like the best of them ♥ i wasn’t going to plug anything but if you wanna see his progress, it’s on instagram @hamiltonthefighter

okay, i guess i ended up talking at length about his disease in the end, sorry. his walking again had a price to pay for me: my own back. for two or three months i was bent over this dog, you know? i still can’t get out of bed without help sometimes lol around december it got really bad but i just kept popping pills because joy oh joy, i was doing my thesis and i didn’t really have time or money for anything else. my job was basically paying for our rent, my university classes including the thesis course which was ridiculously expensive, and our dog had given me credit card debt out of desperation (we even had to buy those rubber things used for yoga to place on our floors so he’d have something to use his nails against instead of constantly slipping on the floor, we tried every medication that might help, we gave him CBD oils, all kinds of vitamins, constant vet visits where during the first two weeks he got like three different shots every day, etc)

i’m rambling, and i’m sorry, but i don’t really think anyone will read this. i started this post crying my eyes out and writing about my dog at least has been calming, because even if he’s a drooling mess now, he’s still the same he ever was and i love him very much and he’s sleeping soundly next to me and he’s finally close to fine. 

remember the friend i talked about like half an hour ago? the one that worked with me for six years? nothing changed between us during the first months. for my thesis, i was going to develop a videogame with Mabu, but we were allowed to have external coding help because it was about GameDev, not the actual coding. i knew how to code, obviously, but Nico (the friend, guess we’ll give him a name) was also part of our project so he was gonna help us code so i had more time to focus on art and 3D modelling. the idea was kill two birds with one stone, make something we all liked, mabu and I were going to graduate with it and then we’d keep working on it during 2020 as we’d always always talked about.

by december, even if nico and i still talked regularly, i could tell he had just moved on with his life. he’d said he’d help us, but he was doing his own thesis, so i told him not to worry at that time, our final due date was in february. he asked us to forgive him during december and promised us he’d come back in january to DEVOTE himself to the project. i started coding the project besides working on the art and i was thankfully able to meet all the deadlines, so it was really fine, of course i understood where he was coming from. 

then, on january 7th, Mabu’s grandma passed away. she was scheduled for a heart surgery that supposedly only had 1% risk, and she passed on the table because of a doctor’s mistake. the surgery was here in the capital, but Mabu’s family lives five hours away. she comes from a very big, very loving family, and her grandma (being the mother of five children) was very much the center of it. i also loved her. she’d replaced my grandma the second she passed and every time i saw her she hugged me like i was a lost grandson. 

when my girlfriend called me during her surgery, i immediately left work because i just knew she would be crying if things were okay. this was a nightmare come alive for a family of 20+ people, and most of them were 5 hours away from their own house. my mother in law was (and still is) devastated by the lost of her mother because she was the one to encourage the surgery and she still thinks she killed her. i drove my her, my girlfriend, her sister and her sister’s boyfriend on my mother’s in law van for five hours while they all cried or slept and i had to really, really pinch myself because i was EXHAUSTED but what else could i do? 

logically i missed work the next day. LOGICALLY. i had the service to attend and i was 5 hours away from the office and i didn’t even have my own car with me. i told my boss to discount the day, since i wasn’t entitled to the mourning day by law because it wasn’t my grandma. he didn’t even reply - he almost never talked to me by this point unless it was to berate me for something. i went back to work the day after the service.

now, remember we were doing our thesis and it was due in february? it really wasn’t great timing for anyone to die, but i was trusting Nico’s promise that he’d have more free time and he’d make up for not helping us code sooner. i told him the news about Mabu’s grandma, and then basically had to tell him to say something to her for her loss because he was supposed to be her friend, what the fuck, why aren’t you at least sending her a text.

let’s just say, january wasn’t a great month for Mabu and myself. two weeks after the passing, we still hadn’t had news from Nico. Mabu didn’t even have time to properly mourn because we had to turn our thesis in like, little over a month. i wrote to nico just downright ASKING if he was gonna be able to help us or WHAT, to which he said to me...

he’d never promised anything because he was really busy with his own stuff and he didn’t want to bring it up sooner because he knew Mabu was mourning and things were hard for us at the moment? 

like that’s great pal, thanks for telling me at the last POSSIBLE second you were just dropping out altogether, what the actual fuck? it still baffles me that someone can be so thick headed, but he kept saying he had made no promises and both Mabu and I knew that was a lie and i honestly just couldn’t deal with someone so selfish he couldn’t at least give a heads up sooner

the icing on the cake during the beginning of this year is someone i haven’t even mentined: MY PIECE OF SHIT BROTHER. talking about him may deserve another post, because this is already so long and convoluted and i haven’t even talked about his involvement in my misery during 2019-2020. i’ll try to make the story short if anyone’s still reading this far: 

a lot of years ago, our maternal grandmother moved to uruguay from russia and bought a tiny shitty house here next to my mother’s. my mother still hasn’t talked to me since 2013 because i’m trans, but that’s neither here nor there. i tried to keep in touch with my brother (we don’t share dads so he was no relation with my side of the family), and around 2017 i finally succeeded in making friends with him. or so i thought, clearly. 

that grandmother passed... sometime. i don’t really know because they cut me off. she didn’t speak to me either, she was literally a crazy old nasty woman and i didn’t even care when i heard she’d died, to be honest. she was such a nasty woman, she’d put her tiny shitty house to my and my brother’s name just to keep her own daughter out of the inheritance when she bought it. 

that also meant i was inheriting something for the first time ever, even if it was shitty. BUT my brother had his own fake grandma (the woman who looked after him his whole life instead of our mother) who was very old and frail and asked me if he could house her there. i said yes because again, i didn’t give a shit about the inheritance or the house or anything regarding my mother’s side of the family (other than him obviously), so for years this woman occupied the house. my brother basically took all existing furniture and appliances because he was moving in with a girlfriend and i even loaded up my shitty car with his stuff. all i wanted to inherit was the couch set, which had come all the way from russia and everyone had promised me since i was a wee lad, but he started whining about his fake-grandma not having a living room set and nowhere to sit and i didn’t even live by myself yet so i let them have the fucking couches, too. 

oh boy this is already too long but now i’m too lazy to make a separate post

anyway, sometime during 2019, the woman moved out to an old folks home because she could no longer take care of herself. i immediately asked about the couch set with hope in my heart that it could finally be mine, but my brother told me our mother didn’t want me to have it. 

he wanted to rent the house to make a profit, which sounded good to me because of that dog related credit card debt i talked about. and here’s where you might think i’m not that there in the head, but all my life i didn’t want anything to do with that house until my mother was in the ground - not out of hate but because i thought it was a shitty thing her own mother had done to her, and the inheritance should have been hers. she doesn’t have a degree or a stable job because she’s a russian translator so hey, whatever, they needed it more than i did. but then my brother starting getting ideas about improving the house so we’d make more money, and how we should do it together, and... i think i might have mentioned already why i didn’t exactly have time to redo a house? i was doing my thesis? about to graduate? my boss was constantly on my case? my dog was about to die? 

i helped as much as i could at first, but then december came, and then january, and my brother just kept nagging me about the house like i was purposefuly sitting on my ass doing nothing, because oh every day it’s not rented it’s money lost. no amount of explaining how stretched thin i was seemed to suffice, not even when mabu’s grandma died and nico left us hanging with the thesis and i had less than a month left to code the whole project by myself while ALSO taking care of the art. 

by the end of january, i was so stressed, i called a doctor after a panic attack. he gave me a weeks rest because of my back, because i wasn’t even able to get up without help at that time. it wasn’t much of a rest because i still used that time to sit at the computer and code 15 hours a day at LEAST, but hey. 

it was the first time in 8 years i’d taken medical leave of ANY kind. i didn’t even get medical leave when i got my chest surgery. it happened on a friday and i was back to work the next monday. i’d never skipped more than 2 days of work at best when i had a bad case of the flu or something, but that was it. 

when i went back to work, my boss immediatelly called me to his office. he started berating me about my performance again, bringing graphs comparing the amount of lines of code i’d written next to my coworkers. i didn’t mention this, but the graphic designer had also quit during 2019, so i was also covering that workload and no, that didn’t exactly translate to lines of code. i also had to spend HOURS every day tutoring the junior because he was too much of a cheap shit (didn’t use those words) to hire an experienced developer. i’d even WORKED AS A GRAPHIC DESIGNER FOR MEDIA CONTENT FOR HIS POLITICAL CAREER, EVEN IF IT WAS AGAINST MY BELIEFS AND NOT AT ALL RELATED TO MY JOB. he denied everything. EVERYTHING. he stuck to the narrative that i was just lazy and the proof was i’d just taken AN ENTIRE WEEK because “my back just hurt a little” and i had the audacity to skip work for someone else’s grandmother dying

i’m not exaggerating, i swear to anyone who might be reading this. that day was brutal and i’m still not over it half a year later, i don’t care if that makes me sound like a wuss. i worked eight years of my life in this fucking place. 

this argument lasted for hours, but i kept my head down because i couldn’t afford to lose the job, specially not then. i even apologized for any loss in performance and tried to explain my point of view and what i was going through (which i’d already done to another superior weeks ago anyway). but just when i thought i’d MAYBE be able to keep my head above water, he told me he was denying my the request i’d made to take two weeks of holiday days before the thesis final due date. 

i had already explained everything to him. everything, even nico dropping the team and my having to do everything by myself. i broke down and i told him he was forcing me to leave my job, i’d just have been certified by a doctor and i was asking for leave for SCHOOL (all things that are protected by law here), but he just kept repeating i could either walk away from my job or show up during those two weeks. he just wanted me gone, but he couldn’t fire me right away without having to pay me THOUSANDS because of my seniority (by law). he knew what he was doing to me and he didn’t care about it. he didn’t even let me TOUCH MY COMPUTER, he told me he wasn’t the one pushing me away, that i was doing this to myself, and he’d ask for a lawyer to check my computer for any “inconsistencies in my activity”, even. i really have a hard time just thinking about that day and how utterly humilliating it was. i lost a lot of personal files, because i sat at that desk for eight years and of course i had personal files because sometimes i stayed after hours before going to class. 

imagine for a second a sixty year old man, rich as shit, political candidate, standing in front of a computer, disconnecting the mouse and keyboard so i couldn’t touch it, yelling at me i was doing this to myself and i was losing my job because i had the audacity to ask for two weeks leave to finish my fucking school thesis. 

and yeah, i lawyered up. i didn’t have actual money to AFFORD a lawyer, but mabu’s cousin’s girlfriend was a lawyer and lived one block away and i immediatelly told her everything there was to tell. she brought me to the firm she worked in and they guaranteed me i had a pretty strong case and i was at least gonna be able to walk away with something.

that put things in hold for a while because the “trial” or whatever wasn’t gonna be held until after the thesis, so i tried to forget about it. my boss even owed me my untaken paid vacation days, which i told the lawyers because i was pretty sure he’d just forgot, but i wanted to know if it made a better case against him. they agreed, and i left it at that. 

but you know who was still making my life miserable even when february began and i had less than three weeks to finish our project right? MY SWEET BABY BRO. he was constantly nagging me about having to do all the work himself, like I’D ASKED ANYTHING FROM THAT HOUSE TO BEGIN WITH. but see, the nastier he started getting, the more apparent his lies began to appear. he got nasty to the level where ON THE DAY I WAS TURNING THE PROJECT IN he kept calling me demanding MONEY for stuff he’d paid for the house without checking in with me. i was honestly baffled by his level of selfishness, i was already sleeping three hours a day tops and he expected me to what, paint walls? he was FIERCELY against having to wait for my project to be done even if it was two weeks away and he was asking and asking for money when i’d just told him i’d lost my job without a penny to show for it. nice guy, really. 

suddenly, the following lies became clear: 

 my mother didn’t care if i took the couch set, he told me that because he was moving again and he was planning on taking the couches himself. (he ended up doing just so, too). he lied to me with the thing that hurts me most in the world: my mother hating me. he had even made a joke about it, because my mother had bought a new couch not long ago, and he didn’t “get” why she “didn’t want me to have anything”

 years ago he’d told me he had refinanced a tax debt the house had, and i gave him money for it. now that the house was about to be put up for rent, he pretended that had never happened and suddenly started talking about how we needed to take care of that

 he wasn’t planning on splitting the rent three ways between him, our mother and i. he was gonna keep two thirds, and i later even found out my own mother had given him the idea. 

 then poor mabu confessed to me once, two years ago, she’d wore a skirt one time visiting my brother and his then girlfriend, and he had told her nasty stuff to her year upon saying goodbye and she had never said anything because didn’t want to hurt our sibling relationship 

talk about final nail huh? 

i confronted him and he denied everything, obviously, he instantly played the victim card, how dare i think that way about him, how dare i break his dreams of reuniting the family again. he said things to me i’ll also never forget like, apparently, it shows that i’m a shit person because i have no friends and no one wants me around, unlike him that has so many. he told me i thought the world owed me when i was shit and i believed anything anyone told me before believing him. no one told me any of his lies, i caught them all by myself, but whatever. he cursed me and told me he never wanted anything to do with me because i was rotten and i only cared about money and i was so so selfish. this must have been around march and i still don’t know anything from him, or care.

what do i have to do for that side of the family to leave me alone, i wonder? all i ever wanted to do was be his friend

the “trial” against my boss came and suddenly every lawyer that worked at that firm was taking a fucking holiday except for the one that was supposedly leading my case - except suddenly, i didn’t have much of a case at all. i walked away with less than 2 thousand dollars and that was WITH the vacation days i hadn’t taken. the agreement was the lawyers were gonna keep 25% of however much i made but THAT vacation money wasn’t supposed to count because it didn’t come out of the “trial” thing, you know? 

well, it did. the lawyer screwed me over too. but hey, at least he’d gotten me unemployment for a couple of months (you only apply for unemployment if you’re fired, not if you walk away from a job, and my having been fired or not was what was being contested), i still tried to be optimistic, i had a few months to figure things out while i looked for another job, and at least i was able to finish paying for school with that money.

yeah, this was late february, beginning of march. joke’s on me for being optimistic at all

my own brother plotting with my own mother against me has done a number for my mental health. i already had baggage aplenty, like every trans dude or girl whose parents would rather see them dead than be a dyke/fag (my mother’s own words, ladies and gents)

my boss of eight years kicking me to the curve at the worst moment in my life in the most humilliating of ways while blaming me for it has left me feeling so worthless to people in general. i’m getting better with time, i think, but i’m still all not there. i have a really hard time thinking my work is worth anything at all.

i keep thinking my brother was right, and i’m a shitty friend, and i don’t deserve anyone around. my only real friend at the moment is my girlfriend, which makes it really hard to have any arguments because i start feeling like my life is ending because she’s pretty much all i have left and she’s the most important thing in the world to me because i wouldn’t have survived all this shit i’m writing without her by my side. i would walk to hell and back for her. but nico also left me behind without a second thought, after telling me i was like a brother to him, no matter how many times i invited him to hang out or anything to keep in touch. i’ve been a shitty friend to a lot of people, but not him, and he still didn’t care about me at all, so i just stopped trying. 

but now social distancing has got me all fucked up. i can’t trust people. i can’t go outside. everything is scary to me, i have at least two or three panic attacks per WEEK and they get nastier and longer every time. i know i need help, but i can’t even afford rent, let alone therapy. Uruguay has the worst unemployment rates since 2006 now thanks to our baby-Trump right now. i look for jobs daily even if the notion of having a job even SIMILAR to the one i had before gives me the shakes. programming isn’t as hard as some people may think, but the workplaces are usually VERY toxic because you’re valued by the amount of lines of code you write, and i’m so so tired. i’m still looking because I NEED. TO. PAY. RENT. but not because it’s something i want in life, at all. i’d much rather be poor and just do freelance work instead, but i’m failing.

i thank the people that have helped me or commissioned me these past few months from the bottom of my heart. i’m sorry i’m not more active, i’m sorry i’m still rusty and can’t draw faster, i’m sorry i sometimes spend half a day crying my eyes out because i just don’t know how to move forward. i have a week left, i still haven’t made enough for rent, let alone the bills or food. mabu used to get plenty of art commissions on etsy, but she hasn’t sold anything since march either and she’s younger than me so our financial struggles have an even deeper impact on her

i’m just so, so tired. i’m lucky to have mabu, and that is about it. i honestly don’t think i could have survived this year without her. for months the future has looked like a black screen to me. i can’t even trust the vegetable market in front of my fucking house because some piece of shit spread the rumor that i’m trans and now i can’t even open the door to my front house without getting stares sometimes, it’s ridiculous. i wish i could trust more than one person in the world so that everything wasn’t on her shoulders.

i’m not okay. we’re not okay.

that’s about it. i’m sorry i can’t end this on a more positive note. at least we graduated with an excellent score. not that we had a graduation, obviously. thanks corona.

thank you for reading if you read this far ♥

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

(Prompts with boxes have been taken, highlighted have been written.)

I have requests and ideas for all of the prompts, so no more requests from this card will be accepted. I’m planning on writing and posting all of these within the month of December and probably a bit into January. If you don’t want to see these stories, block the tag #false bthb, if you would like to be tagged in future stories shoot me an ask!

This prompt got away from me a bit so it’s split into two parts. The prompt comes into play in the second part. Requested by @atlasistryingherbest​ I hope you enjoy it, the second part will be up tomorrow!

General tagging: @im-an-anxious-wreck (you're gonna be tagged in mostly bthb this month as that's the project I'm working on, so if you'd like this changed to only the multichapter fics or general one shots please let me know. Thank you again for the interest!)

My Sunshine Part 1

Summary: Patton thinks he’s finally caught the break he needs when he finds and falls in love with Roman. Ignoring the warning signs until it’s too late Patton ends up losing more than he had dared to gain.

Warnings: more for part two but story contains human trafficking, implied non consensual sex and starvation

Prompt: Denied food as Punishment

Ships: Royality, Patton x Roman

WC: 4, 166

Patton skirted around another group of students, clutching his rather heavy school bag and trying not to bump into anyone in his rush to his bus. The college campus wasn’t exactly large but the crowds remained a nuisance no matter how small the classes were. Seeing the bus start to pull up to the sidewalk for its hourly trip into the downtown area he quickened his pace, desperate not to miss it again. Thankfully getting to the back of the waiting line with time to spare he took a breath and finally managed to zip his bag closed, hoisting it over his shoulders and looking around to see if he could recognize anyone from his classes.

Having just moved into town for school a month ago Patton didn’t really have any friends yet, just people who would occasionally ask him for a pencil only to not give it back- but that was fine! Whenever he ran out of pencils to give he could just ask them for one and he would know they’d have one since he had given so many of his away. If nothing else he figures a missing pencil was as good an ice breaker as any to start a conversation with somebody.

Lost as he was in his thoughts he immediately snapped out of it when he caught sight of one of the cutest men he had ever seen. Tall, dark and handsome didn’t even begin to cover it when he saw the stranger laugh at whatever the person next to him was talking about and reach up to push longish, curly hair out of his eyes. The stranger seemed to suddenly become aware that he was being stared at, turning his head and somehow immediately locking eyes with an extremely flustered Patton. Offering a king smile and a small wave Patton was sure he turned at least ten different shades of red before he managed to tear his eyes away and trip up the stairs to the bus to plop tiredly in the first empty seat he could find.

Burying his face in his hands he groaned at his own stupidity, lamenting the fact that he had been caught ogling someone he didn’t even know or recognize from any of his classes. He had seemed so nice though, not even seeming fazed at being stared at- though with such a confident air that he seemed to have Patton thought maybe he was used to it by now. All he could hope was that he’d never see the stranger again and if he did he wouldn’t remember Patton as that creepy guy in the bus line who probably looked half dead for as much coffee he consumed to keep up with his life.

Deciding not to dwell on it too much he grimaced as he hoisted his pack up yet again as his stop came into view, dreading another afternoon spent on his feet trying to hear people’s orders and write them down correctly while the general noise of the restaurant made it a challenge to get his own forcibly friendly “Hello, what can I get for you?” to be heard. Shuffling off the bus with everyone else he quickly jogged down the block and around the back of the restaurant he worked at, swiping his apron on in the same motion of throwing his bag down and scooting it under a table and out of the way. Smoothing his hair bag and rubbing what he hoped was most of the tiredness from his eyes he put on his best smile and waltzed his way out onto the main floor, tagging out his shift swift for which he was barely acknowledged before they gestured to a family just getting comfortable for him to service.

Squaring his shoulders and taking one more deep breath he began walking over to them. It was just a five hour shift, he could handle a five hour shift.

-----

He could barely handle a five hour shift.

Frowning down at his bag that contained his barely started on homework his fingers fumbled with the knot of his apron as he desperately tried to work it off. Huffing in frustration he bent his neck painfully to get the top part off and shimmied hip hips while yanking the bottom part until he was finally able to kick it into a wall. Dragging a hand over his face he snatched it up and hung it up rather aggressively before getting his bag and hurrying out the back door to catch the bus back to his run down apartment. The ride was as uneventful as ever but he almost missed it when he finally reached his apartment only to see a corner of an envelope sticking out from under the door that would undoubtedly contain the rent bill he would have to scrape together enough change to meet again.

Although he was grateful to be away from his family and that he had been able to get into college in the first place it was an expensive path in life that he had to work hard at two jobs to maintain, still barely managing to scrape by each month. Since switching campuses to be closer to work opportunities it had only seemed to get worse. If he had a roommate it might be different, at least taking some of the financial burden off his shoulders but he didn’t know anyone in this town enough to ask and he definitely didn’t want to invite people he didn’t know into his life with an ad in the newspaper calling for a roommate- who knew if they’d even pay rent or pick up after themselves or leave his things alone. No, Patton was a little too paranoid for that. Flopping face down onto his couch he wormed his way half under the back cushions and seat cushions until it was just a little too tight and sighed contently, letting his eyes finally drift shut as he gave his legs a rest. His stomach growled not ten minutes later however, making him groan and debate whether making something would actually be worthwhile. Realizing he still had work to do anyway he carefully got up and rolled up his sleeves, wondering if that frozen pizza in the freezer was still good.

A little while later with pizza in one hand and a pencil in the other he worked his way through his math and science homework, stacking them to the side as he made way for the english paper he had yet to start. He was still trying to work through basic classes before he got to...whatever it wsa he would decide he wanted to major in, though sometimes he was intimidated but the already nearly overwhelming workload he had to tell himself it would all be worth it. He just had to smile through it and push through until he came out the other side with a bright a nd shiny degree and an even brighter future. Of course, that optimism could only take him so far as he stared at the book report he was supposed to be at least outlining, a quick glance at the clock telling him that if he wanted to shower, now would be the time if he didn’t want to be late for his stocking job. Working at a warehouse form one to seven in the morning definitely wasn’t ideal but it paid well and it was just enough to keep him floating while he worked his way through school. Wincing as he stood up on wobbly, half asleep legs he dumped his plate in the sink and headed to the bathroom for a quick shower before he had to be at the warehouse for his shift.

Stumbling out of his apartment complex still struggling to get his jacket on he happened to look up and see an unfamiliar car parked across the street. I wonder if someone else is moving in, he thought, squinting in the darkness of the early morning to try and make out details. He thought he saw movement in the drivers side but the beeping of his watch let him know he had a very limited amount of time now to get to where he was going, so turning on his heel he booked it to the warehouse a few blocks down, any other thoughts drowned out by the apprehensionsion of the promised monotony to come.

-----

Patton was dead on his feet by the time his shift ended and he made it back to his apartment. Making side eyes at the couch wit his notes still scattered on the coffee table he shook his head and went down the short hallway to his bedroom instead, peeling off his shirt and pants as he went and flopped onto the box spring, flopping his arm around for his treasured dog plushie before curling onto his side and beginning to snore within minutes. When he woke up to his insistent alarm five hours later he groaned and threw the plushie at the offending machine to no avail. Stretching out his stiff muscles he reached over and pressed the button to get the thing to shut up while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Another day, another...well just another day really. He had half an hour to make himself somewhat presentable and make coffee, maybe try to scratch out part of that english outline before heading off to class and repeating the daily routine of rushing around and catching quick ten minute naps when he could. Thankful today was Wednesday, meaning he had two more regular days and then Saturday he only had to get through his warehouse shift before he was free for the weekend. He made a face at the dust clinging to nearly every surface in his room.. Maybe he’d use that weekend to clean a bit.

