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starsstruck · 4 years ago

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cloudbusting; part two.

a classic coffee shop story. harry is a painter that quickly becomes a regular at his neighbourhood cafe, and it just might have something to do with a certain barista. rushed closing shifts, late night grocery shopping, and stolen looks.

pairing: harry x reader warnings: language words: 10.9k

art by holly warburton. (i have no vision for the mc of the fic, people in the images of paintings i use are purely because this is how i envision harry’s art to be !)

series masterlist |

a/n: part 2 babyy ! i’m so excited to share this story you have no idea, i really hope everyone enjoys this chapter ! as always i love to hear your thoughts, please share and let me know what you think ! ❣️

Life apparently was one long grocery run.

When you weren’t heading to and from work, you were going to the grocery store. Somehow never able to do one big trip with enough groceries to last you over a week. Even when you tried, you always found yourself heading back a couple nights later for something that was forgotten.

So here you found yourself, after a shift on a Wednesday night, walking through the brightly lit aisles of a nearby supermarket. With a quick stop home to change out of your jeans, to dress in something a bit more fitting for the hot July evening.

Sound of Mitski filling your ears, stopping in the produce section as you filled a cloth bag with a few heads of broccoli.

Harry spotted you nearly immediately. You were observing a zucchini like it was the last vegetable on the planet, eyebrows furrowed and full attention focused on it before you placed it in the basket that was perched in the crook of your arm.

Slowly walking towards you; not wanting to seem like he had been following you through the store, but also wanting to get the chance to talk to you.

His lips twitched as he took in your outfit, some cutoff shorts with a big beige teeshirt loosely tucked into the waistband. He squinted a bit, making out the face of Cher on the back of the shirt.

You had moved from the vegetables to the fruits, picking up a couple of peaches at random to place in your basket. He skirted around the few people in the supermarket, heading to the fruit section as well.

Grabbing a bag of green grapes that were directly across from you, he tried not to look at you.

It took a few seconds, but as you walked over to his side of the section you finally glanced at him. Not fully realizing it was Harry right away, having to whip your head back up again as you found his eyes were already on you.

There was a moment of silent staring, neither saying a word, before you gave him a tentative smile and a small wave.

It wasn’t uncommon that you saw regulars out and about outside of the café. Since you lived closed by, and a lot of regulars were patrons that lived in the neighbourhood. More times than you could count you’d had odd encounters and run-ins.

Sometimes they would recognize you and you wouldn’t know who they were, sometimes they would try and strike up a conversation. The most you usually gave them was a polite smile and maybe a little wave.

But as Harry grinned at you, you found yourself taking out your earphones.

“Hey,” he spoke first, shifting the basket in his hands. “Fancy seeing you here.”

You laughed lightly at his words. “Seem to be seeing a lot of you lately…”

Harry felt his cheeks warm. “I mean –” he stumbled over his words. “Not that much. Considering it’s usually at your work.”

“That’s true,” you mumbled, glancing down at your shopping basket, nearly embarrassed by how much snack food you had rather than food to cook with.

“You didn’t come to the show.”

Looking back up to meet his gaze again, you bit your lips together. “Yeah I – sorry.”

There were a lot of reasons you didn’t go. When he had invited you last week, you told him that you were going to be closing that day so you might not be able to go. Which was fully the truth.

The night of, you had briefly considered it. But you also didn’t really know him at all, and found it maybe a bit weird if you went? Even though he invited you.

“Closing took a while and well – anyway, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he chuckled. “It was a small show, there’s sure to be more.”

“Why do you need to have your art in a small coffee shop?” Asking after a second. “I mean – if you have shows and everything.”

“Just always looking for something new,” he shrugged. “And the gallery is tiny. I technically work there actually, with a few friends.”

“How do you technically work somewhere?”

“I help out as an art prep,” he explained, propping his grocery basket down on the ground by his feet. “It’s probably the least glamorous job you could have at a gallery. It’s just putting up and taking down exhibitions. Measuring where screws go, that kind of thing.”

You only nodded, still a bit unsure of how he fully didn’t work there.

“They don’t usually need the extra help, so more times than most I’m not needed.” He shrugged, likely reading your confusion.