Coffee brewing, face washed and toast wolfed down he did actually manage to get a quarter of his outline done before he had to gather everything up and leave. Taking a thermos of caffeine for the road he made it out in record time to catch the bus, idly noting the car from last night was still parked across the street, though it was clearly empty now. A dark blue Sudan with tinted windows from what he could. Shrugging he went to wait in line with everyone else; what he wouldn't give for his own car.

----

It wasn’t until the following week that he saw the car in a different place, this time parked in front of his restaurant. The only reason he really noticed it was because he had honestly been wondering when the thing would be toed considering it never seemed to leave the same spot from across the street. Shrugging the fleeting interest off he quickened his pace and got his apron on, shimmying the bottom part over his head since he hadn't got the knot undone and bending his neck forward to properly don the front loop. Smoothing himself out while shoving his bag under the table and fishing for his notepad and pen he stretched his face into yet another believable smile and pushed his way out of the kitchen and to his shift switch, only to freeze in place when they gestured to a table with a lone figure sat at it.

This cannot be happening, he thought with dismay. At the table sat the very stranger who had smiled at him after catching him staring last week. He was just as cute as ever and had a relaxed, easy smile on his face that Patton instantly felt himself melt for. Now is not thee time Patton, he scolded himself as he straightened his apron and walked over, palms sweating an embarrassing amount with knees he hoped to God weren’t visibly shaking.

“Hello, what can I get for you?”

The man looked up and his smile only grew wider as he cupped his chin. “Have we met?”

Sputtering, Patton clutched his notepad to his chest as he struggled to string a coherent thought together. He knew! He knew and now he’d get to tell him what a creep he was and-

“I’m certain I would have remembered the name of a person as cute as you if we had.” The man leaned forward practically purring. “Patton is it? That suits you.”

Patton barely heard the other half of what was being said to him, the word “cute” bouncing around in his skull too many times for him to properly concentrate on the actual conversation. He turned his incredibly red face away from the others gaze, not quite sure what to say back, thankfully the man saved him from having to respond by finally leaning back and taking the menu up again. “I’m very sorry, where are my manners? I’m keeping you from your job aren’t I?”

He was but heck if Patton was going to agree with that statement. The kinder he was the more this person might tip, and besides, he actually was very cute especially up close. He didn’t mind a bit of casual flirting especially since the other didn’t seem to have anything against him.

“You’re fine sir! I um- I don’t mind.” That being the closest Patton could get to actually accepting a compliment he quickly moved on. “Are you ready to order?”

“Yes actually! I’d like a chicken sandwich with tomato and a chef’s salad on the side.”

Nodding, Patton looked back up from his scribbling. “And to drink?”

“Water would be lovely.”

Taking the menu, he nodded again. “It’ll be right out sir.”

“Thank you, Patton.”

The use of his name set him on edge for a second but he quickly brushed it aside. He was just being nice, sure maybe overly nice- but this was the first full blown kind of conversation he’d held with someone who wasn't his landlord or boss in weeks. If the stranger wanted to use his name that was fine. He’d just have to learn his!

Busy as the restaurant was in the afternoon he was slightly disappointed he hadn’t seen the man leave but made his way over to the table to start cleaning up while he had a free minute. Lifting the check book his eyes nearly bugged out of his head at the tip that was left. A solid fifty dollar bill lay next to the receipt, and on the latter a phone number was written along with a name.

“Roman.” Patton breathed out. He realized he was holding a third month's rent in his hands, he could get groceries this week...proper groceries! Like...Patton pursed his lips in thought, maybe fruit and vegetables? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d bitten into an apple that hadn’t gone completely soft from sitting in the cafeteria for far too long. With stars in his eyes and a name in his heart he pocketed the tip and went about the rest of his shift in a daze, not even noticing the dark blue Sudan still parkly in the parking lot as he made his way back home.

----

Roman was absolutely charming- in every sense of the word. After their first phone call where Patton had thanked him endlessly for the very generous tip they had been texting and calling nearly nonstop. The flowery, flirty way he spoke, the way he looked at Patton like he was hung on the moon, even the way he said his name like he was cradling something precious, it was almost too much. Patton’s workplace had become a regular place for Roman to eat, always sitting at the same place and getting there seemingly right as Patton’s shift started. Tired still though he was, he found the monotony broken at last by a welcome smile to greet him every day of the week, and he was absolutely living for it.

Patton was ecstatic when Roman asked him on a date the following week, securing Saturday as the day they’d meet up at a different restaurant and hang out. He felt like he was floating, like finally something was sliding into place and everyday that it got close to the weekend just made him even more motivated to finish his shifts and homework so he could talk to the one who had so quickly captured his attention. The days flew by, and when Saturday finally came he rushed through his shift at the warehouse to go home and sleep, wanting to be well rested for his first date in years.

-----

Despite his excitement, Patton ended up oversleeping and rushing in vain around his apartment, throwing together a haphazard outfit consisting of a soft blue, non-work polo and light jeans. Sliding his feet into his usual tennis shoes and running quick fingers through his hair he could only hope that was enough as he ran out of his apartment and down the stairs to the street below. The restaurant wasn’t far thankfully and he was able to jog there in no time at all, hoping he didn’t look like too much of a sweaty mess to the other man who always looked impeccably out together. Spotting him at a table on the far side of the joint next to the windows Patton made his way over and sat down nervously.

“I’m so sorry I’m late! I overslept and I tried to hurry but-”

“Please, don’t worry about it.” Roman lain a hand on top of Patton's leaving him to fight to contain his blush. “I wasn’t waiting that long and besides, this place has a lovely view.”

Turning to look out the window, Patton had to agree. The restaurant had a wonderful view of the local park, families playing with their children or pets as the Saturday afternoon wore on. He watched the families almost wistfully, almost but not quite missing his own as he watched one play hide-and-seek while another helped their child across the monkey bars. He was so enraptured by the sight before him he didn’t notice Roman’s gaze turn calculating before his easy smile slid back into place, placing his chin in his hands as he joined Patton in people watching.

“Someday, when I leave this town, I’d like to be settled with a family like that.” Roman’s voice brought Patton out of his own thoughts, making him turn to his date with a smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, I’d like to have someone to take care of and love, and have them love me back. It sounds perfect doesn’t it?”

Patton flicked his eyes away for a second before smiling again. “It does. To be stable and settled down with kiddos, that’s the life I want.”

Seeming to sense his hesitation Roman cocked his head to the side. “Got a bad experience with families?”

“I-” Patton again was slightly put off by the stranger's forwardness and apparent skills of perception but he brushed it aside, finding it nice to be listened to. “My family and I didn’t get along very well I guess. We don’t talk at all now.”

Roman’s eyes flashed as he nodded. “I understand that. My family doesn’t talk to me much anymore either. It happens.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Patton looked away again as the waitress walked over with water and menus. Quietly thanking her Patton skimmed the list of items searching for something cheap. Settling on a club sandwich with a side of coleslaw he closed the menu just in time for the waitress to come back. Taking their orders she quickly left them alone once again, Patton trying desperately to hide a yawn behind his fist.

“Am I boring you already?” Roman said teasingly, and Patton’s face burned in embarrassment.

“It isn’t that I swear I-”

“It’s okay! Tired from work, I take it?”

Patton nodded gratefully and scratched his neck. “I work two jobs with school and I just- I’m a mess.”

Roman chuckled and shook his head. Hardly! That’s quite admirable of you actually, you work so hard for what you have.”

Patton smiled a bit at the table, blush dying down a bit as he breathed. “I guess so yeah.”

“Well I know so!” Patton flinched slightly as he raised his voice but Roman didn’t seem to notice as their food was placed in front of them and they dug in.

“We should really come here more often, this was exquisite!” Patton’s eyes shot up as he heard that. We? More often? Did that mean-

“You think entirely too loud for my liking my sunshine. Please forgive my forwardness, but would you like to do this again sometime?”

Patton beamed at the other man, twisting his fingers nervously under the table. “I’d love to, Roman.”

-----

The next couple months went by in a blur, having dates when they could manage them and extended phone calls when they couldn’t. Then a weekend finally came when they could go out again, deciding meeting at the same restaurant was fine since it was so good last time. Thankfully Patton wasn’t late again, sliding in a chair across from Roman and taking the menu in his hands.

“Hey Roman!’

“Hello my love, it’s good to see that smile again.” Face heating quickly Patton hid his face behind his menu and ignored Roman’s soft chuckles, deciding to order the same thing for simplicity's sake. Giving their orders and receiving their drinks left the two alone and Roman took the opportunity to lean forward with a serious expression, making Patton squirm nervously in his chair.

“Patton, I have something I want to ask you, and you can absolutely say no if you wish to.”

Pressing his lips together Patton nodded for him to continue.

“I know how hard you work, what with two jobs and school on top of that; you’ve told me you sometimes struggle to meet the rent. We’ve been dating for a couple months now and I was wondering, would you like to move in with me?”

Taken aback by the question Patton could do nothing but gape at the other man, silence stretching between them as he tried to comprehend what he was hearing.

“I understand the hesitancy but I feel like it makes more sense. I could pay most of the rent while you contribute the rest, we could trade off making dinner, it’s a bigger apartment I’m sure so you could get out of that run down building. Plus it's closer to your campus so you wouldn’t have to take the bus, and I could always drive you to work.”

“Roman- that’s incredibly generous of you but I can’t ask you to do that.” Declining drove a stake through his heart but Patton was determined to stay firm. He wasn't a charity case, and even if the answers to nearly all of his problems were sitting right in front of him he knew he had to refuse.

“Patton, you aren’t asking, I am.” Roman looked imploringly into his eyes. “You do so much, let me take care of you.”

Biting his lip, Patton looked back at Roman nervously. This was an incredible thing that had just landed right in his lap- he wanted to say yes so badly but what if they didn't work out? If they broke up Patton would be on the street, he didn’t know anyone besides Roman and his bosses and the latter he knew wouldn’t think twice about some poor college student living on the sidewalk. Plus he felt like the relationship was moving so fast, though he didn’t really have much to compare it to other than little high school flings so maybe he was just paranoid. But it was so difficult to keep up with the rent, and if he had the security of Roman- not quite the roommate he had imagined but definitely better, maybe everything was finally looking up.

Squeezing Roman’s hand he took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay. Only if you're sure and I’ll of course help out around the apartment in any way I can!”

“I don’t doubt it my love.” Their food was placed in front of them, as Roman nodded. “We can move you in today if you like. It wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

Smiling giddily Patton nodded. Yes, everything was certainly turning around for the better.

-----

As they left the restaurant with Roman leading him to his car so they could start packing up his apartment, Patton nearly froze on the spot but managed to keep walking like nothing had happened. He climbed somewhat nervously into the car he had been seeing outside of his apartment, outside of his restaurant and even sometimes outside of the rather remote warehouse where he worked. He shut the door to the dark blue Sudan carefully and buckled his seatbelt, pushing the buzzing in his ears aside as he settled in his seat and listened to Roman’s idle chatter.

Everything was looking up. It would be fine.

This work is also available on AO3!

Part 2 here

[coyotesongwriting]

Operation: Christmas

Avengers - Natasha Romanov/Reader

Part 2 of my 12 Days Of Christmas Fics!

Story Summary: Every year your dad throws a Christmas party, and you’re expected to attend so that your dad can show you off. Each year is worse than the last, but when Nat offers to go with you as your date this year maybe things are looking up.

Word Count: 4612 

Author’s Note: I hope you guys enjoy! Happy Holidays!

Warning: Your stepmom is kinda a dick

Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters so don’t sue me please. I just really like them haha

Tag List (if you want to be added or removed let me know!):  @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic @queenoftheunderdark @redfoxwritesstuff​ @brokenthelovely  @collinsstanharbour @samsgoddess​ @noplacelikehome77

With a loud groan of frustration, you threw yourself back onto the bed next to Nat. She was sitting with her back against the wall, her legs stretched out in front of her as she watched you. When she’d heard you were still struggling to find an ‘appropriate’ dress for your father’s holiday party this evening, she’d offered to lend you one. For the last half hour you’d been raiding her closet as she gave you a thumbs up or down on each one. 

You’d managed to finally settle on a gorgeous red dress, elegant enough that your father wouldn’t complain but simple enough that you didn’t feel uncomfortable in it. The color was a gorgeous maroon, and it had some embroidery work on the top, coming up to the sweetheart neckline. 

“I don’t even want to go to this stupid party, Nat” you whined, turning to nuzzle your face into her leg. 

Her hand reached out to brush the hair out of your face, a small frown on her lips. You’d long ago accepted that your feelings for her were one-sided, but you were a tactile person. Touching her always brought a sense of peace over you, and as long as she continued to lean into your touch, you weren’t going to stop.

“Then why are you going?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as she studied your face.

“Because my brother’s going and I can’t just leave him to fend for himself! We always go together and keep an eye on each other” you sighed, rolling onto your back and resting your head on her thigh. Her fingers began to comb through your hair and you let out an appreciative hum before continuing, “This year he’s bringing his fiance and I know it’s just going to be even worse than usual because Danny quit working for Dad which means he won’t even be showing him off. Basically Dad’s going to parade me around the room like his show pony and I’m going to have no one to talk to. Plus, he’s going to try and pawn me off on every single bachelor and bachelorette in there.”

Her fingers stilled in your hair and you looked up at her curiously, watching the thoughts race across her face. You loved the quiet moments like this when it was just the two of you. She felt no need to be on the defensive, and it was nice seeing her with her walls down, emotions playing across her face instead of hidden back behind the mask she normally wore. 

“What if I went with you? Just tell your dad I’m your date” she offered, smiling down at you.

You sat up quickly, eyes searching hers, “Nat, you don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine, I promise. You’ve got better things to do than go to my Dad’s Christmas party with me. Literally anything would be more fun.”

“Clearly you’ve never been on a mission with Sam and Bucky, even a Christmas party with your Dad would beat that. Besides, I want to help you out. And it would mean I get to spend the evening with you.” she argued.

“Nat…” you began to chew your lip, thinking through the possibilities in front of you. If Nat came, maybe the night wouldn’t be a pure disaster? “I couldn’t ask you to do that, not for me.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering”

“Seriously, I couldn’t do this to you. It wouldn’t feel right to torture you like this. You realize my dad would then be parading me and you around to meet each and every one of his business colleagues. He’d have to show off his ‘successful business owner and her girlfriend, the Avenger.’”

“Do you not want me to come with you?” she asked, smirking at you. She already knew what your answer would be.

“You know I do -”

She cut you off before you could continue, “Then it’s settled. You go get changed, you can take the bathroom. I’ll find something and then we can go. You said you needed to meet your brother outside the shop in an hour? Get a move on!”

Nat jumped to her feet, pulling you along with her. She grabbed the dress you’d picked, pushing it into your hands and nudging you towards the bathroom before you had a chance to argue. You hesitated for only a moment before stepping into the room. On the one hand, you wanted to argue with her, tell her she didn’t need to do this for you. But on the other… The idea of getting to pretend, even if only for one night, that Nat was dating you was enough to get you bite back any further debate.

Thirty minutes later, your hair was pulled up into a gorgeous up-do, and your makeup was done just how you liked. The chiffon of your dress had fought you a little as you’d put it on, but as you checked yourself out in the mirror you knew you’d made the perfect call on what dress to wear this evening. 

You knocked gently on the door to the bedroom, “Can I come out Nat? You dressed yet?”

Her “yes” was muffled by the heavy door, and you opened the door slowly. When your eyes fell on her, the breath caught in your throat. She’d put on a gorgeous red dress as well, the shade complimenting yours perfectly. The straps of the dress rested on her upper arms, leaving her shoulders bare to the world. A slit ran up the side of her dress high up onto her thigh. Her hair was curled slightly, and you couldn’t help but wonder how she’d managed that since you’d taken over her bathroom.

Thoughts raced through your mind, and it wasn’t until she called your name that you realized she’d spoken to you. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, and you merely prayed she wouldn’t notice, or at least, that she wouldn’t call you out on it.

“Uh…” you cleared your throat, “Sorry. Um, what were you saying?” 

She chuckled, running her hands down the front of her dress to smooth it. If you didn’t know her better, she’d almost look nervous in her movements. Your eyes wandered to her lips, starting to zone out as you imagine how they’d feel pressed against yours.

“What do you think?” she asked, spinning in a slow circle in front of you. 

“You look… amazing. Honestly, wow. Just, I mean, wow” you stammered, silently cursing yourself for sounding like a fool. 

Her laugh was soft, infectious as you always found it, and you couldn’t help but chuckle back. She held her arm out to you, and you didn’t hesitate to link yours with her as you headed out.

The ride to your book store seemed to pass in a blur. Nat had turned up the music as she drove, singing along and you couldn’t keep the smile off your face. It was times like this that you remembered the day she’d come into your life. You were working in the little book shop you owned, stocking shelves, when you’d heard yelling. A man you’d never seen before raced past you and out the back, followed a few minutes later by the most gorgeous women you’d ever seen. 

She’d caught her man, and had come back a few days later to see you. When you’d asked her, she said she just wanted to make sure you weren’t shaken up after the chase. She began to be a regular at the store. You’d tried to figure out the pattern in the books she was buying, but you could never seem to figure it out. Some days she purchased classics like Shakespeare, and the next visit she’d purchase Stephen King or even a romance novel. 

It wasn’t long before you’d befriended her, and nowadays she stopped by at least twice a week if she wasn’t on a mission. You’d never admit it to her, but you’d fallen in love with her among the bookshelves, in the cold rainy days and the heated arguments about characters and the decisions they made. 

By the time you pulled up, your brother, Danny, and his fiance, Samantha, were already waiting. As you climbed out of the car, you couldn’t help but laugh. Danny and Samantha were also wearing red, and if you hadn’t known any better you’d have thought the four of you planned it. 

You quickly introduced Nat to Danny and Samantha and piled into his car, trading small talk as you drove to the hotel downtown where your father was throwing his holiday party. The way he acted, you’d think you come from a family loaded with money. No, your family was firmly in the middle class, but he was determined to make others see him as a rich man. Which is why he always rented out a big ballroom for his party and paid for expensive catering. 

As the four you of climbed out of the car, your eyebrows pulled together in confusion. All of the other people you recognized as going to Dad’s party were wearing all white, no sign of color on them. Immediately, it hit you like a thunderbolt and you let out a whispered “Fuck.” When the others turned to look at you, you sighed deeply.

“Danny. Remember the theme?!” you hissed, your voice low. As soon as you spooke, his face blanched and his eyes skimmed over everyone entering the party. At Samantha and Nat’s puzzled looks, you sighed, “The theme for this year’s party? All white.”

Nat glanced over the group, barely holding back her smile as she realized now it really would look like the four of you had planned this. When everyone else at the party would blend in, a sea of white, you’d all stand out like a sore thumb - quite literally. 

“You know, babe” she chuckled softly at the look you gave her, “If you’d have told me there was a theme, I could have made sure we dressed appropriately.”

The look Samantha shot Danny told you this was the first she’d heard of theme as well., and you couldn’t help the nervous grin on your face. Your group lingered in the doorway, trying to decide what you should do. Before you could though, your father and step-mother had spotted you, and were making their way over. Your Dad wore his usual fake smile, but if looks could kill your step mother, Linda, would have murdered you all twice over. When you began to shift under her gaze, Nat wrapped a comforting arm around your waist, pulling you against her. 

You shot her a grateful smile, wincing slightly as your step-mother and father reached you. To anyone who walked by, it looked like a happy moment with the family. If you didn’t know her, the smile on Linda’s face would seem sincere. Her eyes told you a different story, anger swirling rapidly through them. You could almost feel the venom coming off her. 

“I see you didn’t read the invitation” Linda’s voice was flat as she pulled you in for a quick hug before she stepped back. 

Nat smiled, the definition of kindess and contrite as she spoke“I’m sorry Mrs. [Y/L/N]. I must have misread the invitation, I thought it said any color but white.”

Linda turned her attention to Nat, and froze as her gaze locked onto her face. It was clear she knew who she was, and from the way her eyes settled slightly, Nat’s reputation was definitely enough to get you out of too much trouble. Nat’s hand had found her way into yours, and she squeezed it twice, giving you the strength to meet Linda’s gaze with a soft grin.

Before Linda could speak again, your Dad shot her a grin, “No need to apologize, Ms. Romanov. You’re a very busy woman and we completely understand. Thank you for coming this evening, although I must admit I’m surprised to see you here…” 

“I hope you don’t mind the intrusion, but I couldn’t miss the chance to meet [Y/N]’s family for myself. She’s told me so much about you all that I can’t help but feel like I know you already” Nat paused, sending Linda a pointed look before continuing, “I’d hate to be an inconvenience.”

“Nonsense, you could never. Not after everything you’ve done for the city. I just wish I’d known you were coming sooner.” the fake tone in your step-mother’s voice had you wanting to roll your eyes in frustration. Nodding his head once towards the bar, Danny and Samantha made a break for the bar, neither your father or step-mother bothering to address them.

”My apologies, Linda.” you bit back a sigh, already fed up with dealing with her, “I wasn’t sure if Nat would be back in time to join us this evening. I would have informed you sooner if I had known.”

“How do you know my daughter?” Dad studied Nat, a hopeful grin on his face. The last time you’d brought someone around, he’d disapproved of them, they weren’t good enough, they wouldn’t improve the family name. From the look on his face though, you could tell he approved of Nat. 

Nat’s laughter was soft, easy, and it made your stomach flip, butterflies swirling around. “I was looking for a gift for a friend, and I happened across her little book store. From the first moment I laid eyes on her, I knew I wanted to win her over. She helped me get the gift, and then I found excuse after excuse to come in at least once a week. Eventually, I asked her out for coffee. And the rest as they say, is history.”

The way her eyes softened as she looked at you, her fingers intertwined in yours, you couldn’t help but imagine that maybe your feelings were mutual. Quickly, you shook your head, trying to chase the thought from your head. You two were just best friends, nothing more, nothing less. That would never change, and you needed to accept it. 

“Does that mean you two are…?” Dad’s grin was growing now that she hadn’t shot him down.

“Yes, Mr. [Y/L/N]. We’re dating” Nat answered before you could, and her thumb began to slowly rub small circles into your hand. 

“Good. I’m glad for you both. Now, why don’t I introduce you to everyone?” Dad rested his hand on your shoulder, and you shot Nat an apologetic glance, knowing that the next hour or two were going to be pure hell.

Linda muttered an excuse about needing to add another seat to the table and excused herself, racing off to the kitchen while you watched. Before you could even consider going to catch up with Danny, Dad had his fakest smile on and was leading you around the room. 

For the next hour and a half, Dad slowly made his way through the whole party, dragging along you and Nat. With every new person he came across, he’d make basic small talk before telling them how successful your shop was, and how you were now dating Natasha Romanov, the famed Avenger.

You were used to this hellish event, your Dad had started throwing them 10 years ago, after he married Linda. Every year (except the one you’d died your hair into a rainbow) he’d parade you around like his show pony, and you’d be expected to behave as if you were the perfect family. Once you turned 18, he’d started trying to pawn you off on everyone who had a single child your age. It was always the worst.

This year, things were different. With Nat by your side the night was almost enjoyable. Sure, the introductions themselves were still a nightmare, as was the small talk, but Nat’s playful jokes and hand in yours made it all seem so… pleasant. You envied the ease as she spoke to everyone around, the way her tales and demeanor seemed to draw everyone in. 

When dinner time came, you and Nat quickly found a place at a small back table with Samantha and Danny, silently thanking Linda for not doing the whole assigned seating thing. Sure, they only didn't do it so they could jump between tables the night of if they decided someone else required their attention, but still. Tonight it was helpful.

As you all settled into your seats, Nat’s hand finally slipped from yours for the first time since entering the party. It suddenly felt empty, and you couldn’t help but miss the gentle warmth of her palm pressed against yours. While the two of you were no longer holding hands though, it was like you couldn’t stay apart from one another. You were drawn together like magnets. Your thigh gently pressed against hers under the table, your fingers brushing as you reached for your glasses. Sure, the two of you had always been hands-on, but today it was like the two of you couldn’t keep away - not that either of you really tried. 