“Okay,” you nodded again. “You know, there might be other cafés around that could help you out as well.”

You watched his eyebrows rise, smile growing. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“No,” laughing, feeling nearly nervous. “Just trying to help out a local artist.”

“Well,” he bent down, picking up his basket. “Thank you. And I guess you’ll have to see my work another time.”

Watching the hint of a sly smile grow on his lips, mirroring it in your own expression. “I guess so.”

There was a pause in conversation. “Are you –” he motioned to the basket perched on your arm. “Are you all done? I was just heading to pay.”

“I – uh,” having the bad habit of never making a list when you shopped, you didn’t really know when to stop with your groceries.

“Yeah I’m all done. I just want to grab a few more fruits.” Mumbling as you glanced around, eyes widening at the prices of the berries.

Harry nodded, as he took as small step back. Not moving from where he stood, waiting as you grabbed a small bunch of bananas. You silently wandered past the sections of citrus fruits, picking up some lemons before deciding that should be enough for your shop today.

Harry followed patiently; at first you hadn’t realized that he was staying back for you so the both of you could head out to checkout together.

“All done,” you smiled at him, feeling oddly endeared that he had waited for you.

Walking side by side to the register, placing your items on the conveyor belt with a divider between you and Harry. After paying and bagging your groceries, you were both strolling out into the heavy evening air, moving your sunglasses from the top of your head down to cover your eyes.

“I’m going this way, where are you headed?” He pointed down the street. The sun was casting an orange glow over the building, making them shine golden.

Turning to Harry, letting your eyes skim over him just the slightest bit. He was wearing loose blue jeans that looked worn, a wide hole on the right knee. A white shirt with light blue writing you didn’t get a chance to read, was loosely tucked in. He always seemed to be nicely dressed, even though all the outfits were seemingly casual.

He also had what looked like a hair clip holding some of his hair out from his face, sitting on the top of his head. You had never seen anyone wear their hair like that, and you were finding yourself a bit curious to how he even thought of doing that in the first place.

“I’m headed that way as well, for a bit.” You replied, adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder. “I live like fifteen minutes away.”

“We’re close to your work,” Harry glanced at you from the corner of his eye, as you both started walking down the street together.

“Yeah,” you grinned. “It’s nice, living so close to work. It’s only a little walk, no need for a drive or transit.”

“That’s good,” he nodded from next to you. “You’re lucky. I’ve had to lug my paintings on the train a few times, it isn’t the most graceful thing.”

“I know you said you wouldn’t show me a picture of your art,” you started, curiosity getting the best of you. “But can you tell me what kind of paintings?”

He was quiet for a second. “Big ones.”

That was all he said for a moment, and you thought that he was done speaking until he cleared his throat again. “With big colours. I like to uh – I get inspired by just almost, anything that catches my eye, if that makes sense. It comes out in like, big colours and shapes.”

You couldn’t really picture what he meant, but you nodded anyway.

“Like,” he continued. “Think of anything you enjoy, or find nice or just have any feeling towards.”

“I –” you weren’t sure what he was asking of you. “I don’t know.”

He laughed, glancing over at you with a wide smile. “It could be anything. Just, first thing that comes to mind.”

Pausing again, before answering. “I like walking along the water. I just – uh, I don’t know, by the docks. I like the smell of the air. Its like, the diesel mixed with something, I don’t know, it’s probably bad for you but. I like it.”

“What colours does it make you think of?”

That oddly made sense. “Blue. Like –” looking around for a blue that properly described the one you had in mind. Finding nearly the same colour on an awning across the street, stopping to point at it. “Like that blue.”

It was a deep but bright colour, darker than a royal blue. It made you think of the way the sky met the water, on a bright sunny day. It made you think of boats that lined the docks, and the smell of the old wood under your feet as you walked along.

You turned back to face Harry. “Is that too obvious of an answer?”

Laughing again, he shook his head. “Its whatever you feel, there are no wrong answers.”

“So what about it?” You asked, once you started walking again. “What about the blue –like, what about the colour that you think of have to do with your art practice?”