Dinner seemed to fly by as you and Danny swapped teasing insults. You’d always been close to your brother, and that meant you took turn telling embarrassing stories of the other. You told of the time he’d accidentally drunk-dialed you instead of Samantha (you joked you needed therapy after all of that), and he countered with the time when you were children and he’d pretended to be a ghost and chased you, wearing a 101 Dalmatians blanket over his head. You’d run, screaming for your life and hide under your mother’s desk, not seeming to realize that ghosts didn’t have 101 Dalmatians on them.

By the time dinner had finished, you were all feeling good from the champagne that had been flowing all night, and Nat now had heard a lifetime of embarrassing stories about you. You couldn’t find it in you to mind though. As the tables were cleared, the band began to play and couples made their way onto the dance floor. 

Before you could protest, Nat pulled you to your feet and into the fray. Classical music surrounded you, and you couldn’t help but smile softly. You tried to protest, saying you didn’t know how to dance, but she’d ignored you. Her arms wrapped around you, holding you close, and you began to slowly move through the dance floor, falling into step with her without a second thought. It felt natural in her arms, twirling around, like this was where you were meant to be. 

Maybe it was the champagne, or the lighting, but if you didn’t know better you’d swear that she was looking at you like she wanted to kiss you. Your eyes were drawn to her lips, and only once she let out a soft breath did you bring your eyes up to study hers. The vibrant green stared back at you, and you felt warmth flooding into your cheeks as your eyes locked. 

Suddenly, neither of you were dancing anymore. Her eyes searched yours, searching for something, you weren’t sure what, but whatever it was, she seemed to find it. Slowly, she began to lean forward, and you matched her, your faces slowly drawing closer. The air between the two of you felt charged, and you knew that things would never be the same between the two of you after tonight. You couldn’t find it in you to care. 

Before your lips could meet, a tight hand grabbed hold of your upper arm and yanked you back. The hand spun you to face them, and you were face to face with Linda. The rage was now evident on her face, and she didn’t speak a word as she began to drag you out of the party. Nat’s hand never left yours, and your mind began to race as you tried to figure out what Linda’s problem was this time. 

As soon as you were out of the crowd, Nat pried Linda’s hand off your arm, pulling you back into her. You glanced gratefully back at Nat but froze at the look on her face. You’d never seen such a look of poorly disguised hatred on her face before, and it shocked you. Her eyes softened slightly as she looked at you, silently asking what you wanted to do. None of you wanted to speak, not wanting to risk drawing attention to the situation, and you motioned for Linda to lead the way. Nat’s hand was back in yours, firm and comforting as you followed.

“Natasha. This is family business. Go back to the party, I need to speak with [Y/N]. Privately.” Linda slurred, her voice harsh, but you could see the nerves below the surface. She hadn’t been expecting any resistance, so Nat’s reaction had her startled. 

Nat opened her mouth to argue, but you squeezed her hand gently, silencing her as you turned back to Linda, “Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of Nat.”

Linda’s eyes narrowed, but even she wasn’t dumb enough to try and get in between you two again, “[Y/N]. You had one simple task for this evening. Mind your manners! Show up on time, in the appropriate outfit and mingle. That’s all. And yet you show up, late, in a very inappropriate outfit! Do you know how disrespectful it is? You and your brother made me look like a fool tonight! Every other person in this party is wearing white, and you all show up together wearing red!” her voice was a low snarl and she leaned against the wall for support. She’d clearly been drinking and had had more than her fair share if you had to guess. 

“Dammit Linda, we forgot.” You were frustrated. Ever since Dad had married her, she’d done her best to make your life a living nightmare. Anything you did wrong was a jab at her, whether it was an innocent accident or not. And every time, she’d pull you aside and yell at you. Originally you’d tried to stand up for yourself, but it never mattered. She’d never listen. You’d learned it was just easier to let her rant and then go vent to your brother about it all.  When you were younger, you’d try to tell Dad, but he’d brushed you off and sided with her. It was what helped drive the wedge into your relationship with him. So, you were used to this whole thing. Linda would yell, you’d apologize even though you didn’t mean it, and you’d go your separate ways until you had to show at Dad’s birthday party.

“You say that but you do it every year! First your brother embarasses us this year by quitting and saying he couldn’t stand to work with us anymore, and now you pull this stunt at the Christmas party? You’re an ungrateful, spoiled, brat. I put up with you all those years, and all I ask is you mind your manners twice a year!” 

Nat had been silent, her body tense as she listened to Linda’s scolding. Before you could offer the ritual apology, Nat beat you to it.

“How dare you?” Nat’s voice was low, dangerous, “Don’t you ever speak to [Y/N] like that again, I swear to god. I’m sorry you’re such a short-sighted, selfish, bitch that you can’t see how amazing she is. She is loyal, and kind, and sweet. [Y/N] is one of the most amazing people I’ve ever had the honor of meeting. She even spent forever trying to find the perfect dress to impress you this evening, and just because she got the color wrong you’re going to pull her aside and yell at her?”

You watched Nat, stunned, as she argued for you. No one had ever stood up to Linda for you before, and if you weren’t already sure you loved her, you were now. You wanted nothing more than to pull her into you and kiss her, and it took everything in you to not just do it. 

“I think it’s time we leave” your voice was gentle and you pulled on Nat’s hand.

“That’s probably best” The venom in Linda’s voice had been replaced by fear, and to be honest, you enjoyed seeing your evil stepmother knocked down a peg.

Nat nodded once, and the two of you started back towards the party. You didn’t make it very far though before Nat stopped, turning back towards Linda. 

“If I ever hear of you laying a hand on the woman I love again, Linda? I will come for you and it won’t be pretty” Nat snarled, before the two of you continued on your way out.

You didn’t pay attention to much as she led you out of the party and to the car. Your mind was caught in a loop, replaying her words over and over. She’d said she loved you? Surely that was just a part of the act. Right? She’d never shown you any sign before tonight that she was interested in you, let alone that she loved you. 

Nat’s fingers drummed nervously on the steering wheel, and you realized you’d come to a stop outside your apartment. Neither of you had spoken a word since you’d left Linda behind in the hallway, and the silence was beginning to feel crushing. You began to rack your brain, trying to find the right way to bring it up. You needed to know, once and for all, how Nat felt about you. 

“I’m sorry” Nat sighed, eyes locked on the dashboard. She wouldn’t turn to look at you, not even when you rested your hand on her arm. 

“Did you mean it?” your voice was barely above a whisper and her tapping froze under your hand, but she still refused to look at you.

“[Y/N], I -”

“Did you mean it?” you cut her off. 

“Yes.” Nat was soft, but steady as she spoke. 

“Okay then” the sound of your unbuckling seatbelt finally caused her to look at you. 

“Okay?” she questioned, confused. 

You didn’t respond, merely climbing out of the car. The car door clicked shut behind you as you started up the stairs, but her hand on your arm stopped you. The two of your froze, and you could see the nerves she was barely containing beneath the surface.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke or moved, but finally you broke the silence, “I love you too.”

Nat let out a shuddering breath and stepped forward, crowding into your space. Her hands slowly cupped your face, and you rested your hands on her hips, pulling her into you. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as you both leaned in. 

The kiss started soft, but gentle pressure soon gave way to hungry lips, and it wasn’t long before her hands were tangled in your hair, your hand slipping lower to rest on the length of thigh her dress revealed. Neither of you were sure how long you stood there, caught up in one another. 

When you finally broke apart, what could have been eons later for all you knew - or cared - snow had begun to fall around you, blanketing the world around you in a thin white coat. Her hand found it’s way back to yours, and you realized you’d never grow tired of that feeling, not that you’d want to. 

“Baby it’s cold outside. Spend the night?” you smirked, squeezing her hand gently in yours.

Her laugh was light-hearted, her hand squeezing yours back, “My maiden aunt's mind is vicious… But absolutely.”

~~~~~

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[chiseler]

THE MYSTERY OF SUNN CLASSIC PICTURES

It was like the positive, life-affirming New Age mysticism of the hippies took a sudden turn for the dark and very strange. In the mid-Seventies, as the country was overwhelmed by a creeping atmosphere of impotent anger, paranoia and existential despair in response to Vietnam, Watergate, race riots, Kent State, the Tate-LaBianca murders, bomb-tossing student radicals, pollution, high-profile assassinations, the oil crisis and the emergence of disco, Americans sought solace in some form by plunging headlong into a collective national obsession with all things Mysterious and Unexplained. Suddenly Bigfoot was all the rage, as was The Loch Ness Monster, The Bermuda Triangle, UFOs, psychic phenomena, near-death experiences, apocalyptic Biblical prophecies, and ancient astronauts. People were desperate to hold onto something, anything, no matter how ridiculous and fanciful, as the whole world seemed to be crumbling and burning around them. If something pointed toward an unseen world, a world outside this stinking mess we were stuck with, or better still promised the complete obliteration of this stinking mess, then at least there was a glimmer of hope. Almost overnight, a cottage industry cropped up, flooding the market with cheap paperbacks, magazines, movies and TV shows—even comic books and board games—devoted to unexplained phenomena of all sorts. Personally I didn’t give a Toss about the state of the world, but I still subscribed to UFO Reporter magazine, had a shelf full of cheap paperbacks with titles like The Search for Bigfoot and From Outer Space, and never missed In Search Of…, the half-hour syndicated series narrated by Leonard Nimoy that  delved into one mystery or another every week. For god sakes, I even had the Bermuda Triangle board game.

But in what may have been the strangest phenomenon of all, far more bizarre than the legends surrounding Area 51 or the Philadelphia Experiment, in 1971 Schick teamed up with the Church of Latter Day Saints to launch a low-budget movie studio that aimed to become the epicenter of High Strangeness culture.

Yes, a razor blade company and the Mormons decided to make movies together. How could the results be anything but unfathomable?

(It’s worth noting before we get too far that in my research into the history of Sunn Classic Pictures, it became clear the indie studio, which still exists in some vague form today, seems to have gone to some great lengths to fog their early history, never once mentioning the Mormons, and in some cases denying there even was a Sunn Classic Pictures prior to 1980. With only a few  rare exceptions, the reasonably small Sunn Classic catalog, now owned by Paramount, never received any kind of home video release, which only adds to the mystery.)

As the official story goes, in 1971, the employees of Schick—a subsidiary if the pharmaceutical company Warner-Lambert—approached Rayland Jensen and asked him to launch a new movie studio. Appalled by all the filth and violence and sex and cursing that infested American movie screens, as well as the so-called “intellectuals” who thought these movies were “good,” they felt real Americans needed a family-friendly alternative. Those Schick employees concluded Jensen was just the man for the job, as a few years earlier he’d handled distribution for a nature picture released by the Utah-based American National Enterprises. The picture had done very well.

Okay, let me stop there. As I said, that’s the official story, as far as it goes and as little sense as it makes. The real story goes more like this.

In 1971, a renegade group of American National Enterprises employees, led by Jensen and inspired by that same disgust with what American movies had become, broke away to form a new production company to release family-friendly, G-rated pictures. Patrick Frawley, the ultraconservative, paranoid, anti-communist conspiracy theorist who also happen to run the Schick razor blade company invested a bundle in the new venture, ensuring he would have some say in the kinds of movies the new company would release.

With headquarters divided between Salt Lake City and Park City, Utah, the newly-christened Sunn Classic Pictures (aka Sunn international, aka Schick Sunn Classic Pictures) set out to Make family-friendly features and documentaries aimed at working class, conservative, God-fearing Americans who didn’t go out to movies very often, likely because of all the above-mentioned filth and sex and violence and cuss words. Moreover, they wanted to make certain these warm-hearted films turned a healthy profit. This involved two basic techniques.

The first was four-walling, a distribution method American National Enterprises helped pioneer. Instead of spending a fortune on all those prints necessary for a massive nationwide theatrical release, Sunn instead rented theaters serving the target demographic, inundated the market with ads and gimmicks, then screened their new film at the selected theater for no more than a week. After that extremely limited run, they packed up and moved the print to another theater far away. It was a tricky ploy. On the upside four-walling a picture allowed the production company to keep all the box office receipts without having to divide them among various middlemen.

If they knew the film was a stinker, it also allowed them to skip town before the bad reviews could do them any damage. On the downside, those limited runs also meant the picture would be there and gone before any positive word of mouth could work its magic. Sunn would try four-walling a new movie for a few months, and if it was making money, they might consider a nationwide release. If not, then they’d start trying to sell it to TV for syndication. It wasn’t a tack that worked all the time, but often enough to make it worthwhile, and it left them more of an escape route than a national release ever would.

So. “Family friendly.” Yes. If you want to make Disney-style pictures but don’t have Disney-style budgets to work with, animated features are out. So are live action films with any kind of special effects. Basically what you’re left with are nature films, right? No expensive sets, very few actors, and as a result very cheap to make. So Sunn began producing wilderness adventure stories.

In those very early days, you can definitely smell Patrick Frawley’s hand in the development process. Films like 1971’s Toklat, in which a man is forced to track down and kill a beloved pet bear after the bear kills a local rancher’s livestock, is a prime example. (As it happens, Toklat was the first Sunn picture I ever saw, Green Bay being a conservative working-class town, and so on Sunn’s demographic map. ) There was something decidedly Nietzschean about those earliest releases. Most of them featured lone individualusts with strong principles who flee the corruption of modern civilization to face the harsh realities of nature alone.

Now, think back and ask yourself honestly” what kid in his right mind has ever liked nature films, Nietzschean or otherwise? Maybe Mormon kids did, but certainly not normal kids. Nature movies are dull as dust, all those endless shots of trees and rivers and shit. Even if it’s supposed to be a true adventure story about some historical frontiersman, so what? Where are the explosions and car chases and monkeys doing funny things? You know who liked nature films? Grandparents! Grandparents loved them because they were wholesome and taught valuable lessons. They insisted on dragging their grandkids to them because they didn’t have to worry about being embarrassed or having to define certain words on the trip home.

The handful of films Sunn Classic released in their first three years—most all of them wilderness adventures about solitary manly sorts learning to dominate nature in one way or another—did okay. They didn’t lose money, but they also didn’t become runaway hits.

In 1974, even after several rewrites, no one at Sunn Classic Pictures had high hopes for the next film on the docket, something called The Life and Times of Grizzly Adams. Sure, it was loosely based on an historical figure who again fled the corruption of the modern world to live in the wilderness, befriending a grizzly bear along the way. But the character was not some stalwart and steely-eyed Ubermensch—he was gentle and kind-hearted. What the hell were they going to do with that?

Enter Charles Sellier, and the second technique that would be central to Sunn Classic’s success. Sellier, today considered one of Sunn’s true founders together with Rayland Jensen, was a recently-converted Mormon in his thirties, as well as the author of the 1972 novel upon which Grizzly Adams was based. As Sunn’s new executive producer, he had a different—and eventually hugely influential—approach to marketing films.

Sellier set aside an estimated $85,000 for market research before a new film went into production. This involved targeting the desired demographic with door-to-door and telephone interviews asking housewives and construction workers what kind of movies they would like to see. This also involved screening early rushes from films currently in production for hand-picked test audiences in order to get their reactions and advice. This is, of course, standard operating procedure now, but it was radical back then, and something that mortified directors and screenwriters. In some cases Sellier even had members of the test audience wired to biometric scanners to measure their reactions to the scenes they were being shown, and use those reactions to have a script rewritten more to the test audience liking. If audience pulse rates went up whenever a certain character was on screen, well, they’d build up that role. If a certain animal warmed their hearts, well, maybe they’d make a whole movie about that particular animal.

Sellier’s method of crowd-sourced filmmaking was first tried on The Life and Times of Grizzly Adams, and sure enough, the film, starring former viker movie regular Dan Haggerty, became Sunn’s first bona fide international hit, bringing in over $20 million. The film was such a smash among grandparents it quickly spawned a Sunn-produced TV series, which was also a big hit among grandparents. To date, the Grizzly Adams franchise remains Sunn’s biggest cash cow.

But something else happened in 1974 that would help make that iconic Sunn Classic logo as familiar and comforting as the Toho, American International, Shaw Brothers and Troma logos. To some of us, anyway.

In 1968, Erich Von Daniken published Chariots of the Gods?, a book which argued, through some mighty suspect and loosely interpreted archaeological evidence, that aliens had visited Earth thousands of years ago, and among other things helped build the Egyptian and Mexican Pyramids, Stonehenge and the statues on Easter island. It was one of the first major hallmarks of the High Strangeness Culture to come.  Originally published in Germany, the book became an International sensation among those with a very high tolerance for pseudoscience, pseudohistory, and bullshit in general..

In 1970, German director Harald Reinl made a documentary based on von Daniken’s book, and it, too, became a big hit across Europe. As sillyassed as the whole thing was, I’d argue the film was even more effective than the book thanks to the visual presentation of all the supposed evidence.

Well, after seeing how much money Chariots of the Gods? Was pulling in overseas, and interested in such topics himself, American TV producer Alan Landsburg acquired the U.S. rights, re-edited the filmn, brought in Rod Serling to narrate, and broadcast it in 1973 as In Search of Ancient Astronauts. It would be the first of a trilogy of TV documentaries about ancient astronauts produced by Landsburg and narrated by Serling.

Noting the ratings that Landsburg doc brought in, as well as that European box office, Sunn obtained the US theatrical rights to In Search of Ancient Astronauts, changed the title back to Chariots of the Gods? And began four-walling it around the country in 1974. It didn’t matter that by that time countless articles and books had completely debunked all of von Daniken’s claims, nor that critics had savaged the film, in some cases even calling it racist for purporting indigenous people in Mexico, Africa an elsewhere could never have created these wonders by themselves. The picture made money. It may not have been Grizzly Adams money, but enough to leave Sellier and Jensen convinced they might be onto something with these documentaries about weird shit. Documentaries were even cheaper to make than nature films, and the demographic they were aiming at seemed eager to believe in monsters and aliens and conspiracies, so there you go. For the next five years, along with the wilderness adventures and wholesome TV adaptations of Huck Finn and Gulliver’s Travels,  Sunn gave the half-wits like me what we wanted.

In 1975, Sunn picked up the theatrical distrobution rights To The Outer Space Connection, the last of Landsburg’s ancient astronaut trilogy (as well as one of the last things Rod Serling worked on before he died). This final entry argued not only that aliens had visited earth thousands of years ago, but had planted humans here in the first place and had been guiding our evolution ever since. This wasn’t exactly a new idea, and could be traced back, so far as I’m aware, at least to Nigel Kneale’s 1958 BBC miniseries Quatermass and The Pit. But the film, directed by Fred Warshofsky, went several crazy steps beyond Kneale, claiming we know exactly where the aliens came from and why, that the Mayans were themselves aliens, and that these same aliens would return to Earth on Christmas Eve, 2011.

The TV documentaries made enough of a splash for Landsburg that he parlayed them into the above-mentioned weekly In Search Of… series, which began airing in 1977, right around the same time Grizzly Adams hit the airwaves.

Both Chariots of the Gods? And The Outer Space Connection helped cement the template that would define the rest of the Sunn-produced High Strangeness documentaries that would follow, making them so effective on the young, the susceptible, and the merely desperate. The real key, it seems, far beyomd the film’s actual content, was conscripting an authoritative host/narrator who can present the most insane pseudoscientific theories and shaky evidence with a straight face while repeatedly using terms like “indisputable,” “Proven beyond a doubt,” and “scientists agree.”: “It’s an incontrovertible fact these ancient carvings prove alien visitors walked on Earth over five hundred centuries ago.” It was the simplest of carnival sideshow techniques, but one that kept drawing suckers to the theaters.

The same year they released The Outer Space Connection, Sunn also released The Mysterious Monsters, which was less a documentary than a series of vignettes about Bigfoot, the Yeti, and The Loch Ness Monster. Director Robert Guenette had been making what you might call speculative Sunn-style documentaries long before Sunn even existed, so he was in familiar territory. In fact, The Mysterious Monsters includes scenes borrowed from Guenette’s 1974 TV movie, Monsters: Mysteries or Myths?, which coincidentally had been narrated by Rod Serling. The (mostly) new and expanded Sunn production was hosted by Peter Graves, who was as straight-faced as they come. In between shots of Graves and ten other men in cowboy hats wandering the forest on horseback looking for Bigfoot, we get eyewitness accounts from those who claim to have actually seen Bigfoot, Nessie, or the Yeti. Unlike most Bigfoot films of the era (and there were a bunch), The Mysterious Monsters infers a decided fearlessness and hostility on Bigfoot’s part, claiming he not only terrorized innocent victims, but wandered into the suburbs to terrorize them. The recreated Bigfoot encounters here are kind of fun, and in fact the film contains two solid scares, at least if you’re nine. Nessie and the Yeti get short shrift, and those scenes of Graves riding through the forest with that hopeless hunting party are interminable, but the picture was another big hit,arriving at precisely the right time given 1975 was a banner year for Bigfoot cinema. In the end, and where he got his information who the hell knows, Graves announces there is a community of some two hundred Bigfeet living in Northern California, though Graves and the hunting party find none of them.

Another hallmark of Sunn’s documentaries was that most inevitably ended with an outlandish, shocking, unexpected, and wholly unsubstantiated claim. The influence of mondo films—Mondo Cane, Africa ama and the like—on Sunn’s documentaries is undeniable. But while mondo films aimed to shock grindhouse audiences with footage (whether real or created) of bizarre and extreme human behavior, Sunn aimed to leave family audiences womderstruck at the possibilities of a mysterious world of magic and monsters just beyond our perceptions.

In 1976, Sunn followed up The Mysterious Monsters with The Amazing World of Psychic Phenomena, also directed by Guenette, this time narrated by Raymond Burr. The film is less a cohesive documentary than another shaggy dog series of vignettes exploring extrasensory perception, astral projection, and telekinesis as well as ghosts and spiritualism, featuring an all-star cast of celebrity psychics including Jeanne Dixon and Uri Geller. Not surprisingly, Burr, who doesn’t seem terribly convinced himself, informs us that there is irrefutable scientific evidence that all these powers are absolutely real and for true.

That same year also saw the release of one of Sunn’s more patently ridiculous outings, In Search of Noah’s ARk, a film which, in many ways, proved a turning point. The film was the first to be hosted/narrated by character actor Brad Crandall, who would go on to narrate most of the remaining Sunn Classic documentaries, as well as appearing in a few of their TV shows. It was directed by James L. Conway, who quickly established himself as Sunn’s go-to in-house director, churning out five or six features and TV movies a year.

Apart from turning to mostly in-house staffers to make their films instead of bringing in outside directors and celebrity hosts, In Search of Noah’s ARk also marked the point at which Sunn further fed their demographic by adding a decidedly fundamentalist Christian focus to many of their films, from Noah’s Ark to their TV series Greatest Heroes of the Bible to two documentaries about near-death experiences to 1979’s (and grammar be damned) In search of Historic Jesus.

In business terms it was a savvy move. To this day, films aimed at a fundamentalist audience, especially if they support a strictly literal interpretation of the Bible, can bring in more money than most Hollywood films. They certainly bring in more than most Mormon themed films, and apparently the more patently ridiculous the involved claims, the better.

The supposed “scientists” who lay out the evidence that the remains of Noah’s honest-to-God ark are still sitting up there on top of Mt. Ararat (should anyone care to take a look) aren’t, um, scientists at all. One, a supposed physics professor, argues there’s a mountain of geological evidence proving the world was deluged by an all-consuming flood, um, five thousand years ago. Another claims the ark was first discovered by a Russian expedition sent by Tsar Nicholas II in 1916, but all the reports and evidence were destroyed by dirty communist revolutionaries, um, two days after the expedition returned. It all goes downhill from there, and you have to feel some pity for the poor gullible fools who believed all this nonsense.

I saw nearly all of Sunn’s documentaries in the theater when I was a kid, and now feel sorry for my mom, dad, and older sister, who I suspect drew straws to see who had to take me whenever a new Sunn picture hit town. When I was ten I bought every last nutty claim. Going back and watching them again four decades later, I find myself blurting, “Wait, what?” Aloud after nearly every scene. They do, however, remain fascinating artifacts and a mirror of a certain psychological makeup. They’re also still fun as hell for all their crazy dumbness, if you keep your critical thinking skills at the ready.

Sunn found themselves in the middle of a shitstorm in 1977 with the release of The Lincoln Conspiracy, also directed by Conway. Historians, critics and the media at large attacked the film for presenting as fact a convoluted conspiracy claiming the assassination of President Lincoln was an inside job, closing, as Oliver Stone’s JFK would years later, with a demand the investigation be reopened. Conway would later claim the film was just a silly speculative docudrama based on a couple recent books, but even the authors of the books denounced the film. Still, a little controversy has never been known to hurt the box office.

Over the next few years Sunn continued to release two or three pseudoscientific documentaries  a year, including Beyond and Back, Beyond Death’s Door, and The Bermuda Triangle, the latter of which claimed all those ships and planes vanished after being zapped by a malfunctioning Atlantean particle bean that was lost somewhere on the ocean floor near Bimini. Bimini? Well, I gotta say, as explanations go, it makes about as much sense as any other.

A personal favorite from the late Sunn era for its sheer nihilistic simplicity was 1979’s Encounter With Disaster, this time directed by Charles Sellier himself. Using his patented market research techniques, he brought a test audience into a theater and showed them dozens of newsreel clips of fires, earthquakes, The Hindenberg, race car crashes and the like, measuring responses to see which were considered the most exciting. He then strung all the most popular disaster footage together and released it as a feature.

Encounter With Disaster was perhaps the one true mondo film Sunn released during their brief heyday, and a definite anomaly. Toward the end, instead of documentary footage, talking heads and manipulative narration, films like The Bermuda Triangle, Beyond Death’s Door and In Search of Historic Jesus cane to rely more on speculative recreations with actors, sets and scripted dialogue. Although a narrator does pop up occasionally to say, in essence, “Yup, this really, really happened!,” the films come off more like splintered docudramas than documentaries, which somehow makes their assorted theses seem even less plausible.

It’s worth pointing out here that In Search of Historic Jesus, as delightfully awful as it is, does, without saying as much, offer a clear case study of the effect Sellier’s marketing machinations could have on a film.

Directed by Sunn’s in-house cinematographer Henning Schellerup (who prior to Sunn had worked on everything from softcore porn to Corman productions) and again narrated by Brad Crandall, Historic Jesus clearly began life as a documentary aiming to present all the independent historical evidence proving the Biblical account of Jesus’ life was accurate. Given there was precious little of that to be found, it became a documentary about the Shroud of Turin. Given there wasn’t really ninety minutes worth of material about the Shroud of Turin, they shot an interview with a fake scientist offering some, um, plausible scientific explanations for the Star of Bethlehem, then plundered some footage from the Noah’s Ark movie (though oddly the data offered in the latter somehow changed between 1976 and 1979). All this left them with a film that was about twenty minutes long.

The film was saved when Sellier gathered a test audience of fundamentalist Christians. After showing them a few scenes, he quickly learned they didn’t need any scientific or historical proof that Jesus really existed. They just wanted to hear more Jesus stories.

Taking their advice, the bulk of the film became a  string of recreations of Jesus’ Greatest Hits acted out by amateur actors playing Jesus, Mary, Herid, Pontius Pilate and assorted disciples. No effort whatsoever is made to prove these recreated scenes actually happened. So instead of a pseudoscientific, pseudohistorical account of the, um, historical figure known as Jesus of Nazareth, it became another Sunday School-ready Jesus movie, all primed and ready to be rented to church groups across the country. In short, then, calling the film In Search of Historic Jesus actually makes sense.

By 1979, Sunn’s documentaries seemed to be running out of gas. They were still turning a profit (especially that Historic Jesus thing), but the profits weren’t what they once were, and the films were costing more to make. Also, other production houses had picked up on the Sunn Classic formula and began releasing High Strangeness docs of their own. In 1978, for instance, Amran Films and RCR released The Late Great Planet Earth, based on “Biblical scholar” Hal Lindsey’s massive bestseller which claimed all the prophecies in the Book of Revelation were coming true, and the long-promised Apocalypse would arrive any day now. If I remember correctly, the world was supposed to end in 1986. The film was hosted and narrated by Orson Wells, who had once been asked to narrate a Sunn film, but was so horrified by their marketing practices he turned down the job.

(A few years later in 1981, Welles would also narrate a documentary about Nostradamus’ prophecies, which was directed, coincidentally enough, by Sunn Classic alumnus Robert Guenette. Just to illustrate how influential Sunn’s experiment had been, The Man Who Saw Tomorrow was distributed by goddamn WARNER BROTHERS, of all places.)

What struck the real death knell to Sunn’s hugely successful string of pseudoscientific and pseudo historical extravaganzas was a changing culture. We were own the brink of Morning in America and the Reagan Era. Interest in silly monsters and psychic phenomena was waning as everyone put the ’70s behind them, focusing instead on the stock market, the threat of nuclear war, cocaine, designer clothes and other tangible real world issues.

Charles Sellier

In 1980 Sunn Classic Pictures was bought out by Taft Enterprises, a Cincinnatti-based conglomerate.  The suits in Taft’s entertainment division had a few ideas of their own about what American moviegoers wanted. When they correctly saw that the days of four-walling were about over as the business ties between the major studios and national theater Chains grew stronger, Charles Sellier walked away to continue writing, producing, directing and marketing films on his own terms. In 1984 he directed the notorious holiday slasher film, Silent Night, Deadly Night, a picture remembered more for its ad campaign than anything in the picture itself. Sellier also later converted from Mormonism to evangelical Christianity.

When Taft likewise decided family friendly entertainment was a dead end, that the market for G-rated wilderness adventures simply wasn’t there anymore, that a film had to be rated PG or R if it hoped to make any money, Jensen and a few other original American National Enterprises refugees quit in disgust, and once again formed their own production company to offer honest American families wholesome entertainment options. Their first film was 1981’s Private Lessons, a teen sex comedy starring Sylvia Kristel. It made a lot of money.

Director James Conway stayed with Taft for awhile, helming several pictures, including the monster movie The Boogens . Interestingly, the very first Taft/Sunn release, perhaps formulated to attract Sunn’s core audience, was the Conway-directed Hangar 18, starring Darren McGavin, Robert Vaughn and Gary Collins. It was the perfect transitional picture, a sci-fi conspiracy thriller loosely based on what might well have been the subject of the next Sunn Classic documentary: Roswell and Area 51. Conway later went on to become an executive at Spelling Entertainment, overseeing a mountain of wildly successful crap.

Over the subsequent decades there were more sales and acquisitions, with the various companies overseeing the Sunn Classic brand themselves being gobbled up by even larger faceless corporate entities. Sunn vanished, then reappeared, then vanished again. Today there are vague, mysterious hints that Sunn Classics Pictures has been re-launched after Rayland Jensen teamed up with Lang Elliott, original founder of Tri-Star Pictures. But if Sunn really has risen from the grave, would it matter?

For good or ill, over the course of that five-year stretch between 1974 and 1979, Sunn Classic Pictures illuminated one strange facet of a very strange era, warped millions of impressionable minds (like mine), fully capitalized on a nation’s despair and collective neuroses, and left an indelible mark on the culture. Take even a cursory glance at what’s airing on the History and Discovery Channels, or at how the marketing departments of any movie studio large or small operates today. They simply wouldn’t be what they are In the second decade of the twenty-first century had it not been for Sunn Classic Pictures., and fore that we can thank the Mormons, a right-wing kook, and Bigfoot.

by Jim Knipfel

[langdvnshepherd]

Good For You ~ Part 2 (Duncan Shepherd x fem!reader)

PART ONE (Part 3 linked at the end)

Summary: You’re a broke ass college student whose one night stand with the infamous Duncan Shepherd leads to the development of a rather interesting relationship between the two of you. — You thought your relationship with Duncan was nothing more than an arrangement. But when he catches wind that you’re seeing other people in the mean time, is that really all it is?

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: sugar daddy!Duncan, fem!reader, smut, oral sex (male receiving), jealous!Duncan lmao, dirty talk, rough sex, spanking, plot heavy obvi

A/N: Sorry this took forever, I wanted to work out all of the details before I continued this story! Let me know what you think, and what you want to see in the next part, because I have one more part planned to wrap this up if that’s something you guys are interested in! I have the main plot outlined, but I’m totally open to suggestions for other little scenarios! Also shoutout to @avesatanormalpeoplescareme for the inspo for this! It helped so much thank u I owe you my life.

     The following months after agreeing to Duncan’s little, arrangement, per se had been going pretty great. Well, better than great actually. You were less stressed than you’d ever been. Working less hours at the coffee shop due to the continuous stream of cash flowing into your account had done wonders for that wrinkle in your forehead caused by the constant worry of trying to make rent. Not living paycheck to paycheck whilst simultaneously having some of the best sex of your life was a situation you’d never thought you’d find yourself in, yet here you were. You had acquired a new pep in your step, and you never wanted it to end.

     Keeping Duncan happy was pretty simple. He’d fallen into a routine. The two of you met on Thursday nights, the same hotel and the same room. He always texted you beforehand, but it’s not like you weren’t already expecting it. A blacked out SUV arrived promptly at your apartment, and dropped you off at the front steps of the hotel. He’d greet you at the door, and have your clothes ripped off before you made it to the bed. You started to wonder if maybe he was married, that he had a wife and kids somewhere and that’s why he always insisted on meeting at the hotel. He assured you that he wasn’t, he just didn’t want his security team alerting anyone of the new role you now played in his life.

     He wasn’t lying when he’d said he’d take care of you. Usually, your gifts were delivered to your apartment. A new laptop, a Birkin bag, Prada sunglasses, random all-inclusive weekend trips with your roommate, and anything Yves Saint Laurent made you probably owned now thanks to Duncan. The packages, regardless of their contents, always came with a delicately wrapped parcel of lingerie. Sometimes it was just a new pair of lacy panties, other times a full set complete with fishnet stockings and garter belt. He’d never told you outright that he wanted you to wear it when you were together, but you figured those were his intentions. It always got him going to see how beautiful you looked thanks to him and his money.

     Other times, he would just slide you his black card and let you keep it for the week to do whatever you pleased. You were hesitant at first, not knowing what his limit was. But given that he had been supplying you with enough funds to pay your bills, you didn’t think he really had one. Still, you tried not to go too overboard. You’d get your nails done, change up the tone of your hair, maybe have a spa day or pick out a few new pairs of shoes for yourself, all at Duncan’s expense. You quickly found out that he couldn’t care less how much you’d end up spending, it was more of a kink for him than anything. The more, the better in his opinion. He was far more preoccupied by the way your ass looked in the jeans he’d bought you the week before than to worry about the charges on his account.

     In the beginning, you’d felt dirty about the entire situation. It kinda felt like you were doing something illegal by allowing Duncan to buy you such extravagant things when all you were doing was fucking his brains out. Not that there was anything inherently wrong with the way your relationship worked, it was just something you’d only ever seen in movies and never once thought you’d be living out yourself. Turns out, Duncan was decent company. You always hung around for a few hours after fucking just to talk to each other for a while. Duncan would ask you about your classes and make sure you were taking care of yourself. He’d vent to you about the assholes that worked for him and you’d rant about your stupid professor that gave you a C on an essay you knew for a fact you’d deserved as least a B+ on. “I can get them fired if you want, you know. Got a few secrets of theirs up my sleeve that I’ve been dying to share,” he would joke.

     “Oh yeah?” you’d laugh along, “You’re sponsors. Don’t think that would serve your family all too well now would it?”

     “Yeah, I guess not.”

     Having more free time away from work also meant that you also had more time to socialize with people your age for once. A few weeks ago, you’d met a guy at a party thrown by a fraternity your university. He was tall, hot, charming; at least that’s what you initially thought. You’d hooked up with him that night, and somehow he ended up with your phone number. He asked you out on a proper date, and you said yes seeing as there was no harm in giving it a shot. The entire night, all he did was talk about himself. Anything that came out of his mouth served no other purpose than to boost his ego, not that he even had anything to be proud of; his frat was notorious for being sexist pigs and it was beginning to be blatantly obvious. It was clear that he was far more interested in you than you were into him, but you kept him around. You only hooked up with Duncan once a week, so you needed someone to fill the gaps during his absence. He was tolerable.

     With this new man in your life came a problem: every time he would fuck you, all you could think about was Duncan. The way his hands would roam your body like he knew every inch and every pressure point that made you squirm. The way his tongue felt gliding over your hips before dipping down to taste you. This guy had nothing on Duncan, and you knew it. He was rough, but not in the way that you liked. He didn’t care about your pleasure in any capacity; sometimes he pulled out without even bothering to make sure you finished too. As much as you hated to admit it, the only time you were even able cum was when your eyes were screwed shut, completely ignoring the boy on top of you and imagining it was Duncan pounding you into next week. There was just something about the way he carried himself and the fact that he had given you everything you could ever ask for that made every other man seem dull and bleak.

-

     One particularly hot day, a Tuesday, you were seated at a picnic table in the courtyard on campus. Enjoying the sun, you figured you’d spend your break in between classes outside studying. Your exposed legs were perched atop one of the bench seat, on full display for anyone that walked by; your chest adorned with a see-through blouse that was unbuttoned a few more holes than what was considered appropriate. The beams that shone on you made your slightly sweaty skin glisten in an almost otherworldly way. Not getting to enjoy the rays for long, your tranquil state was brought to a halt when none other than your favorite frat boy made his presence known by tugging one headphone from your ear.

     “What the fuck, dude?!”

     “Hey dollface, whatcha up to?” he asked, clearly unaware that you were a bit preoccupied.

     “Well, I was trying to study for my Global Politics exam. But it seems like that’s not going to happen with you sitting here,” you answered, clearly annoyed. He smirked and laughed as if you’d meant it as a compliment. Yuck.

     “I was going to ask you if you wanted to go to Chad’s party on Thursday night. It’s gonna be insane! He’s got basically all of Sigma Chi coming, so you know that some crazy shit’s gonna go down.” God, you really couldn’t stand to listen to this man talk. He’s lucky his cock was so big or else you’d have blocked his number by now. Thursdays were reserved for Duncan, so even if had any inking of an interest in going it was an automatic no.

     “Sorry, I’ve got plans. I can’t,” you didn’t want him to press the matter any further.

     “Oh yeah, like what?” he questioned, his hand moving to rest on the top of your bare thigh.

     “Listen, I just can’t. Okay?” He didn’t move his hand from your leg. Instead he began to massage the soft skin on the inside of your thigh in a manner that was far too crude for the public eye. It was his poor attempt at trying to persuade you, as if his actions actually had any effect on you as of lately.

     He continued to go on and on about this stupid fucking party, his fingers still kneading your skin. Not wanting to look at his face any longer, you rolled your eyes and tilted your head in the other direction. That was when you heard the deep, rich voice you’d recognize anywhere quickly coming in your direction. The voice that occupied your thoughts at all times, the voice that muttered those words that made you come undone in a matter of minutes.

     Your breath hitched in the back of your throat as soon as you saw him. There, walking with the dean of your university, was Duncan fucking Shepherd looking as entrancing as ever. Even in this stupid fucking heat, he still looked like he just walked out of a fucking magazine. He was making his way through the courtyard chatting with the Dean of the university. Most likely, he was talking up some another sponsorship deal that would inevitably promote the Shepherd Freedom Foundation as he always was, but you didn’t have time to listen to what he was saying. Before you knew it, his eyes were on yours. They flickered with recognition before realizing the position in which he had just caught you in: sprawled out on a bench seat, short shorts, chest out, with some boy’s hand between your legs. He took in your form, his eyes lingering for a noticeable amount of time on your thighs and the way the boy beside you seemed to be getting a little too handsy. He looked angry, his eyes boring a hole into your skin and his lips pursing just slightly. 