“Well,” he paused, eyes facing forward. “I take inspiration from that; I take whatever shape or colour or person or just, whatever. And then I paint it.”

“Okay,” you drew you the word. “Still would help to see your actual paintings though.”

“You could’ve,” he teased. “Missed out on that.”

“Sorry – oh,” you paused, stopping at the corner of the street where you were turning right. “I’m going this way.”

“Okay,” he stopped next to you. “Oh! Are you working tomorrow?”

You bit back your smile. “No, I have two days off in a row actually. I’ll be back on Saturday.”

He smiled, sun beaming behind him. “I’ll see you then. And hey have a good time off.”

“Thank you,” you hummed, waving by to him with your free hand as you turned in the street.

You didn’t know what it was about Harry. He had an energy, if you will, around him that for some reason set you in a good mood. You had also never really struck up any kind of conversation with a customer outside of work like that, other than the few times you had run into Dani, but that didn’t really count.

Turning around to glance at him, seeing him walk in the opposite direction from you. Unable to help feeling slightly curious about the customer who you were quickly getting to know.

Here !

Reading Mae’s text, buzzing her in and unlocking your front door as well, sending her a quick text to come up.

You had spent the entire day doing laundry and tidying up, grabbing the errands that you had forgotten last night. Your apartment had gotten messy over the past couple of weeks, clothes littering the floor of your room as your ever-growing problem of lacking proper storage continued.

So happy that you had two days off in a row, a luxury. You could spend the first day tidying and getting everything done, and the second day doing something fun.

And now after a day of getting your life together, you had your best friend since college, Mae, coming over to make some dinner.

“Hi!”

Hearing her voice call through your small third floor studio, as she let herself in and locked the door behind her. You followed the sound of her voice, watching as she emerged from around the wall and into the kitchen where you were searching for a bottle of wine.

“It’s so clean in here.” She was glancing around, looking at your empty-of-dishes sink and the put away pile of books that usually sat on your table.

“It’s always clean in here,” you smiled at her, finding the wine you were looking for.

“Sure,” she smiled, keeping her laugh at bay as she knew that really wasn’t the truth.

“How was work?”

“Good,” she sighed, dropping her bag on the table, eyeing the bottle of wine you carried. “I think I’m finally getting Jules to like me. Or at least not hate me.”

“I told you, I doubt she ever hated you,” you replied, knowing all about the partner at the firm that was giving her a tough time.

Having met Mae your first year of college; although the two of you didn’t really get to know each other and get close until the second year. She majored in political science, along with you, except that she now just finished up law school and started working at a law firm.

You had always envied those who knew exactly what they wanted their path to be. Whether that path changed or not, you still wanted to have something to work towards.

Mae had always wanted to go into law, with a specialty in environmental policy and that was exactly what she was doing. You, on the other hand, had no idea what to do after getting your degree. Not applying for grad school unlike the majority of your friends, knowing that you would just be wasting your time and money with more school.

You just never really figured out what it was you wanted to do after. It wasn’t so much that you found yourself stuck; it was just that you knew that there was something missing –that life had to have more to it.

“I know,” she sighed, following you to your couch as you carried two glasses in one hand and the wine in the other. “I just feel like she’s been giving me a tough time – a tougher time than the other associates.”

“I mean,” you paused, opening the bottle. “She’s got to know how smart you are. I doubt that she makes anyone work as hard as you, if she doesn’t think you could handle it.”

“I know, you’re right,” she watched as you poured a generous amount of wine into both glasses, before passing her one of them. “And she did tell me that I was her favourite associate to go to.”

“Oh my god,” Mae was always selling herself short. “She very much never hated you.”

“Mm, I know,” Mae repeated, taking a sip of her wine, a smile now on her face. “Anyway, how about you? How’s work?”

“Same,” you shrugged.

There were never big things to report from work, especially to someone who didn’t particularly understand what it meant when a customer would order something ridiculous, or would return their drink because they thought it would be different. “I’m trying to remember crazy customer’s… oh!”

“I had a woman get mad at me yesterday because a man cut in front of her in line – she said that I should’ve been watching the door to see the order of who was coming in.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Mae laughed. “God I really don’t miss working customer service, and having to deal with entitled people like that.”