     In an instant, he was back to acting like he hadn’t even noticed you in the first place. He carried on his conversation with the Dean and kept walking until he was out of your sight. What the fuck just happened? Was he actually mad? It sure as hell seemed like it. He’d never told you that you couldn’t see other people. Your relationship was an arrangement, not exclusive. You quickly removed the boy’s hand from your leg and threw your books into your bag. You had to get the fuck out of there before Duncan came back to confront you.

     “Damn, leaving so soon? We’re still on for this afternoon though, right?” You weren’t really sure how you’d even caught his question with all of the anxiety flowing through your body from being caught red-handed with another boy in front of Duncan.

     “Uh, yeah sure. Whatever. I’ve got to go. See ya.” Your brief interaction with Duncan, if you could even call it that, had left you with your panties soaked. If he wasn’t there to give you release, you had to make do. This impotent frat boy was going to have to work.

-

     You never heard anything from Duncan after the incident at school. Maybe he wasn’t as bothered by it as you’d thought. Maybe it had just caught him off guard as much as it did you to see each other unannounced like that. After cooling down, you’d decided it wasn’t a big deal regardless. You were allowed to see other people just as much as he was. The sex and money were just that. You were friends at most. It still didn’t stop you from fantasizing about him the entire time during your hookup that afternoon.

     Just as you’d arrived back to your apartment, you received a text from Duncan asking you to meet with him. It was only Tuesday, so that was odd. Shit, maybe he was mad. You quickly responded, and within half an hour the SUV was parked outside waiting for you. Climbing in, you were preparing yourself for the worst. Was he going to break it off? Was he going to yell at you? You honestly had no clue. When the driver passed the usual exit you took to get to the hotel, you grew confused. 

     “Excuse me, where are we going? You passed the exit for the hotel.” you stated.

     “Mr. Shepherd has requested your presence at his residence this evening, Miss,” he retorted. This was new. Duncan’s never invited you over to his place before. You’d only ever seen him within the confines of the lavish hotel. Something was definitely going to go down, and you weren’t sure if you were more nervous or excited.

-

     It didn’t Duncan but a second to greet you at the entrance of his apartment after a few hesitant rattles of your fist against the door. His face broke out in a slight smirk, satisfied that you’d agreed to come over on such short notice.

     “Y/N, I’m glad you could make it. Sorry I couldn’t make a reservation at the hotel this late, and it was...urgent that I saw you tonight,” he stated. His manner was very composed, but somewhat cold. Yep. He was definitely mad. You didn’t say anything, you simply followed him further into the apartment. The exposed brick walls were painted a stark white, and sleek, black furniture littered the open space. A giant Keith Haring painting hung perfectly on the wall, and the kitchen was probably larger than your room for Christ’s sake. The entire apartment was dripping with wealth. He walked you to what was presumably his bedroom, also adorned with minimalist decor you knew cost more than all four years of your tuition.

     “Care for a drink?” he asked without even turning to look at you whilst making his way over to the bar cart that rested in the corner of the room.

     “Uh, sure,” your voice went up an octave as you tried to suppress the way his stoic composure made you so incredibly nervous and turned on at the same time. You took the glass from him and quickly threw it back. Alcohol was necessary for whatever he was about to say or do to you. Handing the glass back to him, his hands lingered on yours for a moment, relishing the feeling of your skin on his. 

     Sensing your timidness, Duncan moved his hands to grip you by the shoulder and brush your hair out of your face to try and calm you. As he tucked the loose strand behind your ear, his eyes caught a glimpse of a blue-ish purple shadow that adorned the column of your neck. You weren’t aware of this, however. It wasn’t until he took your cheek in his hand, ran his finger along the edge of your jaw, trailing it down slowly to firmly apply pressure to the bruise on your neck that you realized what he had seen. Wincing at the feeling of his thumb digging into the bruise, it dawned on you. Fuck. You had told your little frat boy you’d met with earlier that afternoon no marks, guess he really wasn’t good for shit. His eyes blackened, and his nostrils flared slightly at the thought of knowing someone else had done this to you, that someone else had been inside of you.

     “Get on your knees.”

     Out of instinct, you let out a chuckle. “What is this? A punishment? Because I fucked another guy? Are you jealous or something?” He only continued to stare deep into your eyes as you lashed out. He hummed in response before speaking.

     “You can be a real fucking brat sometimes. You know that, Y/N?” he replied while moving his hands to his belt, beginning to undo the buckle. You hadn’t had time to notice the tent in his pants begging to be set free. “But no, sweetheart, this isn’t a punishment. Far from it, actually. Think of it as a reward.” Oh, he was definitely jealous. He just wasn’t going to admit it. And it was hot.

     His words sent sparks ablaze inside of you. Reaching for the buckle yourself, you quickly made work of unzipping his dress slacks, grabbing both his pants and his boxers and letting them pool around his ankles in one go. You were now eye-level with his throbbing erection, small beads of pre-cum leaking from the tip of his cock. Taking his member into your hand, you guided it to your lips and ran your tongue around the tip before partially taking him into your mouth a couple times. He hissed in response and shut his eyes tightly, pleasure already taking over him.

     You withdrew him from your mouth completely and ducked your head down to lick a flat line from in between his balls along the underside of his cock to the tip, feeling the large vein that ran along his shaft brush against your tongue. He let out a shaky breath mixed with a strangled, “Fuck,” at the feeling. You smirked against him as you went back to alternating between small kisses and kitten licks along his head. Done with your teasing, he abruptly grabbed you by the back of your hair and eagerly forced himself down your throat. You gagged slightly as his cock brushed the back of your throat, Duncan finally letting out the moan he’d been suppressing. He couldn’t help but buck his hips into your mouth, only pushing himself further into you. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes and slowly rolled down your cheeks at the sudden sensation of his movement.

     Once Duncan was fully seated in your throat, you began to bob your head up and down along his cock. Setting your pace, you took him in your mouth as far as you could, pumping what you couldn’t with your hands. Your steady rhythm elicited a strong of grunts to fall from Duncan’s lips. He continued unravel and found it incredibly difficult to keep from pushing your head further down onto him each time.

     “That’s it, take daddy’s cock. God, your pretty little mouth feels so fucking good when I’m fucking your face like this.” His praise caused you to moan against his cock, the vibrations making his knees shake slightly. He was beginning to lose his composure, and you knew he was reaching his breaking point. 

     Without warning, he ripped you off of him by the roots of your hair. Letting out a yelp, you looked up at him in anticipation of what he was going to do next. He peered at you with blissful eyes as he helped you off your spot on the floor. The hem of your shirt was over your head before you were back on your feet, your shorts and bra hitting the ground with an aggressive whack as he threw them to the side. Backing you up to the bed, he bent down and swept your legs out from under you, causing you to fall back onto the plush mattress. You backed yourself slowly up the bed, maintaining eye contact with Duncan and he quickly removed what was left of his clothing. He was still rock hard, his cock bobbing in the air as he made his way back up to you at the front of the bed. 

     You could feel his breath fanning across your body as he kept his head almost flush with your chest and made his way up to meet your face, supporting himself with a firm grip on your legs. He took in the mess he had made of you: cheeks sparkling with tears, lips plump from the events that took place only moments ago, hair in knots from his tight grip. Approving of his handiwork, he trailed back down your chest, leaving sloppy, open mouth kisses from the bottom of your ribcage down to the waistband of your panties.

     “Were you wearing the panties I bought you?” he questioned, breaking the silence.

     “W-was I what?”

     “Were you wearing the panties I bought you when you fucked that boy I saw you with today?” You froze. His words paralyzed you. You couldn’t do anything but stare at him as your labored breaths caused your chest to dramatically rise and fall.

     He smirked at the look on your face. Hooking his thumbs around the thin lace, he slowly slid your panties down your legs and dropped them at his side. You knew you were soaking wet by now, Duncan’s blatant rage and jealously at the thought of you fucking someone else only fueled the fire in the pit of your stomach. 

     “Were you this wet for him? Were you dripping for him like you are for me right now?” He ran his pointer and middle fingers through your slick, finally touching you for the first time that night. The simple touch made you jolt forwards and exhale loudly. 

     After a few more slow, antagonizing circles around your clit, Duncan removed his fingers from your core. He quickly gripped you by your ankles and flipped you over so you were lying face down against his bed, your cheek now pressed into his fluffy pillow. You felt one of his hands grab at your waist, raising your ass into the air and then using the other hand to press your chest back down onto the mattress so your body was arching forwards.

     “I wonder if he knows what you really like? That you like to be thrown around,” he paused to rear his hand back and lay a firm smack against your ass that was sure to leave a bright red handprint, “spanked. That you cum harder with a hand wrapped around your throat.”

     You finally felt the tip of his cock run along you ass down to your clit, preparing you to be split in two. Duncan chuckled before adding, “Fuck, did he even make you cum, Y/N? Or was he too caught up in himself to care about you?” His questions were rhetorical. It was all for his benefit, to prove that he was better for you than the little boy he had caught you with in the courtyard. An ego boost. A way to displace his jealousy. He was right though, and you knew it. Nothing compared to the times you had shared with Duncan. The frat boy you’d been seeing was just that, a boy.

     With a swift thrust, Duncan buried himself inside of you. The pillow muffled your scream, but it was still loud enough to echo throughout the room. He pulled himself all the way out before slamming back into your aching cunt with a jealous force. He was determined to have you so full of him that you wouldn’t be able to remember the name of guy who you’d been screwing before him. His speed combined with the angle of your ass in the air made every inch of his cock fill you with ecstacy. Your moans were replaced with chants of his name. Combined with the sounds of his hips smacking into your ass and the sloshing coming from each thrust into your core, you were becoming unable to even hold yourself up in the air.

     It felt like he had been pounding into you for an eternity, and you never wanted it to end. You felt your release winding up inside of you, causing your eyes to screw shut and your body to hold as still as possible in order to bring it on faster. Your moans became whimpers, and you gripped at his sheets so hard your knuckles turned white. Duncan sensed how close you were, and promptly pulled out before flipping you over once again to rest on your back. 

     He gripped the base of your neck and applied slight pressure as he entered you again and set his pace, only this time he was able to see your face. “Tell me, Y/N. Does he take care of you? Does he take care of this pussy like you know I can? Does he even have the means to make you feel the way I can?” Your mouth fell open in a silent scream as the words left his lips. It was almost enough to send you straight over the edge, but now quite.

     “I need to know, love. Before I let you cum, does he take care of you like I can?” He took your leg and wrapped it around his wait so he could give your ass another hard smack and simultaneously hit your inner walls deeper and deeper.

     “NO! He doesn’t make make me feel the way you do. No one does.” the words ripping through your lungs as you finally gained the energy to form something coherent. He was clearly pleased with your answer. Smirking to himself, he used the hand that was wrapped around your neck to pull you in for a kiss. It was sloppy and your noses smashed together, but it felt right. He dropped his head to your ear and moved his hand down to begin rolling your clit between his fingers.

     “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Go ahead, cum for me. Daddy’s got you. You can let go.” He whispered as he placed hot, wet kisses over top of the hickey left by the guy he wanted to beat into oblivion.

     With that, you were cumming. Hard. Duncan continued to fuck you through your orgasm, allowing you to ride every wave of pleasure that pulsed through your body. The way your cunt contracted around his cock brought on the start of his release in turn. His hips started to sputter and his eyes were screwed shut. He quickly removed himself from you before pumping his length in his hands a few last times. You felt hot ropes of his cum shoot up your belly and onto your breasts as his moans filled the room. The expression on his face was nothing less than a dream: mouth hung open, jaw tense, eyes rolled back like they were going to fall out of his head. Duncan immediately flopped back onto the bed, trying to recover from everything that had just happened. 

     After catching his breath, he propped himself up on one elbow and ran his fingers through the cum on your stomach before pressing two of them into your mouth to taste him. You eagerly accepted, wrapping your tongue around his digits to such them clean similar to the way you’d taken his cock earlier in the night. You couldn’t help but feel like the events that transpired from earlier today at school up until right now had changed things between you two. That the boy he’d seen you with triggered something inside of him that he’d perhaps been trying to avoid. 

     “What was that for?” you asked, hoping he’d clarify the reason behind his actions.

     “Nothing. Just wanted to make sure you knew who you belonged to.”

PART THREE

~

Tagging:

@avesatanormalpeoplescareme @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @venusxxlangdon @langdons-rep @ccodyfern @michaellangdong @michael-langdon-owns-my-soul @wroteclassicaly @omg-hellgirl @aveiangdon @belusima 

[minghaoss-archive]

ukiyo- taeyong(M)

summary : your desperate need to pay off your rent is aided when you come across a job you've no skill for unless.. the assistant chef is willing to step in and help you. With a twisting romance packed with this help that is.

warnings : smut, depiction of physical intimacy.

"So you've never worked in a bakery before?" You shake your head a frantic no in response-you really needed the pay to stay in your rented place which you'd been putting off paying for for months now. "I really need this job, I'll wait the tables if necessary but I really need the job, please-" you try to insist but the man before you(that you learnt was the head chef) looked less than convinced.

"Okay but you have to show me you have the minimal skill to take this job, at least." He gulps as if what he was going to say next would be hard for you to swallow. "I want you to make a gingerbread house in the next," his eyes dart off to his golden hand watch as he estimates a time for you to finish your task, however what delays his answer is the little sound of the kitchen door clanking open, the man's stiff features loosen at whatever the hell just enters the room.

"Taeyong." He beams, making you turn your head back to look at a man with broad shoulders, pitch black hair and an incredibly angular jaw. He ties his apron behind his back deftly, nodding at his boss as he shoots a short glance at you, "Anyways as I was saying, you get to work now, you have around an hour and a half, I really do want to keep you, miss, given your diligence but I cannot afford this bakery its reputation at the expense of keeping you- however since you were so persistent in wanting the job- I hope you don't disappoint me in doing something as basic as the gingerbread house." You grin back at the man as he stands up, "Thank you so much." Relief washes over you like a shower would rinse out your worries at the end of a tiring day.

Albeit, this relief was very short lived because there was one teensy problem-okay, one major, big ass problem-the fact that you didn't know how to make a fucking gingerbread house at all.

"You look like you've seen a ghost." A snort greets you when you reach the kitchen counter, you try not to lose your temper over the fact that the boy had the most smug look on his face, like it's the best shot he's had at someone since elementary school. "Well I'm looking at you, aren't I?" You retort, watching him jut his lip out and frown back at you unconsciously. Way to make a first impression.

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I don't know what I'm doing. I shouldn't have taken it out on you." Taeyong, you recall his name, smiles at this, "I know." He says, "I can tell from the way you're creaming the butter but not putting the cinnamon in the dough mix first," you close your eyes at the correction, you really really needed this job. How the fuck were you going to get through this if you didn't know the basics of a gingerbread house?

"It's okay, don't freak out, I'll help you." He continues before you can answer, "you'll help me?" This question has Taeyong rolling his eyes and fixing his black beret on top of his head. "I thought pointing out that you didn't put the cinnamon slip was a hint, dummie."

Your cheeks flush a cherry red at the obvious implication, Taeyong watches you from the corner of his eye. "Okay so, here's how it's going to be." You nod at his directions , "I'm going to instruct you and you're going to do this, okay? Oh and taste everything. I mean it."

Little by little, from the tips Taeyong gives you, you put together the desired house you're supposed to put up, only a 15 minutes away from your end time.

"Choose a chocolate for your window lining, hurry, white or dark or milk." You tap your chin in rumination, "White?"

"No, choose a mixture of liquefied milk chocolate and white because he'll be able to tell I helped if you use white." He says.

Stubbornly, you throw your hands up in response. "Why'd you ask me if you were going to choose?" You pout unconsciously, Taeyong coughs to cover up the chuckle he cracks, his teeth clambers down on his lip furiously as he bites back a grin.

"No reason." You shake your head, piping down the finishing bits of your house, and soon the timer by your counter rings, marking the entrance of your to-be employer. The steel door to the kitchen makes the stupid clanking noise again, and the lanky head chef scrutinizes your work bit by bit, shooting a glance in Taeyong's way-who by the way, sits on the counter opposite to you- his legs dangling whilst he pretends to look through his phone.

"Okay, presentation wise, it is unexpectedly pleasing but let's put it to taste," he says curling a teaspoon at the down slopes of of the roof and sticking it into his mouth. The man chews with his finger pointed at the ceiling like he was conducting an orchestra, he nods. His furrowed brows decline into their boring slump. His downsloped lips turn up, the senile man beams down at you.

"The taste is consistent-not too chewy or cakey-I'm actually very impressed. I don't see why you shouldn't be hired but you come in from tomorrow, sharp at 7." You suppress a squeal, keeping your grin to a minimum, "Thank you, sir."

The man nods at you, "Taeyong, assist the lady with an apron and her designated attire. I have to run out for the day." He nods again which elicits a semi bow from Taeyong.

You stay rooted to your position until the tick tock of your employer's shoes don't reach your ears anymore, "I might as well wear this apron on my own apron," Taeyong snorts, walking over to you with a bag he pulls out from under the employee's only cabinet. "Here," his eyes dart over your face, his brow raised at the unreadable expression you wear- are you really not happy with the job? Did he make a fool out of himself in trying to help you?- thud

Taeyong almost jumps at the way you leap towards him as you wrap him into a tight hug, he freezes into the touch, his body malfunctioning at the feeling of your warmth- "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you," you mumble whilst he awkwardly pats your head, suffering from an inability to stop himself from smiling, he too starts to realize that there was heat rising to his face. Was he blushing? Jesus Christ. "Okay, okay, get off now,"

You grin back at him as you pull away, Taeyong tries his best not to meet your eyes, hoping that the furious blush would just go away.

"Taeyong?" His name sounds foreign when you say it, he thinks, has anyone ever said his name like that?

"Yeah?" His gaze looks past you whilst he wipes his hands on his apron. "Why did you help me?" Taeyong shifts from one foot to another, looking at the white tiled floor in deep thought, he gulps,

"Because I'm inherently nice?" His lie doesn't go unnoticed but you don't push it, not that you can, because Taeyong diverts the subject of your conversation at the speed of light. "You will come early or stay back late so I can teach you, otherwise you'll screw up big time, okay?" He prescribes his advice to you with a friendly smile, pressing his index finger to your forehead and taking a step back while he does it.

"What are you doing?" Your laugh resonates in the vacant kitchen, "Making sure you don't jump me like a raccoon again, you wild animal." he grins eliciting a groan from you whilst you try to smack his hand away.

....

You take your bitter coffee in a flask and make your way sluggishly to your workplace, an hour early- as Taeyong suggested when you started working there prior 6 month from now.

Your journey at the bakery was bittersweet, bitter because you had to work long hours, sweet because your co workers weren't actually that bad.

Moreover, you'd grown a keen interest towards Taeyong(and from your deductions, so did he- or so you were told by your colleagues).

There was apparently a tangible tension in the air when you two were there, you weren't sure which part of bossing you around was a romance novel build up but you'd not have the courage to find out either because well, you were a wimp and you feared that admitting to such an interest would ruin your friendship with him. A friendship which was pleasant, comfortable and rare. A friendship which prevailed your pursuit of approaching him with a romantic interest in mind.

You smile at the reminiscence of a day you got Taeyong to be happy with the outcome you had with baking Indian style sweets. You recall spotting the grown man snacking on one of the white rolled rasgullas whilst making them, you knew Taeyong had a liking for sweets but catching him red handed had a thrill to it.

His cheeks puffed up as he chewed on the delight but when he realized that you were looking back at him, the man looked at you with widened eyes, his half eaten meal made him look like a pufferfish, as he stared back at you in horror. You reached out and wiped the corner of Taeyong's mouth. His body remained, still frozen in place, "You got a little something there,thief,"

You remember Taeyong sheepishly smiling at you after, rubbing the nape of his reddened neck. The day, now, a hazy memory at the back of your head, you don't recall much, except that you were happy that day and you were happy because of Taeyong.

Perhaps it's a little ironic how the human memory functions, you only remember stuff you'd rather forget, because see you spent days thinking about how his lip felt under your fingers and from the way he flushed at the touch. You'd presumed it had a lasting impact on him too.

But there was a slim chance that he thought of you in any other way other than just a friend, right? You shake your head at your own contemplation, rejecting the thoughts of Taeyong's smile from creeping into your head.

You place your flask down on one of the counters, attempting to take your jacket off when one of your co-workers, Johnny approaches you, wiping his flour covered palm to his forehead. "I could really have a sip," he laughs, eyeing your bottle playfully. You nod offering him the flask.

" You've got a little stuff on your forehead too," You giggle and Johnny furiously wipes his forehead again, rather getting more flour smeared on the skin than before, “Well, that didn’t help.” You point your phone’s front camera at him.

"You know what let me just wash up and come back," he says,

"but Johnny," the tall man leans back midway from his venture to the washroom. "Where is Taeyong?" "Probably in the staff room, he was showing one of the new female staffs around," you frown at your colleage's back.

Your mind races to presume what Taeyong may have been doing, was this how he treated everyone when they joined? He'd never told you why he helped you in the first place. Was she prettier? Will Taeyong not spend much time with you as much as he used to? - "Hey," your gaze halts over Taeyong's familiar features and the new staff by him, who by the way, makes you feel like an insecure puddle because of the way she twists her shiny hair and giggles at the slightest remark Taeyong makes.

"This is uh our new staff, she could learn a thing or two from us," you open your mouth to say something but close it in second thought. You resort to offering your hand in exchange of a swallowed remark, rendering the stranger a tight lipped smile. "Nice to meet you." The stranger reciprocates your warm greeting, eyes darting off to Taeyong, who takes your flask from the counter, and eyes it suspiciously.

"I have to go to the pantry," she says to you but her gaze remains fixated on the raven haired boy, you grit your teeth,the petulant child in you brimming with envy.

"Did you save some for me?" Johnny shouts over the counter,breaking you from your train of thoughts, referring to the coffee, you presume. He stands up from his position, looking at you from between the steel shelves across.

"Ye-" Taeyong uncaps the flask and chugs it down. His face scrunches up in disgust once the bitter liquid slides down his throat. "Jesus fucking Christ." He shrugs, nose crinkling as he noticeably cringes. Taeyong hates unsweetened things, coffee being one of which. "Oh, God. Sorry, Johnny, I was just so thirsty." The taller male rolls his eyes at the assistant chef's transparent dramatics, getting back to his pastry batter instead.

You shake your head, maybe telling Taeyong about your feelings wasn't a bad idea.

You look for the perfect time, deciding to pick the late slot in your daily apprenticeship.

The clock strikes midnight, leaving you two alone in the kitchen. You watch Taeyong roll the dorayaki dough, as you are going to be working with Japanese sweets. You're immersed in the way his broad shoulders shifts with each press or push. "Taeyong?" You sit atop one of the stools at the counters. He hums in response, urging you to continue.

"Do you think the new girl's cute?" He turns his head and looks at you with one of his brows raised, "Why would you ask me such a weird question?"

You roll your eyes, throwing your head back briefly. Getting an answer out of Taeyong is quite nearly impossible sometimes. "Yes or no."

He stops, "I think so? Yeah." You stand up, catching his attention. "Is that why you helped her?" Taeyong turns to you fully now, one of his jests sitting at the tip of his tongue. "Why? You jealous?"

He expects you to laugh, or cuss at him like you always do but you don't. Your face is his interrogation ground, his pitch black orbs flit across your face in a failed attempt to map out your thoughts.

Apprehension holds him tight as he uncaps his water bottle, sipping it slowly to swallow down the lump in his throat. "Yes." Taeyong coughs with his palm patting at his chest.

You near him with narrowed eyes, until his back's pressed up against the steel counter, his palms support him as he pushes his head back. Your hands are only a few inches away from his. "One more question." His eyes widens at the proximity. "Why did you help me?"

When he doesn't answer as fast as you'd like, you push his buttons further. "You're not gonna tell me. Huh." You tap your chin falsely, "Maybe, I should tell Johnny to pick me up and buy me a meal, I'm so hungry-"

"I like you. I thought you were cute. I liked you when I first saw you so..I wanted to help you." Your brows shoot upwards, satisfied with his answer, you push yourself away. "Good." Taeyong lets a long held breath go. "I'd kiss you by now, if you weren't such a wimp."

"We..need anko." He says, a bright red blush biting at his cheeks at your comment. His mind is wound up on how warm, delicate you are.

"I'll get it." You say, biting back a giggle and jogging out of the place.

Contemplation is a stupid concept, Taeyong thinks. Screwing up his dough for the umpteenth time. Japanese sweets are all about consistency and undivided attention-none of the luxuries that Taeyong could afford at the moment.

He was so distracted. Firstly, because you made him ridiculously admit that he had a big fat crush on you. He clicks his tongue at the reminder, never mind that.

Secondly, it was raining cats and dogs and there was no sign of you. He shifts from foot to foot, letting his ruminations take the best of him. Should he go out and check? You didn't even take your phone. He makes a mental note to scold you for your callousness.

However, to put an end to his worries, the silver door is pushed open with an acrid clank. He watches you grumble under your breath, you set the brown packet of anko on the counter and continue to peel the wet jacket off of your face whilst it seems to stick to you like second skin.

Taeyong steals a towel from the napkin holders and begins to wipe at your wet head. He listens intently to your muffled complaints, only to chuckle when you pause to catch your breath during your lengthy vent.

When he pulls the towel from your face, he's introduced to a pouty you, "It's all your fault." He laughs at the accusation, pointing at himself playfully. "Huh. You're right. Next time I'll ask the rain to pour a little late." He groans when you slap his arm in response.

"Besides, you ambushed me. You deserve it." His towel covered palms wipe softly at your face. The fabric rubs at the corner of your mouth. It's as if the pair of you are transfixed in the moment, stuck in a time lapse. The universe stops existing around you for a second. Taeyong looks at the color of your lips, soft, they seem. He could kiss you right now. He really could.

"Taeyong?"

He hums, gaze still fixated on your lips. "Kiss me." There's a sudden mischievous glint in Taeyong's eyes as he drapes the towel over your face. You groan, pulling it away. "You're such a fucking child." You're barely functioning as the warmth of his digits cradle your jaw. "A child! What kind of a child.." you can feel his cool breath bite at your skin, warmth radiates off of his lithe body. "would do this?"

Kissing Taeyong is unlike any other experience, it makes your toes curl and stomach erupts with butterflies. He kisses you slowly, his hands skimming your skin like he wants all of it for himself. It's you who deepens the kiss, eliciting a groan from him in response. His fingers travel down to your bum, and he pushes you up on the counter. "Your clothes are..wet." he says, digits pulling at your buttons.

[gansey-just-gansey]

Punk History 101 part nine

“Hey, wake up,” Blue said softly, gently nudging Gansey. He groaned and rolled over, ensnaring her in his arms. “No, really, it's time to wake up. We're going to be late.”

The past two weeks had been amazing. Since that first date, Blue had spent every night with Gansey. They only parted for class or when Blue had to work. Sometimes not even then. Gansey would show up to Nino's, usually with flowers or chocolate or other expensive and perishable gift and stay until her shift ended. She would remind him that it was a huge waste of time and money and he would remind her that he wasn't a dragon, hoarding away large sums of money for no reason. She was not amused by that.

Sometimes he would come alone, sometimes with friends. Blue's favorite of his friends was a boy named Henry that would jokingly flirt with her. Well, she wasn't sure it was joking, but Gansey always laughed it off so Blue didn't worry about it too much.

They spent most of the time together in Gansey's apartment, watching trashy TV and making out lazily on the couch or building a miniature version of their college campus out of cereal boxes and glue. Ronan informed her that it was a privilege to be allowed to help him with this project, even Ronan wasn't given this opportunity. Later, when they were alone, Gansey told her that that was because Ronan was “a god of destruction sent solely to ruin all that gives me hope” which loosely translated to “Ronan accidentally stepped on one of the buildings once and I still haven't forgiven him”.

They had the apartment to themselves often because Ronan and Adam had hit it off well, and they spent the nights in Adam and Blue's place, a switch that worked well for everyone. They had all gone on exactly one double date, which had devolved into a lively debate of anarcho feminism and anarcho communism and the merits of both between Blue and Ronan, completely forgetting Gansey and Adam. Gansey had hardly been able to keep his hands off her on the way home from that date. She had to keep pushing his hand back down her thigh the whole time to keep Adam and Ronan from getting a free show from the backseat.

Since she lived next door, it was easy to pop in to change her clothes, shower, and check in with Adam most mornings, passing Ronan in the hall and giving him a high five on the way in. It had all become fairly routine, but Blue never took it for granted. She was immensely pleased every time she woke up next to him, every time he brought her offerings, every time he fell to his knees to prove his worship of her.

That made her voice tender as she prodded him into wakefulness. “Gansey, it's time for class.”

“I don't want to leave you yet,” he grumbled, pulling her tighter to him.

“You don't have to. It's Monday. We have Womens' History first.”

He opened one eye and focused on her. “But you'll leave to get dressed first.”

“Well yeah, but then we'll be together for class.” She sat up on the edge of the bed, stretching deeply before getting up to collect her clothes from where they'd been flung the night before.

“You know, if you kept some of your stuff here, you wouldn't need to leave me so often,” he observed.

“Yeah, and if I had a million dollars I wouldn't need to go to work and could stay with you even more,” she teased.

“If you moved in with me, you wouldn't have to work so often either,” he pushed.

Blue started to laugh, but then caught his expression. He looked serious. “You're kidding, right? Please say you're kidding.”

“Why? It makes sense. You're always here anyway. Leases are up at the end of the semester, we could easily move in together.”

“It makes no sense! We've known each other twelve weeks and I've hated you for half of them. People move in after months of actually liking each other, if not years. Besides, I don't want to rely on you. I can and do support myself.”

“Ronan and Adam are on board,” he argued.

“What?” Blue asked, pausing with only one foot in her jeans.

“Ronan and Adam want to move in together for next semester,” he said.

“There's no way Adam agreed to move in and be beholden to Ronan,” she argued, her accent becoming thicker as she grew more upset.

“It's not becoming beholden to someone, Blue,” Gansey sighed. “It'd actually be cheaper so it would save you money that way. And you split the grocery costs with Adam, yeah? It'd be like that, but between the five of us.”

“It wouldn't be any cheaper if we stay in the same apartments we- wait, did you say 'the five of us'?”

“Yes,” Gansey drawled the word out. “Us, Ronan, Adam, and Henry. Henry was going to jump on our lease and we were going to upgrade to a three bedroom. You guys can do the same. We can even go up to a four bedroom if you want, so you can have your own space. I think they might even have five bedroom ones across campus. Whatever makes you comfortable.”

Blue stopped arguing, looking at Gansey suspiciously. It was hard, what with the constant gifts and take out food every night, to forget that Gansey was exponentially wealthier than she was. She always insisted on at least paying for part of the meals, but she could never balance out scales. With less expensive rent, she could tip the scales to at least a more even keel

“I'll think about it,” she finally said.

Gansey's whole face lit up like a kid's on Christmas. “I'll take it. Now come back to bed.”

“Nice try. I'll see you in ten minutes.” She finished pulling on her jeans and left to let him get ready.

“You could skip one day, you know,” he called after her. “Let loose! Reckless abandon!”

“Blink song,” she shouted back before opening the door to meet Ronan in the hall for their daily high five. She had to jump to reach his hand.

When Blue came in, she went straight to Adam's room. “What the hell?” she asked.

“What the hell, what?” Adam asked, pulling a black shirt over his head. He had to work at the shop tonight.

“You're moving in with Ronan next semester?”

“Oh. Yeah, it makes sense. Get the cheaper rent with the added bonus of not having to room with strangers. People move in with people they've only known a semester all the time. We just have the added benefit of being in a relationship.” He shrugged.

“You could've at least told me,” she said, not being able to come up with an argument for that.

“I was going to but Gansey insisted on asking you himself.”

“Whatever. Are you sure you want to live with Henry, though?” she laughed, walking toward her bedroom.

“If it'd get me cheaper rent and bills, I'd move in with a pig at this point. Not a messy person, a literal farm animal. Too bad pigs can't get jobs,” his voice following her down the hall.

~~~~

At one, Blue met Gansey for lunch in one of the dining halls. Henry tagged along, having just come from photography class with Gansey.

“Hey, Sargent,” Henry said, picking Blue up in a hug and spinning her around once.

“Cheng,” she answered, slightly out of breath. “How are you?”

“Fabulous as always,” he replied. “And yourself?”

“Pretty good. I was completely blindsided this morning with the idea that we're all moving in together next semester,” she threw a look at Gansey, who smiled sheepishly.

“Ah, so he finally broke the news. I can't imagine you said yes because he hasn't been crowing with joy all class. On the other hand, it is very hard to say no to him.”

“I'm thinking about it,” Blue said, remaining uncommitted.

They got their food and found a table near the door, Blue and Gansey on one side of the table and Henry on the other.

“So that was a pretty good presentation you had,” Henry said to Gansey half-way through their meal.

“Oh?” Blue turned to Gansey. “What was it on?”

“The nature of eroticism. Basically it was a bunch of pictures of things that people find sexy excluding nudity.” Gansey tried to downplay it, but Blue could tell he was proud.

“What were the pictures of then?”

“There were lots of them. Most of them were you.”

“Me?” Blue asked. Gansey was often taking pictures of her, saying he couldn't believe she needed proof of her own body. He had yet to show her any, though. She had just assumed he hadn't developed them yet. She hadn't known he was making a whole project of her.

“Of course. You're the perfect subject. You rarely ever pose and yet everything you do is effortlessly sexy,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulders.

“That's true. I mean, you even made smoking sexy somehow,” Henry agreed, winking at her.

“What are you talking about?” Blue asked, though her stomach had already dropped. She tried to remember another time Gansey had shot her smoking. She couldn't think of one, but surely there was no way Gansey had included the picture she was thinking of.

“The one of you in the black lingerie smoking on Gansey boy's lap,” he confirmed. “At least I assumed it was you from the compromising position. Have I made a terrible mistake?”

No, Henry hadn't made a terrible mistake. Gansey had. “You included the picture from the morning after our first date?” she asked, rounding him.

“Yes?” his voice went up at the end, making it a question.

“The one of me, half naked and sitting in your lap?” Her voice was the calm before the storm.

“That's the one,” he said in a small voice.

Blue took a deep breath. Then another one. And another. Her rage levels weren't getting lower. “Why the fuck would you think it would be acceptable for you to expose my body to a whole class of people without my permission?” her voice whipped out.

Gansey paled slightly. “I didn't think of it like that.”

“No, you wouldn't have, would you? Because you assume you can have whatever you want, when you want it.” Gansey flinched back, as though her words were a physical thing, weighing on him. “You think you have a right my body, to my living arrangements, to my feelings, to me. Well you don't.” She pushed back her chair and walked away from the boys, both half reaching for her, though neither stupid enough to actually touch her right then. “Fuck you, Gansey,” she threw over her shoulder and pushed out the door.

[matrixaffiliate]

Patient

Chapter Update! FFN and AO3

Next chapter goes up on July 13th!

Let me know if you want to see this end with a Hinny engagement or with a Hinny wedding (the latter would include seeing Ginny plan her own wedding).

Chapter 5

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

Ginny had no idea what she was signing up for when she asked Harry how she could help him in his learning to grieve. The last couple of months had been both amazing and excruciating. Harry had opened up to her in more ways than she could count. He went through every box of his parents' and godparents' things with her. It had taken weeks for him to tell her every story that went with every picture and every belonging. And most times a story would spark another memory that he'd kept locked away for so long and it would just start to pour out more and more of the life he had before it had been ripped from him. The immense sharing would come in waves before mellowing for a time and then come crashing down again.

Harry's mood was often off as he tried to ride this roller coaster. He never took the grief out on her, for which she was grateful, but it was painful to watch the man she loved suffer so much. That pain only increased when she realized that impatience and frustration were quickly starting to replace her sympathy. She wanted her boyfriend back. She wanted to feel like she could reach out to him for help without also worrying she was adding extra stress to him when he was already stretched as thin as cling wrap.

And she felt immensely selfish.

She had a wonderful life, and here she was complaining that she didn't have a perfect boyfriend. Ginny wanted to smack herself. What was wrong with her? Was she really so shallow that she was getting angry because Harry wasn't at her beck and call? She didn't want to be that girl. She wanted to be the woman who Harry could depend upon and rely on to hold him up and support him.

She just wasn't sure what would hold them up when she crumpled under the weight of the two of them.

But Ginny didn't have a whole lot of time to think about that inevitability because she had a wedding every nearly weekend of the summer and Vic's wedding, the most important one, was only two weeks away. So she buried herself in work and holding Harry upright and trying very hard not to feel her own emotions until she had time to process them all, whenever that would end up being.

It certainly wouldn't be tonight. After a full day of work, Ginny was meeting Harry and his old friend Neville and his wife Hannah for dinner at Harry's favorite Indian place. Ginny could feel her exhaustion in her bone marrow, but Harry had been really excited about this and Ginny couldn't bring herself to cancel on him last minute. He had enough problems without her adding to them by acting like a tired and spoiled child. Ginny pulled her hair up into a quick knot and headed out the door.

The restaurant was one Ginny loved, but she didn't love how far away from her it was. The drive was forty minutes without traffic, and getting there for dinner from her flat always took at least an hour. But it was close to Hannah's parents where the Longbottom's were visiting for a couple of days. Incidentally, it was also the same area that Ron and Hermione lived in. Ginny found that thought comforting, like some external force was looking out for her. That thought flitted away as soon as the traffic made it apparent that she would not be making it to dinner on time.

"Hey Gin," Harry's voice reverberated around her car through the speaker system.

"Hi love," Ginny bit her lip and hoped that she wasn't stressing him out, "I think I'm going to be late. This traffic is horrible."

"I think I am too; you're right, traffic is awful today," Harry chuckled, "I'll call Nev and let him know. Keep me posted and be safe."

Ginny let out a huge breath in relief, "Will do. I love you."

"Love you too, Gin." Harry disconnected the call and the radio took over Ginny's car speakers again.

The hour and fifteen-minute drive unfortunately only left Ginny with time to think, and since she couldn't be going through her wedding coordinating emails and files, her mind wandered right to how much she wanted her relationship to be normal. She had been panicked for the briefest moment when she realized that she needed to call Harry and tell him she would be late. That was ridiculous, especially given that he wasn't upset with her about it. He'd had handled it with a sense of humor. But she had worried all the same. Worried that she was going to stress him out. Worried that she'd somehow trigger him. That it would be her fault that he felt pain. And those feelings brought anger. Why couldn't he just be normal? Why did she have to love him so much that she was so against being the one to cause him pain? Why did she care? Why couldn't it be easier? And the anger was always followed by an overwhelming shame for her selfishness. And the cycle spun in her head like a top, tightening the emotions inside her like a guitar string, waiting to see if it would snap.

Somehow she kept control of herself, and pulled into the parking lot, finding a spot near Harry's car.

"Gin," Harry called out when Ginny stepped inside the little building. Ginny smiled and reminded herself that she loved this man - and that he hadn't been inside her head for the last hour and change. He had no idea things were hard right now, and she needed to keep it that way.

Harry met her halfway to the table with a kiss that managed to melt enough of her aggravation out that she could better hide the rest of it. The way he looked at her when he pulled away helped a bit too.

It was gone far too soon as he turned her toward their table and introduced her to his friends. "Gin, this is Neville and Hannah Longbottom. Nev, Hannah, this is my girlfriend, Ginny Weasley."

"It's great to finally meet you, Ginny," Neville shook her hand. "I've heard nothing but amazing things."

Ginny looked up around, "Are you sure you're at the right table?"

Harry pinched her side and she jumped closer to him.

"Oi, I have very good taste," He gave an indignant huff.

"That's obvious," Hannah smiled at Ginny. "But Harry tells us you're a wedding coordinator and I want to hear all about that."

Ginny regaled them with stories of the weddings she'd planned over the last nearly ten months of working with Wedding Composition. She told them of the most expensive wedding she'd coordinated where the dress alone was equivalent to six months of Ginny's rent payment, and the venue was more than the down payment Harry was putting on his parent's home to buy it back. She told them of the Highland themed wedding up in Scotland with kilts and bagpipes. Hannah loved hearing about the different religious ceremonies Ginny had needed to work around as well. From Jewish to Catholic to Latter Day Saints to Wiccan to a Hindu ceremony to combinations of religions in order to make everyone happy, Ginny was now rather fluent in the basics of marriage ceremonies in several different religions. 

"What about for your wedding?" Hannah asked. "What are you going to do for yours?"

Ginny felt her chest tighten and she avoided looking at Harry. Of course, she had thought that maybe, hopefully, she and Harry could have a future together. But she wasn't going to push him into it, and she honestly wasn't sure how to fit that into what their lives looked like right now. Maybe once Harry was feeling better, maybe when the wedding season slowed down, maybe when the stars aligned.

"I, I haven't really thought too much about what my wedding would look like." Ginny forced the smile to stay on her face, praying that she wouldn't trigger Harry.

"Really?" Neville's voice was soft and he had a small smile on his face. "In all the weddings you've planned, you've not thought about your own?"

Ginny had never wished harder for the power of telepathy. Neville was Harry's freaking shrink, why on earth was he pushing something so volatile right now?

Ginny was saved by the server setting down their food, and the conversation thankfully moved on from weddings and on to other, less volatile, topics.

And it was fun. Ginny had shown up exhausted, but as they continued talking she found her fatigue fading to the back of her mind. Neville and Harry ended up roasting each other with stories about growing up together. At first Ginny was nervous when Neville brought up one of his and Harry's shenanigans from childhood. But Harry laughed and added to the story before bringing up another memory. And for the rest of dinner and dessert, Ginny felt like they were going through another box from Harry's attic. The difference was that Harry didn't break down in the middle of any of the stories. He smiled. He laughed. And he was happy while reminiscing about the past. It gave Ginny just a sliver of hope that maybe he would be able to look back at the memories of his family with that same happiness too.

"This has been wonderful," Neville yawned, "but we're heading home tomorrow morning so I think we'll call it a night."

Ginny reached into her purse and pulled out her keys. "That's probably smart. I have a cake tasting tomorrow morning to be at."

Harry looked at her with an adorable pout, "You're working tomorrow? I thought you didn't have a wedding this weekend."

"I don't have a wedding this weekend, but tomorrow morning was the only time this couple could manage to be together for the tasting." Ginny kissed his cheek. "I'll be around after lunch."

Harry grinned and caught her lips before she could pull away completely. "Can I come over and play?"

"Harry!" Ginny laughed and shot an embarrassed glance over at Neville and Hannah.

"Just pretend we're not here," Hannah winked at her, standing when Neville offered her his hand.

Ginny followed suit and laughed when Harry caught her wrist, pulling her into him. "Please let your boyfriend walk you to your car."

"I suppose that I could do that," she smiled up at him, getting lost in his green eyes and the smile that had been painfully absent in the last little while.

"It was nice to meet you Ginny," Neville called out, Hannah's laughter harmonizing with his.

Ginny buried her face in Harry's chest for a moment before turning and waving goodbye.

"How early is your cake tasting?" Harry led her towards the door and their cars.

"It's not until ten, but I need to stop off at the office before that and check on a couple of things for Vic and Ted's wedding."

"Can I come by at lunch tomorrow then?" Harry ran his hand along her waist and kissed her exposed neck.

"If you don't stop I might crumble and just blow off all these weddings for you."

Harry laughed and Ginny loved the way it made her heart soar. It felt like old times, back when they first started dating.

"I won't tempt you too much then. Did you still want to be at the signing for my parents' home on Monday?"

Ginny slid her key into her door and nodded. "I've cleared my calendar for it. I want to make sure you give me one of the keys."

Harry ran a hand into his hair, "Maybe you could use it to bring some stuff over."

"Of course I'll help you move your stuff," Ginny leant between her car and the open drivers' door and looked up at Harry, the black sky mixing with the black of his hair. It would have been alluring if not for the fact that his brow was furrowed in the dim light as he looked down at her.

"Right, right, my things, right, thank you," he pushed his hand through his hair and pulled on it a moment. "I hope you know how much I appreciate how supportive you've been this last while. I don't know if I would have been able to do this without you."

Ginny pushed up and brought her lips to his, trying to pull the smile back to his face.

"I'll text you as soon as I'm home from the cake tasting."

Harry patted her cell phone in her back pocket and grinned against her lips, "I can't wait."

Ginny chuckled and pulled back to climb into her car. "I love you, Harry."

Harry brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. "I love you too, Gin."

It only took forty minutes to drive home, mostly because Ginny arrived home at half past eleven, and the exhaustion had completely set in at that point. She remembered that she needed to get the cake tasting appointment card out her purse, and almost chose to make it wait for morning, when she realized she didn't have her purse.

That was weird, normally she didn't forget her purse in the car. Sighing that she couldn't just fall into bed like she wanted to, Ginny trudged down to the car park and opened the passenger door to grab her purse.

Except it wasn't there.

Ginny's exhaustion seemed to evaporate instantly. She tore her car apart for almost five minutes before accepting that her purse was not in her car.

She must have left it at the restaurant.

Ginny ran upstairs to her flat where she had left her phone and called the restaurant.

"Yes, we did find a purse at that table, and it does match your description, ma'am." The hostess' voice was calm and friendly. "If you can make it back before we close at midnight then you can get it tonight, or you can come by tomorrow when we open at eleven and pick it up."

Ginny's heart stopped. She'd never make it. And she needed her business charge card for tomorrow, or even her own card, any card to be able to pay for the tasting.

"I, er I live too far away to pick it up tonight, but if I could maybe find someone I trust closer, could they come by and pick it up?"

"If you can tell me their name they offer identification then yes, I can let someone come get it for you."

Ginny breathed a sigh of relief. "Alright, I'll call right back and let you know if I can have someone come pick it up for me." She just hoped Ron would pick up.

"Ginny?" Ron's voice was full of concern, and a little groggy. "What's wrong?"

"I'm fine in that I'm not in any danger but I need to ask an enormous favor," Ginny held her breath for his response.

"Sure, sis, just give me a sec," Ron's answer was whispered now and she heard the shuffling of sheets.

"Alright," Ron yawned, "what's your huge favor that involved waking me up?"

"Sorry," Ginny had been hoping she wouldn't be waking him, but she knew better. Rose wore him and Hermione out. She'd make it up to him somehow. "I left my purse at that Indian restaurant Harry loves and if I can't get it picked up before they close in fifteen minutes then I won't be able to get it until eleven tomorrow and it has my wallet in it and I need the company card for tomorrow and,"

"I'm on it, Ginny, call them and tell them I'm coming."

"Thank you!" Ginny nearly cried. "I'll come to yours and get it from you. I have my keys, just leave it inside your front door and I'll use my key to grab it so you can go back to sleep. I'm so sorry and,"

"Don't be stupid, I'll bring it to you. And I'm hanging up before you can argue with me about it. Call them and tell them I'm coming."

Ginny started to argue, but true to his word, Ron disconnected the call.

Shoving aside her frustration, she called the restaurant, confirmed that Ron could pick up her purse for her and then fell onto her sofa to wait. Ten minutes later she got a text from Ron saying he picked up her purse and was heading her way.

Ginny then found herself in that awful position where the exhaustion was back but the adrenaline was still coursing through her, keeping her mind running full bore.

That turned out to be an awful situation.

It started with the frustration at forgetting her purse. That frustration quickly turned to frustration at Harry when she realized that she forgot it because he was distracting her. Nevermind the logical side of her brain that reminded her that she had loved him distracting her. The frustration at Harry quickly shifted to anger at how hard it was to support him through dealing with his grief. Especially when she needed him right now. This summer had been and would continue to be stressful and busy. But Harry needed her, it was obvious in how he'd asked to see her tomorrow - er, today - and how he'd asked for help moving his things without right out asking. And she needed to be there for him.

The weight of it all was crippling.

Ginny's emotions spun in her head as she waited for Ron to show up with her purse, twisting her up inside until she was barely holding back tears.

Ron thankfully showed up before she completely lost control.

"Everything alright?" Ron frowned at her when she opened the door.

"Oh, you know, just having a mental breakdown." Ginny shrugged, taking her purse from him.

Ron didn't even ask, he just shoved past her and into her flat. Ginny turned to see him rummaging through her cupboards.

"Does Hermione not feed you these days?"

Ron looked up in surprise, "You're upset. I'm making tea." He finally opened the cupboard that held her mugs and grinned in triumph. Then he began rummaging again looking for her tea bags.

"Ron," Ginny sighed, noticing he'd already turned on the kettle, and slumped into her chair.

"Sit," Ron focused on finding her tea and cried out with a loud "A-ha!" when he opened the drawer she kept it all in.

Harry had laughed when he'd figured out she kept her tea in a drawer probably meant for silverware, but Ginny insisted that the boxes fit perfectly in said drawer, so why would she bother with a cupboard?

Thinking about Harry pushed her back into the twisted mess of emotions that she'd spun, but Ginny forced it all back, trying to maintain control. She was gratefully and momentarily distracted when Ron set her mug in front of her.

"I hope you still take it like you did during university because it's all I remember for how you take your tea."

Ginny grinned at the over sugared and over milked drink. She wasn't going to tell Ron that she no longer took her tea this way, but it felt good to know that he had paid attention when they were both living at home and taking classes. To her surprise, the tea brought a wave of nostalgia, a longing for a simpler time in her life, when she wasn't having to function on such a high level. The undertow of that wave pulled her right back into the depths of the breakdown she'd been fighting, and this time she had no energy to fight it, and she let it pull her under.

"Let it out," Ron shoved his chair closer to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "You'll feel better after you cry."

And Ginny did let it out. She cried all the emotions out of her system. She let out the stress from wanting to make Vic's wedding perfect. She let out all the stress from worrying about Harry. And she let out the stress from feeling like her relationship had become incredibly one-sided, and the fear that it would always remain so. When the tears had finally run their course, Ginny sighed.

"I'm pathetic."

"None of that now," Ron stretched from his chair to reach the box of tissues by the sofa. "I won't sit here and listen to you shame yourself with lies."

Ginny gratefully took a tissue and tried to clean herself up. At least it was her brother that had found her in this state. He understood that Weasley's were ugly criers the lot of them.

"Listen, I know things are stressful with Vic's wedding but trust me," Ron squeezed her shoulders, "you're brilliant and it's going to be everything she's dreamed about and then you can get back to normal."

"Ron," Ginny choked, "it's, it isn't just the wedding."

Ron turned to look at her face. "What else is going on?"

Ginny slumped under his gaze and looked away. "I'm worried about my relationship."

Ron was quiet for a long moment before clearing his throat, "Er, in what way, exactly?"

"Everything feels very," Ginny shook her head, "one-sided right now. I'm killing myself to be there for him and I'm worried that I'll ask too much of him while he's processing nearly two decades worth of grief, so I'm giving everything and asking for nothing and I'm drowning in all of this."

Ron grinned at her and Ginny wanted to punch him. "I'm so happy you could find some joy in my misery, brother dearest. Why don't you give me a papercut and then pour lemon juice over it while you're at it?"

"I'm not laughing at you, Ginny." Ron pulled his tea to his lips and drank deeply. "I'm smiling because you're in a real relationship."

"You're telling me that one person giving everything and the other being incapable of giving everything is the definition of a relationship." Ginny stared at him incredulously.

Ron shook his head, "It's part of the definition, yes." Ron set his mug down and smiled at her. "Ginny, real relationships, the kind that last as long as Mum and Dad and longer, they're the ones where both sides of the relationship know that they can have those times where they need to ask everything of the other person, and that they're willing to give everything when their partner needs it too."

Ginny shook her head, "You don't understand. There have been a few moments where I've thought that maybe I really didn't like Harry."

Ron laughed out loud, "I certainly hope you have."

"You like Harry! You invited him to play on your pick up football team!" Ginny ignored the irony of defending Harry after having just admitted to having moments of disliking him.

"I think Harry is the best bloke you've ever been with," Ron's shoulders shook as he chuckled, "but I don't think you're really in love with a person if you don't have moments where you think you might hate them."

"Isn't hate the opposite of love?" Ginny felt like Ron was speaking some warped dialect of crazy.

"Not at all," Ron took another drink, "the opposite of love is indifference. That's why you see enemies to lovers in the movies a lot. Hate and love are on the same side of the line. Indifference is their real opposite. If you end up not caring at all about Harry, in that he could stay or he could go and you wouldn't really care, now that would be a problem. But when you know an imperfect person so well that you can both love them and hate them, then you're only left with one question: will you choose to hold on to each other through all the emotions, especially the hard ones?"

Ginny took a deep breath and just processed Ron's words. "So, there have been times where you hated Hermione?"

Ron laughed, "Yes, Ginny, there are moments where I may hate Hermione, but I always love her more than anything that might make me momentarily hate her. And you know what, there's probably ten or twenty times a day where she does something that could annoy me, and I still love her more than all of it. And she'll tell you the same thing. But here's the thing, emotions are based on what's happening around us and how we react to those scenarios. Which means that our emotions will change. And I can tell you that every argument that Hermione and I have had has been because of a misunderstanding. We might end up making it worse by being blatantly obtuse with each other, but it always starts because one or both of us took something the wrong way."

"So what do you do? How do you make yourself stop hating her in those moments?"

"Depends, sometimes I'm on my game and I catch that I'm upset about something silly, but not usually. What's great about emotions is that circumstances change. So something that upsets me now probably won't still upset me in twenty-four hours."

Ginny looked down into her tea, "What about those things that might not change?"

"Well," Ron paused, "Hermione hates how I wash the dishes. But I'm not relearning how to wash dishes. So one day she sat down with me and said that she didn't like how I did the dishes and asked if I would please just help with the laundry instead of the dishes. That more or less fixed things. I still don't do the dishes the way she likes, but for the most part that doesn't come up because I'm folding clothes instead."

Ginny chuckled, "Was that when you were first married?"

"Nah, that was last month."

Ginny stared at him, "But you've been married for almost five years!"

Ron grinned, "Yep, it took Hermione and me a while to realize that hints and hoping the other person will read our mind doesn't work. You have to be willing to be vulnerable and let your partner know when you're struggling to work through something. If you're continually upset about it, then bring it up. Oh and don't start out by saying that they're making problems. Hermione hates when I do that."

Ginny laughed, "Yeah, I can see why she would."

"Look," Ron picked up his empty cup and took it to the sink. "I know that sometimes in a relationship, especially a new one, it can feel like those hard moments aren't going to go away, that since the hearts and roses haven't lasted forever that you're doomed to fail. But remember, things change, you change, they change, but usually, it's a good change, usually it's growth, and usually, you can choose to fall in love all over again. Don't throw away love just because you've realized that there are other emotions involved. Learn to hold on to each other tighter through the hard times than through the good. You'll be surprised what it feels like to love someone and be loved by someone who is going to push through the storm with you, even when you both might sometimes feel like it would be easier not to."

Ron's words washed over Ginny and for the first time in weeks, she felt like she had an idea of what to do.

"Thanks, Ron, I really appreciate all this."

"Sure thing, and Ginny," he put a hand on her shoulder, "I really think Harry is worth holding on to."

Ginny nodded, "I think so too."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey," Harry grinned at her when he opened the door, "I thought you were going to text me when you finished up the cake tasting."

"The bakery is close by so I thought I'd surprise you." Ginny smiled when Harry closed the space between them and kissed her.

"I was hoping we could talk." She murmured against him.

"Then stop kissing me back," Harry chuckled against her.

Ginny pulled back and laughed. "Fine, not kissing you."

Harry moved to kiss her again but she turned and slid through the door.

"Alright," Harry followed behind her, "what are we talking about?"

Ginny led him up the stairs to his room but didn't answer him.

"Gin?" Harry's voice had a tinge of worry in it.

"It's nothing bad," Ginny assured him as she sat down on his bed and he closed the door behind them. "I just," she sighed.

"Hey," Harry joined her on the bed and pulled her close to him, "whatever you need, I'm here."

Ginny willed herself to trust that he meant it. "I've, I've been feeling like because you're working through your grief that I can't ask anything of you without opening you up to more pain."

Harry let out a loud breath like he'd been holding it in since she pulled away at the front door. "Well, that's both better and worse than what my gut panic suggested."

"I'm not breaking up with you," Ginny grabbed his leg. "I'm just, I don't know, I guess I'm trying to communicate with you."

"Come here," Harry tugged on her waist as he scooted up to the pillows at the head of the bed. Ginny followed him back and nestled into his outstretched arms.

"I won't lie, that kind of sucks to hear." Harry sighed as his hand began rubbing up and down her arm.

"It sort of sucks to say it," Ginny sighed.

"Have I done anything to make you feel that way? Or are you trying to protect me from yourself?"

Ginny thought through the question, trying to determine where the feeling had started. "I guess all this is coming from the way you shut down when Kelsey showed us your childhood home for the first time. It really scared me when you became so detached and then it felt like you shut me out and I was," she took a deep breath trying to calm the memory of how worried she was about him that day, "I was worried it would break us. That I was losing you."

Harry held her tight against him, his breathing was heavy like he was forcing it to be slow, calming himself down.

"I'm sorry I scared you." He squeezed her tightly as he said it. "I hope you know that me working through my grief is taking away a lot of the power it had over me, so that it won't be able to derail us."

Ginny felt a bit of hope in his words. She hadn't really thought about it that way. "Looking back now, I can see that I've let a lot of my decisions be dictated by fear. I was so afraid of you being right back in that mindset in the back of Kelsey's car that I didn't let myself see any change or growth. Last night at dinner I was on edge that talking about your past was going to trigger you the same way that the house did."

"Have you been on edge with everything?" Harry moved his hand to comb and play through her hair.

"Yes, but that's also been because I'm so stressed out. I've had so much work to get done and I'm so nervous about Vic and Ted's wedding because I want it to be perfect, and then I've been so scared to do anything that will make you shut down again and I've felt like I'm barely treading water." Ginny sighed. She wasn't sure if it was saying all of it out loud or if it was the way Harry was working his hand through her hair, but for the first time in weeks she felt like making it through the next day was possible.

"You are amazing, you know?" Harry kissed the top of her head. "I'm so grateful that you've been here to hold me up through all this, but please, Gin, let me help hold you up too. I may not always be at one-hundred percent, but I will always hold you up on whatever ground I have under me."

Ginny felt a calm seep into her chest and she looked up at Harry with a soft smile. "I will, and I love you."

Harry's green eyes bore into hers with an intensity that Ginny opened her mouth to ask what he was thinking, but she was cut off by his kiss. Multiple times he murmured he loved her too, and Ginny never got around to asking what he'd been thinking in that moment.

Which suited Harry just fine.

[delicatelyherdreams]

Teardrops on Lashes (Part 3)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: After New York, you moved to Bucharest to get away from the superhero stuff. You simply wanted an uneventful, ordinary life. But when a stranger moves into the apartment next to yours, you begin to question those aspirations and choose to risk it all for love.

Warnings: Mild Language; baking fluff

Word Count:  4052

Teardrops on Lashes Masterlist      

Previous: Part 2

Next: Part 4

After the longest day of work you had ever experienced, you found yourself at the bike store to look for a replacement for the one that had gotten stolen. The price tags made your head spin. Since when did bikes get so damn expensive? When you bought your old bike it was a little less than a hundred dollars and now they were running a little over three hundred.

Looks like you’d be walking everywhere for a while.

You thanked the sales associate for helping you before leaving the shop.

The busy streets of Bucharest were packed with people on the sidewalks and maneuvering around the street vendors that were selling various goods. The chatter of the people having their own conversations filed into a buzz in the background that made the walk back to your apartment feel much quicker than it actually was.

As you rounded the last corner to get to your building, you stopped dead in your tracks when the last thing you ever expected to see was sitting right outside your apartment building.

Parked outside and chained to the bike rack was your bike. The (f/c) bike you had bought all those years ago was sitting there like it had never left. The only thing that was different was a white slip of paper taped to the handle bars.

You ran over to the bike and peeled off the note. In James’s handwriting, you read, “I found your bike :) I think that earns me a pie.”

You barked a laugh. How in the hell had he found your bike? It was stolen for crying out loud! You looked down at the chain to see a pretty good combination lock holding it to the rack. Well, time to go figure out what your new combination was.

You entered the building and began to scale the stares to the ninth floor. You propelled yourself onto the landing and made your way to James's door. Taking a deep breath, you knocked on the wood.

There was a small scuffling before the door slowly opened. His eyes peeked out of the door suspiciously, and when they saw your face, they visibly softened. "(y/n)," he said in a simple greeting and opened the door wider.

You looked at him. "How did you get my bike back? Where was it? How did you even know it was mine?" you asked in a shotgun style, firing one question after another without giving him a second to answer.

James patiently waited for a pause in your rambling before he responded. “First, I saw it outside the building when I first brought my stuff up, and when it went missing and you were upset, I put two and two together and guessed it was yours. It’s good to see that my observations skills have yet to let me down.” He paused and leaned against the door frame. “Second: I saw some scumbag trying to sell it in the market and took it back.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You stared at him. “That’s it? You just took it back?”

“Yeah, what else was I going to do? I locked it up for you too, so that way it wouldn't get taken again. The code is 147.”

You blinked. “W-Wow, I, uh, I don’t know how to thank you,” you stammered.

He smirked. “I could use another one of those plum pies. The last one barely lasted twelve hours.”

You pursed your lips. “Really? C’mon, even my neighbor’s three kids have more self control than that,” you said with a laugh.

“Hey, plums are my favorite,” he said holding his hands up in defense. “And that pie was amazing.”

“Well, unfortunately for you,” you started, glancing down at your shoes, “I’m out of food money for the month and I have no more ingredients for it.”

“Well lucky for both of us, I have some extra money.” James gave you a smile.

The sight made your heart flutter. This had to be the first time you saw him truly smile.

“Oh really? Then I guess I have no reason not to make you a pie.” You paused, looking down at your work attire. “Give me a second to get changed and then we can go shopping. Then I’ll teach you to make it so you can have it whenever you want.” You didn’t give him a chance to respond before you walked the couple of steps to your apartment. “Be back in a bit.” You quickly unlocked the door and slipped in.

James stood in his doorway, slightly taken aback by your promise of teaching him to make your pie. He had been expecting you to just agree, take his money, and do it all by yourself. He had not been expecting youto instigate something that would lead you both into spending the whole afternoon together. He had known he was taking a risk making steps to get closer to you, but there was just something about you that intrigued him. He found himself waiting out in the hallway for you to come back out, anxiously clenching and unclenching his fists.

What was he doing? He moved here to get away from HYDRA, or SHIELD, or whatever government organization that would hunt him down to fill their own agendas. “Completely off the grid,” is what he had told himself when he decided to rent his dingy old apartment. “Leave no trace,” is what he had made himself promise. So why was he waiting to go grocery shopping with his neighbor whom he had known all of one day?

The logical side of him was saying to just go back inside and finish the emergency exit supplies. Pretend he got sick or something and never talk to you again. Disappear off her radar. After all, being around him would only get you hurt.

The human side of him, however, was trying to coax him out of his cold shell. “This is what we wanted. A fresh start,” it said. You didn’t know him or what he had done before Bucharest. You didn’t know Bucky or the Winter Soldier and so you didn’t expect anything from him. You only knew James, the quiet new neighbor with a love of plums.

A small smile crossed his lips. Maybe that’s all he needed.

Meanwhile, you were dashing around your apartment in a frenzy as you undressed, dressed, undressed again, and once more got dressed. No outfit seemed cool or casual enough to go out to buy things with James. You wanted to make a good impression on him, and seeing as how the first thing he saw you in was covered with flour and the second was your uniform, you weren’t doing so hot. You rummaged through your closet looking for a decent shirt with minimal holes. “Come on, (y/n), keep it together. You’re going shopping, not to the met.” Finally you settled on a plain orange v-neck, a pair of skinny jeans, and some fuzzy boots. You threw your hair up into a messy bun and quickly exited back out into the hallway. “Phew, sorry about that. I just had to get out of that skirt,” you said locking the door once more.

James’s eyes snapped towards yours. “Oh, don’t worry about it,” he quickly replied. “I was okay with waiting.”

“Still,” you shoved your keys into your pocket. “I hope you didn’t have to wait too long.” You shot him a grin and jerked your head towards the stairs. “Now come on, this pie won’t make itself.”

He stepped back from the stairs. “After you.”

You smiled. “Such a gentleman,” you teased and took the stairs first.

As you reached the main floor, James turned his gaze to you. “Do we need my bike again?”

“Oh, no. The store isn’t too far away from here,” you said walking down the sidewalk. “It’s only three blocks... I think. I can never remember just how much distance it is. It’s about a six minute walk though.”

He paused as if doing the math in his head. “So yeah, about three to four blocks. Huh, it’ll be nice to have a grocery store so close to home," he remarked as you started to lead him in the direction of the store.

“Oh it is. Especially when you’re craving ice cream,” you admitted with a laugh.

He smiled. “Wouldn’t want it to melt.”

You nodded with a smile.

James glanced over at you before walking behind you to your other side so you were stationed on his right side. At your puzzled look he just shrugged. “Habit. I prefer people on my right.”

Okay, little strange, but you weren’t one to argue. After all, you had your own little quirks as well.

As the both of you walked down the street, you looked up at James. “So did you end up finding a job?” you asked curiously.

He nodded. “Yeah. The moving company on thirty first street needed some extra hands. So I’ll be working there moving people in and out of houses or apartments.”

“Oh, movers,” you said with a chuckle. “They saved my life when I first got here. There was no way I could’ve moved my bed all the way to the ninth floor.”

“We are helpful,” he admitted. “And they already gave me a bonus, which I’ll be using to get pie ingredients.”

“Oh well lucky you.” You shook your head with a laugh.

The two of you rounded a corner for the final stretch to the store.

“So, Cyrotechnics?” he asked. “What do you do there?”

“Cyber security and programming,” you answered. “I basically hack our site over and over again and build software to protect it from people who would do the same thing.”

“So you’re good with computers?”

You nodded your head. “In a way. I’m much better at hacking. If you ever need to hack into government secrets, I’m your gal.”

James bit his lip to hide a grin. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.

After walking a few yards, you pulled up to the grocery store.

“Okay, we’re going to need flour, sugar, butter, and salt for the crust and cover, and for the filling we need lemon juice, nutmeg, sugar, flour, salt and cinnamon,” you rattled off. The recipe, thankfully was committed to memory after making it so many times.

He frowned as he grabbed a basket. “What about the plums?”

“Don’t worry, we get those last,” you reassured. “Now come on.”

Up and down the aisles you both walked, throwing in the ingredients you needed.

James pulled the cinnamon off the shelf and looked at its price. “Just how much are these things?”

“For a decent pie, roughly ten to fifteen dollars total. For an excellent pie, it might cost you an arm,” you said teasingly. “Don’t worry, I won’t make you buy the most expensive things for a pie. I’m not that evil.”

“Mhmm, well I appreciate it. I don’t have any more arms to spare.”

“I don’t think any of us do,” you said shoving the flour into the basket. “Alright, that should be everything.”

“Alright, now for the plums,” he said walking towards the produce section.

“Ah, James!” you called to stop him. “We don’t get those here.”

He frowned. “Is there another grocery store somewhere?”

You bobbed your head. “Something like that.” You led him over to the check out aisles.

He pulled out his wallet as you loaded up the conveyor belt.

The cashier told him something in Romanian. You only caught a few words like “pie” and “hot,” but it must have been something pleasant because James gave her a small smile. You noticed, however, that it wasn’t like the few he had given you before. This smile didn’t quite reach those gorgeous eyes of his like they did for you.

You quirked an eyebrow at him as you grabbed the bagged goods. “What was that all about?”

“Oh, she just told me that it’s too hot out to be making a warm pie. I don’t really care though, not when it involves your pie."

You smiled slightly. "Good, then you won't mind taking some of the bags?" you asked holding out the one with the heavier ingredients in it.

James cracked a grin. "I guess not." He took the bag and continued to follow you as you exited the store. "So where do we get these plums?"

"The market," you answered. "There's a plum cart run by an older lady named Lucinda and she grows the best plums for pies. Not too hard but not too soft and easy to get the pit out of."

The market was a small walk away, maybe only a minute or two, and, like always, it was bustling with people running their daily errands.

James stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the large crowd of people. His left hand clenched tightly and his lips formed a thin line.

You looked over your shoulder when his presence disappeared from your side. A concerned frown covered your lips. “James, you alright?”

He took a few moments to respond. “Y-Yeah, fine.”

He wasn’t fine. He didn’t look fine by a long shot, and you sure as hell noticed. You swiveled your head in between him and the crowd of people in front of you before it finally dawned on you that he could have crowd anxiety. Instead of encouraging him to follow you, you dug into your pocket and fished out your keys. “Here,” you said tossing them to him. “Head back and preheat the oven for me?” you asked sweetly.

He caught the keys in his right hand. “Y-You trust me to go back to your apartment alone? You don’t think I’ll rob you or anything?”

You shrugged. “There’s really nothing of material value in there. And besides, you’ve never given me any reason not to trust you and I kinda know where you live.” You shot a teasing grin his way. “Go on, I won’t be long, and it’ll get done that much faster if we divide and conquer, right?”

He paused to consider it before nodding his head. “I’ll see you back there then...”

“Just don’t burn the place down!” you called out to him as he began to retreat.

His shoulders shook slightly with a bout of silent laughter. “I won’t!” he called back.

You settled back onto your heels as you watched him walk away. The smile on your face slowly melted away as he disappeared from sight. You wondered what had happened to him to make him nervous around crowds, but it wasn’t your place to pry or ask. After you couldn’t see him anymore you turned and plunged into the crowd.

Familiar street vendors waved at you from their carts and shouted greetings.

In return you did the same as you walked to Lucinda’s plum cart.

The old lady was sitting in the shade of her awning knitting a pair of electric blue socks. She looked up with a bright grin when she saw you approach. “(y/n)! What a lovely surprise! Making another pie?”

“Always am, it seems,” you responded with an exasperated sigh. “Got any good ones?”

She gave you a knowing smile. “Check the left bin towards the top right,” she said in a low voice.

You did as she suggested and sure enough, when you felt the plums, they were perfectly ripe and just right for the pie you were going to make. You picked up one of the grocery sacks she provided and began to fill it with at least a dozen of the most perfect plums you could find. “Alright, I have thirteen plums. How much?” you asked for what seemed to be the millionth time.

Lucinda had to constantly change the prices from day to day depending on how many people were buying. She, like everyone else in the world, had to make ends meet and the plums were really her only source of real income since she refused to use her husband’s life insurance unless she desperately had to.

She pressed her lips together thoughtfully. “Well, we are having a good day, so your total’ll be seven *leu.”

Thank god you never left the apartment with anything less than twenty because you had forgotten to ask James for some money to buy the plums. You pulled a couple of bills from your pocket and handed them to her. “Thanks again, Lucinda!” you called as you tied up the bag.

“Anytime, (y/n). Any time.” She gave you a lazy smile before returning to her knitting.

You took your bag and began to speed walk the couple blocks back to your apartment. Once there, you climbed the stairs two at a time to the ninth floor. Your door was already open a crack and you heard the small clatter of feet and metal on metal behind the door.

You smiled softly and pushed the door open. “I got the plums!”

James jumped at the sound of your voice and turned to face you faster than you could blink brandishing one of your knives as a makeshift weapon. His eyes were hard and fierce in a way you had never seen them before. When he saw you, he lowered the knife. “Holy crap, (y/n), you scared the daylight out of me,” he said putting it down on the counter.

You closed the door behind you. “Sorry, the door was open so I just thought you were expecting me.”

He shook his head. “I was, just not so soon.” He rested his hands, which were still gloved, on the counter and hung his head. His long hair fell forward and covered his face. “I couldn’t figure out how to work your oven,” he admitted with a weak laugh.

Walking behind him, you quickly pressed a couple buttons to get it started and set the plums on the counter. “Don’t worry about it,” you said with a smile. You swiped your baking outfit from the oven’s handle and tied it on over your clothes. “Anyways, now that we have everything, we can get started.” You glanced down at his hands. “You might want to take off your gloves. We’re going to be working with a lot of flour and I’d hate for you to get them all dirty.”

He clenched his left hand into a fist. “Ah, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather keep them on,” he said coldly. “I don’t care about the flour.”

You hesitated before nodding your head. “Alright. You’ll be on filling duty then.” You handed him the grocery bag of plums. “Go ahead and slice enough of these to make four cups.” You pulled a chair from your dining room set over and mounted it. Balancing to counteract its wobbliness, you opened the top cabinet and pulled out your large and small mixing bowls. “Then sprinkle it with about a tablespoon of the lemon juice. It’s okay if you’re a little off. Then after those are done, you’re going to want to mix together a half cup of sugar, maybe a bit more if you like yours sweeter, a fourth cup of flour, and a fourth teaspoon of salt and cinnamon. Once you’ve got those all mixed...” you continued to rattle off instructions to him as you pulled out the things to make the crust. When you had finished you looked at him to make sure he was still with you. “Got it?”

He stared at you dumbstruck. “How the hell do you have this all committed to memory?”

You shrugged with a grin. “My best friend has three kids who love this thing. I’ve made it for nearly every birthday in lieu of a cake. After the twelfth time, you learn you don’t need the recipe card anymore.”

The laugh that came from his mouth made butterflies erupt in your stomach. You wanted to make him laugh again it was that amazing.

“I can see that. I think I’ll be good for now and if I start to screw up you can correct me.” He smirked as he pulled one of your sharper knives from the knife block.

You pulled some measuring cups from a drawer. “You bet your ass I will. You will not defile my glorious pie with your inability to follow directions,” you said waving the teaspoon at his face.

He picked up the cup and began to slice the plums into it. “I’ll do my best.”

The two of you worked side by side, methodically helping each other out when necessary.

James actually wasn’t half bad with the filling. He cut the plums with expert hands that seemed to know exactly how to work the knife. He must have been a chef or something wherever he was before here. He kept up with your instructions and finished the filling in half the time it would normally take you to do it. Impressed with his speed, you tasked him with making the topping while you finished the crust.

All the while you two talked about random things: favorite foods and colors, which was better, cats or dogs, and yourselves. You found out that he had left America for a reason similar to yours, but instead of getting away from super heroes he was trying to get away from his past. He didn’t go into any detail about said past but you understood that whatever it was had to be really bad if it drove him halfway across the world where he knew absolutely no one. From there the two of you talked about future plans. You wanted to someday move out of the apartment and settle down to build a family and he just wanted stability. He said he had been searching for a place to settle down for a year, and was hoping that this place was good enough to stay for a good amount of time. He didn’t sound too optimistic about it though. You tried to tell him it would be okay but he just brushed you off saying, “Whatever’s gonna happen will happen, I just have to deal with it.”

Finally you finished your crust and it came time to assemble the pie. You had him pour the filling while you finished off the topping. After the filling was set, you crumbled the topping over it and stuck it in the oven. “Now we wait an hour,” you concluded as you untied your apron.

James bent down and looked through the glass at the pie. “That’s actually not as complicated as I thought it’d be.”

“Right?” You looped the apron back through the handle. “I’ll make you a copy of the recipe card so you can have it whenever.”

His smile faltered a bit. “I’ll never make it right.”

“Nonsense. You did half of this one and I’m sure it’ll be fine.” You bent down next to him and peered in. “See? It looks just like how it normally does.”

“Looking the same and tasting the same are two very different things,” he pointed out.

You shrugged. “You’ll figure it out. I can’t keep making pies for you otherwise I’ll have to start charging for my services.”

“And if I’m willing to pay?” he asked raising an eyebrow as he turned his head slightly towards you.

“I’ll consider it,” you answered quietly. “C’mon.” You stood up fully and walked over to your couch. “I’ve got Netflix so we can watch whatever you want for an hour while we wait.” You plopped down on the right side.

James smiled and joined you sitting on your left. “Alright.”

He chose an older comedy but in truth neither of you really watched it. Instead, like before, you carried out a conversation, talking about whatever came to mind. The hour passed quicker than either of you realized and the timer on the oven going off made the both of you jump in your seats. After the pie had cooled, you both agreed on sharing a slice to test its taste. Much to your delight, you found that it had to be one of the best pies you had ever made.

*leu: Romanian Currency; 1 leu is equivalent to about 0.25 USD 

Teardrops on Lashes Taglist: @fuckthatfeeling

[quiznackingqueen]

So, the hoverbike could have belonged to Shiro at some point, and here’s how:

The only canon information we have on the hoverbike is that it once belonged to Keith’s dad, and eventually became Keith’s, but that doesn’t mean your headcanon of Shiro owning the bike contradicts this! (or, you know, it can if you want it to, but it doesn’t have to)

We all know it was Keith’s in the first season, so I’m not going to clutter this meta with screenshots of that. What is causing some confusion however, is how we know Keith’s dad owned it, so here’s a quick summary of that:

This is a screenshot from season 6:

It’s from Keith and Krolia’s vision of her and Keith’s dad leaving to protect the blue lion from the Galra that found it. It doesn’t show Keith’s dad explicitly getting on the bike, but it’s implied. (I mean, we know it’s not Keith or Shiro guys). So the engine starts, and then we get a quick shot of Keith’s dad twisting the throttle:

There was also a minuscule shot of the hoverbike flying towards the three falling ships:

So, now we’ve established that the first owner of the hoverbike was definitely Keith’s dad, and I know what you’re thinking:

Why would Shiro ever own it then? The natural conclusion to all of this would be that Keith simply inherited the bike. That’s usually how these things work.

You’re right, it is. But it’s not the only way things could have gone.

Look at the flashback of Shiro leaning against the bike:

It’s not exactly something most of us would do with a bike we didn’t own, or with someone we weren’t exceedingly close with, which Shiro and Keith weren’t at this particular moment in time. (I’ve got a meta about that here)

So assuming that the hoverbike does belong to Shiro in this scene, how did he get it?

Well for starters, remember how young Keith was when his dad died?

Now I know he’s a runt, but he can’t be older than 10 here, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he were younger.

So what happens to property of minors in foster care?

As a minor Keith wouldn’t be able to control or make executive decisions regarding things like the shack, any money his dad might have left him, and the hoverbike. Instead the court would assign Keith a property guardian. (Usually a family member or trusted friend named in the will, unfortunately most people don’t realize they need to name one, and just assume the property automatically transfers to the minor. Note: It doesn’t.)

Now, this property guardian may not mortgage, rent, lease, charge, or transfer Keith’s property by sale, gift, exchange or otherwise without the previous permission of the court.

However, the property guardian may petition the court to do those things for the benefit of the minor, their protection, and/or education. Some states require that the minor be given notice once they reach a certain age, some don’t.

Keith can make requests regarding the assets of the estate, but everything must go through and be approved of by the property guardian and the courts. He can also request a different guardian, but generally you have to be older to do this, or able to prove the current guardian is unfit, neglecting their duties, or abusing their power.

Why does this matter?

It means that as of this point, the bike is in the care of his property guardian. Keith is too young to fly it, he doesn’t have insurance, he doesn’t have a license, and it is obviously in his best interest to keep him away from the dangerous flying vehicle.

Except do we actually believe that would stop Keith? No. I’m betting that Keith’s dad started teaching him the basics young, and they probably flew together all the time.

So Keith doesn’t let his new caretakers tell him he can’t do this for another six years or so. No, instead, Keith sneaks out to fly it, all the damn time.

This is a problem. Small children are not allowed to drive, especially such fast, dangerous machines, it just isn’t safe. That being said, how can they stop him? They can’t just keep him locked up. They also don’t have the manpower to keep him in line of sight 24/7. So what do they do? They get rid of it.

Now, their first option is to petition the court to sell it, citing safety concerns and using the money towards Keith’s education. (There’s also the fact that if the bike lies unused as long as it takes for Keith it get his license, it will fall apart and lose most if not all value.)

Option number two is less ethical, but as far as I can tell still technically legal: The next time Keith sneaks out to ride it, his caretakers call the police, and get him charged with illegal vehicle usage. This could result in the hoverbike being impounded. Not only is retrieving an impounded vehicle expensive, you also have to provide insurance. Keith’s caretakers and property guardians can effectively block him from getting it back, and even being compensated for it. After a set period the hoverbike is sold at auction.

Regardless, Keith doesn’t see it again for years, until:

Shiro shows up towards the end of class to give a recruitment speech at Keith’s school. Keith ignores him for the most part, until he looks out the window and sees his dad’s hoverbike in the parking lot.

Shiro bought it on a whim. He has a soft spot for old things. They have so much character, and he likes imagining the stories they would tell if they could. The bike is basically his baby, and he loves it. (Matt definitely makes fun of him for it)

When the class ends Keith races outside. He studies it, eyes stinging, chest tight, as he takes in every familiar dent and ding. It’s definitely his. Shiro comes out to hind him still transfixed. He takes in the little tremors as the kid obviously holds back tears and his brows dip in concern. He asks him if he’s okay. Keith just shakes his head, trying to find a way to speak without everything spilling over.

When he finally does, his voice is rough with a grief that punches Shiro in the gut, “It was my dad’s.”

Shiro doesn’t know what to say. He wants to apologize, but the words feel hollow on his tongue. He doesn’t know how to do this. The Garrison didn’t teach him how to comfort or assure.

Shiro bites his lip, an idea forming. It’s a terrible idea, but it’s all he’s got. “Can you fly?”

Keith’s head jerks up, confused, he nods. Shiro smiles softly, taking the keys out of his pocket and holding them out. “Wanna go for a ride?” (He’ll berate himself later for the terrible word choice)

Fuck, if he didn’t do something right though, because the kid lights up and before he could blink they were gone. For once Shiro was the one having to hold on for dear life. (Matt was somewhere laughing his ass off at the sweet revenge)

When they stop Shiro’s breathless. He’d asked if the kid could fly, and holy shit could he fly.

They talk for while. Shiro convinces him to join the Garrison and offers to vouch for him. He also learns where the bike came from and how it got there, and it breaks his heart. He wants to give it back then and there, but Keith’s afraid it will get taken again, so Shiro promises to keep the bike safe until Keith turns 18.

Later, Keith confesses he’s glad Shiro ended up with the bike.

Cue the boys spending their free time flying in the desert. Remember that cliff dive in the first episode? You can’t tell me that’s the first time he tried that shit. I am fully convinced he attempted this and all sorts of other stunts to scare the hell out of Shiro. And also to feel those beefy arms tighten around him.

When it comes time for the Kerberos mission Shiro signs the bike over to Keith. (Personally I like the idea of him giving the keys and the title to Keith on the launch platform)

So. Yeah. Everybody could have owned the bike :p

[wolff06wolff-blog]

Educating Blunders You Do not Want To Make.

A mom of 2 and also enthusiastic health and fitness speaker, Lisa M. Wolfe had her first physical fitness post released in 2001. In the final edge there was an iron entrance much like the door the rangers entered from, yet as opposed to having a diamond in the middle, it had a photo of Earth. studiosante could be an excellent choice for strength athletes, especially those that dedicate severe gym time to the Olympic raises in particular. Pneuma: Breath of Life is an enthralling first person puzzler putting gamers' minds to the examination in an aesthetically stunning globe using the power of Unreal Engine 4. Pneuma supplies gamers with a feeling of admiration and an unrelenting resolution to solve every puzzle as well as development via a narrated tale of self-discovery, discovering the essential nature of being. Some individuals draw real motivation from the team environment of the social gym. 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Il est vrai que j' y consacre a peu prés 4 heures par semaine chez moi en musique et je peu vous alarming que je ne rate aucune séance tant je me sens bien après mon heure de power plate. There are various other basic functions of porch PL-P portable wheelchair lift are as follows. The Supreme Court already chose that concern too in American Electric Power v. Connecticut, in 2011. Both gyms have moved around the central city location of Sparkhill and also provide for a mainly Muslim customers. The Lumo Raise costs ₤ 80 in black, white as well as grey with black and silver magnets. Like many Canal & River Count on projects, the Anderton Boat Lift survived thanks to neighborhood volunteers, most of which are still entailed. Sarah Ridgard, nonetheless, confesses that she chose her university location at the LSE on the basis that the building had a paternoster - an ever-moving lift which passengers enter. The federal government recognizes the possible human expense of coal power stations shuttering, claiming plant closures could have a substantial influence on communities" as they utilized around 100-500 people directly. Your one-rep max, or 1RM, is the heaviest weight lots you could effectively raise as soon as with excellent strategy. Increase your hips by pushing your heels right into the sphere and also raise until your hips, heels and also shoulders develop a straight line. After years of lack of exercise, Carlos returned as the Black Space Ranger in order to help the Galaxy Rangers fight the Psycho Rangers. I haven't check out the key however I think the power communicates the exact same message that was in the key, from a various angle. To Billy went the Triceratops Power Coin, offering him the power of the Triceratops, and also control of the Triceratops Dinozord. Childhood obesity gets on the increase, as well as this is one reason gyms are ending up being so popular. Practising dead lifts, for example, will certainly assist you raise hefty things securely; performing core exercises will assist your stance as well as strengthen the muscles that sustain your lower back. We were controlled by Lothor right into striking the one force with the power to save this world. Turning up to the gym and putting even more weight on bench than you could raise appropriately and also struggling through one sloppy representative is a proven means to stagnate in your toughness objectives. Unexpectedly, from much up the lane, the audio of wheels grating on the snow, might be listened to simply. Only two mayors lifted their bans following the Villeneuve-Loubet judgment: the Socialist mayor of Oye-Plages near Calais and also the centrist mayor of Eze in the Alpes-Maritimes. Near the equivalence point, rather small increments (3 to 5 declines) will be made use of. Taking unmitigated coal power out of our power mix and changing it with cleaner innovation, such as gas, will significantly lower discharges from the UK's power usage," he stated. They typically aren't cheap yet they include that 'Olympic training area' really feel to any type of gym as well as are a whole lot simpler on the flooring if they need to be gone down. In simply 2 years, Vivint had placed solar panels on twenty two thousand houses, producing 274MW (5.6% of overall created in Nigeria), the dimension of a power station! However the national relationship with the gym might be concerning an end, inning accordance with brand-new main figures revealing a depression in the number of normal individuals after years of evidently relentless growth. There is a danger that Liverpool can be as well known for gymnastics as it is for football if they are effective. In Could, Engie's president, Isabelle Kocher, informed a French Us senate board the firm intended a progressive withdrawal from coal-fired power generation, which the share of coal in its power mix would be up to about 10% from 15% over the following couple of years. Every model or variation of staircase lift has their different functions as well as tools yet operations of all of them are very similar. In celestial spaces, regarding a quarter of a mile distance from the Megaship, the Pink and also Red Astro Rangers waiting for their Galaxy Gliders for the shuttle bus to appear. Additionally, allow's not forget that the Power Rangers are a team of young adults - and also most teens do not have bionic busts to fill those sizable metal cups. A variety of gyms now support 360-degree" tracking solutions that consider participants' exercise executed outside the health club, as well as their nutritional intake. At his one year Secondary school get-together, Conner is given the future by Broodwing where he, Ethan, and Kira meet up with the S.P.D. Rangers. When travelling from the main island (Fitness center Island) to the various other islands, boosting your stats will aid you to beat your adversaries. His professional swordfighting ability and also remarkable firepower make him among the Rangers most dangerous villains. When Master Vile turned around time and also returned the Rangers to youngsters, the Ape Power Coin was later damaged by Zedd and also Rita. Luckily, the spell is damaged and also he retrieves himself as he later on becomes the White Power Ranger. With that, the photo of Zordon, along with the columns, vanished, leaving the 6 Terran Rangers standing changed amongst the damages of the Command Facility. Joe relocated the fitness center in Santa Monica over to Venice in one more massive structure that he made manually and it was tri-level. In circumstances such as this one, we typically claim that we are preparing or looking into the most effective technique, however these rationalizations allow us to feel like we are moving on when we are just spinning our wheels. If, at the end of the year, the higher power does not want me to be champion with everything I have offered towards it, I will need to accept that. This paralyzed your interest and you gave up not since you should, but because you felt like it. Your emotions created you to turn a Phase 1 or Stage 2 failing into a Phase 3 failure. The practices of the Exodus from Egypt, which Jews, Christians, and also Muslims share in typical, talk about a dispute in between God's power and also the power of Pharaoh and also the formation of alternate power which was organized by Moses, Aaron, and their sis Miriam. Shane is slowly uncovering his natural management capabilities as a Power Ranger. Bonjour Nathalie, Je suis moi-même à la recherche d'un centre power plate sur Bruxelles. A morning yoga exercise session given by the health club authorities keeps you fresh all day.

[alsolfu]

untitled quarantine Lorenz/Byleth fic

So I began a Byleth/Lorenz fic last year to cope with quarantine. I don't know if I'll post all of it, but I wanted to share the first part.

The basic premise: Lorenz and Byleth break up around the time quarantining becomes necessary and are stuck living together until their lease ends, forced to face their issues. Will they reconcile by the time they're vaccinated or will it not work out?

There's angst, drama, romance, and a little bit of dumb humor throughout. As well as bits of smut, but you won't be finding any of that in this part.

Anyway! Please enjoy. :)

Lorenz hadn’t wanted to do it. But her face. Byleth’s beautiful face when they’d eaten breakfast together that morning-- it had sealed his fate. Being the third time they’d signed this particular lease agreement, he hadn’t read through each page or paid attention to the new stipulations.

He hadn’t read it because he hadn’t wanted to sign it. He hadn’t wanted to sign it because he’d found the perfect place. A brownstone in downtown Fhirdiad. Twice as big as their current house for triple the rent. With a spectacular view.

Just not one so spectacular he couldn’t be immediately and wholly dissuaded by a sleepy morning smile from the love of his life. So he’d signed the renewal and dismissed the brownstone. It wasn’t going to mend the fractures, but he’d felt it was a start in the right direction. He felt hopeful.

That turned out to be another issue. Feeling. Lorenz felt everything. The pleasant pinch in his chest at her laughter, the almost-jaded shock during her vulgar moments, the delight when she looked at him-- the way she looked at him sometimes.

But even the act of feeling was another fracture he couldn’t fix. It was impossible. While Lorenz felt everything, Byleth felt nothing. He could never influence that; he couldn’t believe he’d ever tried.

#

His wardrobe was a spectrum of purple hues, and his suitcase was an ugly clashing shade of yellow. Byleth had bought it for him the single time they’d visited the Alliance together. Unprecedented, both the trip itself and the way he and his father had so enormously disappointed each other. His father, normally a reasonable fellow, thought Byleth unworthy. Lorenz, offended but unsurprised, thought his father a short-sighted buffoon.

The idea of returning home, broken hearted and wearied, made Lorenz feel absolutely ill. His father will undoubtedly congratulate him. Dreadful. He couldn’t bear it.

“As my mind clings to desperate thoughts,” he murmured, catching himself before saying more. Emotional as he was, this wasn’t the time for poetry.

Making one last quick, cursory round of their--no, just hers now--bedroom, he picked up the last piece of himself and put it in the suitcase. The rest of his clothes and belongings he’d return for later. When he wasn’t so furious. When Byleth wasn’t standing in the doorway watching him.

“Do you need a ride?” she asked.

Lorenz closed up the ugly yellow suitcase, long fingers lingering over the sticker Byleth had slapped onto its hard, tacky surface.

“Applying a garish decal to an already unsightly piece of luggage?” He pursed his lips at the sight, his eyes tracing the Alliance’s crest, surrounded by the words ‘Leicester Alliance Founding Day’ with distaste. “I see no point.”

Byleth laughed. “I like yellow. Besides…” She lifted onto the tips of her toes, one hand gently meeting his jaw. “It’ll remind you of today.”

That didn’t satisfy Lorenz. “Being escorted out of the Gloucester estate for insulting my father isn’t a memory I wish to hold close.”

She kissed him rather than attempt to placate further, and Lorenz melted with the same ferocity he’d had the first time she’d let him this close. It was punctuation, marking the best moments in his life. It worked to settle him more than any platitude. He’d been brutally honest with his father on Founding Day that year, and she was marking it down for him.

He wouldn’t need a silly little sticker to remember this. Not when her warmth overpowered all else. Not when she’d kissed him for so long outside their gate, they nearly missed their flight back to Fhirdiad.

Lorenz steeled himself, one hand taking the handle of his suitcase while the other lifted to brush away loose strands of hair getting into his face. “Claude is on his way now.”

Byleth nodded.

Lorenz felt the usual push, the inclination to explain why Claude was in town, but Byleth didn’t ask. She nodded and left him alone in their--hers now, it’s just her--bedroom. She left him standing there as readily as she’d accepted it when he’d announced he was leaving her.

“To find warmth where there’s none,” he spoke quietly, sending one last look around what had once been his safest, most intimate space. “I’m left adrift--” He caught himself again, gritting his teeth.

To hell with it.

#

Lorenz H. Gloucester: I’ll be on the stoop. Hurry up.

Claude: she really kickin you out?

Lorenz H. Gloucester: Leaving was my decision.

Claude: lmao omw bb We’ll get ice cream Talk about our feelings

Lorenz H. Gloucester: I don’t have the patience for this, Claude.

Claude: Ouch ok we’ll get a drink instead

Lorenz H. Gloucester: The only thing I want to get right now is as far away from this nightmare as possible.

Claude: Ya just let it out buddy

In that moment, standing on the stoop in the crisp, wintry air, Lorenz realized it was Hilda he should’ve called for support.

---

Byleth didn’t want to move out. She loved this place. She’d seen the look on Lorenz’s face that morning two months prior and suggested they sign the renewal before he could announce anything idiotic. She knew that look. They weren’t ready to settle down somewhere. Not yet. He had to understand it wouldn’t fix anything.

He’d found a new place--likely something they couldn’t afford while maintaining his expensive taste in clothing--and she’d been briefly taken by the look on his face as he’d itched to announce it. She hadn’t let him. She’d gotten him to sign the agreement instead. Despite the tense air, arguments, and avoidance, they’d silently agreed to give it another year.

Another shot.

He’d kissed her that morning, and she’d thought about it for days afterward, fingertips tracing her lips and pressing them against the front of her teeth. She was in love with this guy, and she was a fool for it.

The only person Lorenz loved was himself, but he’d truly gotten her to believe she was, for a time, the exception.

#

The second the front door closed behind Lorenz, Byleth felt the weight of everything slump heavily onto her shoulders. She stared at the door, thought about going after him, then thought to lock the bolt mechanism for good measure.

Instead, she sank, lowering herself onto the out-of-place chaise lounge she’d bought Lorenz two birthdays ago. To add class, he’d said. Byleth thought he just needed a cute place for his personal drama. A place to faint attractively. She scanned the deep purple upholstery, recalling his soft sighs against her temple as she’d worked him into a weak, overstimulated mess to break in the new lounge the day she’d surprised him with it.

Coming to an abrupt stand, she covered her face with her hands and sighed. The weight grew heavier, tighter in her chest. It constricted at her throat. She forced down the feeling with a hard swallow. She couldn’t cry. Lorenz had made this decision for himself. He was selfish and self-centered and saw nothing else.

She wouldn’t let it affect her.

Fingers peeling over her cheeks, she sighed again. A honk from a car outside held her in place. Claude already? Was Lorenz giving him a cutting remark for the noise? Was he loading that yellow suitcase into the back now?

Byleth’s stomach lurched.

She bypassed the window--if she checked, she’d go after him--and trailed down the hallway to the home office. Best to fend off the longing. She knew the feeling. It crept up, increasing the pace of her heart. It held her tighter than the discomfort. She was suddenly suffocating.

The window in the office was obfuscated by a weeping fig that shed leaves at a speed Byleth found almost sinister. Dried leaves crunched under her slippers. More fell when she pushed aside some of the brush to look down onto the street.

The lean, lavender shades of her former boyfriend climbed into a car she didn’t recognize. She couldn’t see Claude. She didn’t care.

Her breath fogged the glass. Her vision blurred. Everything suddenly felt hot and wet and heavy. Unpleasantly so. She wiped her eyes and cleared her throat. She had to do it two more times before it actually worked to quell her emotions. No tears came. She was going to make sure they never did.

#

There were less students in the club today than Byleth had ever seen. Or rather, not seen? She’d considered the possibility of losing a few. Outbreaks of an unknown disease in the Empire killed many and frightened even more. When the news of it had first reached her three weeks prior, her mind had been… elsewhere.

The toughest decisions are the right ones you never wish you have to make.

Byleth winced at the thought. Just as Felix Fraldarious leaned into her open doorway.

He brushed hair out of his face. “Bad time?”

Her expression slowly eased. “What do you need?”

Felix stared at her.

She stared back.

“If you start crying, I’m calling Bernadetta.”

Byleth sighed. “I won’t.”

He pushed off the doorway and stepped into the room. “You said that last time.”

Last time, her boyfriend of the last decade had announced he didn’t want to be with her anymore. Byleth was stuck in a game of phone call tag with someone from the bank to disentangle her finances from Lorenz’s, and the one person she usually relied on to always keep her on track was hung up on a woman he brought up at any given chance. It was almost enough to make Byleth angry, but she couldn’t dredge up much of anything.

“Don’t use me as an excuse to call Bernie.” Byleth rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms. She was going to have a migraine in record time.

Felix rested his forearms on the back of her guest chair, sending a pointed look her way over the cluttered desk. “Only two students today.”

Byleth shrugged, blinking through her spotty vision as it cleared. “Specialized attention, then?”

“Odd number. They fought, I watched.”

“I don’t believe you.”

There was no way Felix Fraldarious stood in a training space without participating in at least one fight. He probably fought them both. She’d bet the entire club--don’t jinx yourself, By--that one or both of the students were lingering by the entrance now, waiting to catch Felix on his way out.

He made himself comfortable, adjusting an arm to rest his chin on a palm. Yep. He was hiding.

Byleth shuffled through a few papers on her desk, focusing on nothing. “We need to buy another camera.”

Felix grimaced but got over it quickly. “Going online?”

“Completely, for now.” She couldn’t tell him today would be the last day he’d teach anyone in person until further notice. She’d save that bit for last. Give him something to chew over on his way home.

“Heard anything from Garreg Mach?” he asked, extending the linger.

Both students were waiting, then.

Byleth let her thoughts stay there, amused at his hidden discomfort, rather than process the question. She couldn’t deal with Garreg Mach or its inhabitants when she was already overwhelmed. She had to fully convert her contact-sport-based business online. Somehow. A pandemic encroached, the future of their club was a hazy question mark in her mind, and her unbelievably selfish ex-boyfriend was out of her house.

Another realization struck her, eliciting the nth sigh of the day. The rent was too much for her to cover alone. How had that escaped her?

Felix cleared his throat when she began to furiously type at her computer. She paused, remembered herself, and looked at her business partner carefully.

“Are you busy this weekend?”

[molovesvintage]

At last, there are buds on the tree branches, the remaining piles of dirty, icy snow have melted away, and spring is coming to Kanazawa. While I did enjoy my first snowy winter, it was long, cold, and dark, and I admit that it did catch me in it’s funk near the end.

With the coming of spring I’ve passed a special milestone: I’ve lived in Kanazawa for one year now, the longest I’ve been in any place since moving abroad. Taking my usual walk along the river yesterday for the first time since winter’s end, I was reminded of what a special place this is and how serendipitous it is that I have found myself here.

It truly has been a year of milestones and firsts, and I’ve kept the attitude that I adopted when I first moved abroad, of saying yes to new opportunities and not letting fear hold me back. So when my colleagues wanted to take a ski trip during the winter season, I said I would try it. Never mind that I’d never skied before!

Japan is famous for it’s mountains, and winter sports are popular pastimes. Lucky for us, Kanazawa is only a few hours away from the gorgeous Japan Alps, so after work one Saturday we packed up and drove to Hakuba. There were 7 of us, mostly foreign English teachers with one of our Japanese friends in tow. For the weekend we had rented a cottage that I had found on Booking.com, my go-to when hostels won’t do or Airbnb is too expensive. Campagne Hakuba, which I had originally misread as “Champagne Hakuba”, was a cute, A-frame cottage, but was still distinctly Japanese with tatami mats and futons on the floor in the bedrooms and heated toilet seats in the bathrooms. We settled in, and drank beer and played cards before going to bed.

The next morning we got up bright and early, tired from the night’s revelry but still eager to take full advantage of the day. We drove the short distance to Happo-one ski resort and were some of the first customers at Spicy rentals. I was initially shocked by the high level of English spoken by the guys at the rental shop, but it really shouldn’t have been such a surprise. The Japan Alps are not only famous within Japan, but worldwide, and during the winter season become flooded with tons of foreigners, particularly Australians, for whom Japan is much more conveniently located than the Alps of Europe or Rockies of America. After coming from a small city where tourism is still a relatively new enterprise, hearing English everywhere felt strange.

Happo-One ski resort. Shot on iphone. 

We rented our gear, walked to the slopes, and purchased our lift tickets. Then it was time to get the skis on. The minute I was snapped in, I was gripped by terror. I’d made a huge mistake. I couldn’t do this. What had I been thinking?!?!? Thankfully, my friends were so patient with me, and taught me the basics on a tiny slope next to the ski school. I don’t know how many times I went down that dinky slope. Once I was pretty confidant with going straight, we tried turning. I was having trouble getting the hang of it, but I kept trying. Down . . . turn turn turn!!! Uh, that didn’t really work. Try again. Trudge up the hill. Down. . . turn turn TURN!!! That was better. Try again. While I still felt kind of silly, with serious-looking skiers and children whizzing by me, my confidence was bolstered by the Englishman next to me. This guy had also clearly never skied, and was being taught by his lady friend and her incredibly patient father. Negative Nancy, however, was so convinced that this didn’t feel right and that he couldn’t get his head around it that he was really struggling.

Learning how to ski. Photo courtesy: Beatrice Lord.

I may be smiling but I’m actually scared shitless. Photo courtesy: Beatrice Lord.

After well over an hour on the tiny incline, the rest of our friends joined us and suggested we all try the easiest run together. I was hesitant but agreed.

“Let’s go now before I change my mind!”

Riding the ski lift was fun, even if getting on and getting off was a little stressful. Then came the real challenge: the first run.

Now, the area that we were at didn’t really have a “bunny” slope. What we were about to do was marked for beginners, but my friends told me that it was actually more of a middle-beginner than a true beginner level. Oh great.

First run. . . seconds before I fell the first time. Photo courtesy: Jenny Lee.

I lasted about thirty seconds before I fell down. Hmm. Maybe this would be a bit more difficult than I had thought. Another thirty seconds, another fall. And it was like that most of the way down. I would go straight, manage one turn, go straight, then try to stop or turn again, feel myself pick up speed, freak out, and throw myself off balance and tumble into the snow. I quickly got good at untangling my skis and pushing myself back up. I also started to get frustrated with myself, and about two-thirds of the way down had a little angry cry. Why couldn’t I get this? Why was I so afraid? It was all in my head, I knew I had the physical capacity for it. But it was no good crying about it, the only way down the mountain was to keep going, so down I went.

After lunch we tackled the same run another time. While I still fell a lot, this time it felt more comfortable, and went much quicker than the first time. I was surprised. I was getting better. I agreed to a third run, one that began higher up the mountain but eventually met up with the run we had already done.

The views from this lift were incredible, and though I was already quite tired from the day’s events, I was excited to try one last time. Initially, my progress down the run was pretty similar, but I found myself going a bit farther between falls and I didn’t feel frustrated by them. One of my friends suggested holding my poles horizontally in front of me, to help with my balance, which was a great suggestion. Further, she thought it would be a good idea to hold them against my legs, so I didn’t lean back and throw myself off balance. That was even better.

The higher ski lift. Check out the views behind us! Photo courtesy: Jenny Lee.

Once we joined back with the original run and I was in familiar territory, suddenly everything clicked: I had this. I touched my poles to my legs and leaned forward, sliding down the mountain. I zigged left and right, gracefully mastering turns and dodging other skiers, the trees at the edge of the slope whizzing by. All of my fear was gone, and I was purely in the moment. It was miraculous. It felt like flying.

I still didn’t really know what I was doing, though, and lost control of my skis and spectacularly wiped out into the snow, not far from the site of my angry cry a few hours earlier. I triumphantly raised my fist in the air, and heard my companions hollering in excitement. I’d done it. I’d really, actually skied.

I was exhausted, but rode the rest of the day on a euphoric high, through the apres-ski beers at a strange slope-side bar, the blissful onsen soak, the Korean barbeque dinner followed by cocktails at a cozy bar packed with other foreigners and hippie art. Everyone was tired from such an exerting day, and we were back at the cottage and in bed by 11 pm. The next day we made a lovely pancake and french toast breakfast, but it was raining and we were still spent from the skiing day, so packed up and headed back to Kanazawa much earlier than we’d planned.

Mariko in the snow, post-skiing. The feeling was mutual! Shot on iphone. 

All throughout this first year in Kanazawa, and the past two years abroad, I’ve continually challenged myself to try new things, seize the opportunities that present themselves, and not let fear hold me back. When I was young I was afraid of everything. I don’t know when or how, but I managed to stop being afraid, or at least, to not the fear control me. When I first put on the skis I was so completely terrified that I wasn’t sure I would be able to do it. It sounds kind of stupid, but there you have it. If I had stopped then, when I was afraid, then I would never know what it feels like to fly.

Happy Travels,

Mo

This was taken after probably my 87th fall, before I’d fully gotten the hang of it. But I was still pretty happy with what I’d accomplished! Photo courtesy: Jenny Lee

At last, there are buds on the tree branches, the remaining piles of dirty, icy snow have melted away, and spring is coming to Kanazawa.