“It’s the heat,” you pointed to your open window. “Makes people dumber. I know I say this every year, but I swear every summer customers get worse.”

“And oh God,” you continued. “I was also closing with Erinne and she just is the slowest when she cleans the outside. I hate to be too pushy but like – I mean technically I’m her boss, right? I just feel like everything I say to her goes out her head.”

“That’s annoying,” Mae nodded, nearly halfway through her wine. “I know you don’t want to be that manager but you have every right to tell her off.”

“I know,” you took your own sip of wine, smacking your lips together at the slightly sweet flavour. “But I just remember at my old job, when my coworker became the manager and I never really took him seriously.”

“Okay but you’ve been manager ever since you started – and have been there way longer than she has.”

“I just feel almost if I got harsh with her? I’ve never really really gotten mad at anyone.” You thought it over. “But honestly, work is good. It really is the best café I’ve ever worked at.”

It had been too long since the two of you had got a whole evening just the two of you. It was lovely, to say the least.

“Oh! Didn’t you have a date last weekend? How was it?”

You shook your head. “It wasn’t anything, I ended up cancelling.”

“What?” Mae shifted, her legs up on the couch as she turned to face you. “Why?”

Biting your lips together, not really having any true reason for cancelling the date. “I don’t know – I wasn’t that excited in the first place, and he just kind of had an off-putting vibe. We were supposed to go out after my shift was over but it was also just an exhausting day.”

The date would have been with a coworker of Mae’s, one who she had briefly introduced you to but that she didn’t know well herself, as they didn’t directly work together.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have …?”

“Don’t be,” you shook your head, voice light. “Not your fault at all, I just really wasn’t feeling it.”

Your mind drifted, having nearly forgotten about the date that you cancelled over the weekend. You had no energy for it, and no energy to force yourself to like someone you already were sure you wouldn’t hit it off with.

“I get that,” she nodded. “If you don’t feel it you don’t. No use in wasting everyone’s time with someone you’re not excited about.”

“Mm,” you hummed, finishing off your wine. “Though. There is this guy…”

You tried to stop your lips from turning into a smile, hiding half your face in your glass. Mae shifted next to you, waiting for you to continue your story as she knew that look on your face. “Yeah?”

“I don’t know,” you sighed, placing down your glass on the coffee table in front of the couch. “It’s not really anything. He’s been coming into my work a lot lately, flirting with me – or at least I’m pretty sure he is.”

“Oh I’m sure he is,” she nodded. “All your customers are in love with you.”

“They are not,” you laughed. “I’m just good at my job.”

“Has he ever been there when I’ve been in?”

“No,” you shook your head. “I don’t think so. He started coming in a few weeks ago – maybe like a month ago? He wanted to know how he could get his art up on the walls.”

“His art?”

Mae placed her now emptied glass next to yours on the coffee table, as you nodded. “He’s an artist.”

“How old is he?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know, around our age, I think. Like 25, 26?”

“What’s his name? I want to see if I can find his Instagram.” She briefly stood, going to grab her phone that was sitting next to her bag on your kitchen counter. Soon returning to sit next to you, unlocking her phone.

“Harry – I don’t know his last name.” You told her. “I don’t know, he kind of seems like he wouldn’t have one.”

Mae glanced up at you as you repositioned yourself next to her so that you could peer over her shoulder. “He’s an artist and it’s 2020. I’m sure he has one. Plus, I’m sure it’s on public.”

You watched her type in ‘Harry’ into the Instagram explore search bar, the simplest of tasks that of course brought her results inconclusive as he didn’t know people she knew.

“Do you know anything else?” She asked, after looking at the profiles of the first ‘Harry’s’ that the search result brought up.

“No,” you thought for a second. “Oh! One second.”

You remembered the small slip of paper he had given you, with the name of the gallery that he had art up at. It might be another dead end, but it was all you had.

“Here,” you called, after finding the small crumpled slip at the bottom of your bag. “He had some art at this gallery.”

Watching over Mae’s shoulder as she grabbed the slip from you, typing in the name of the gallery. Easily finding their Instagram page, scrolling through the first few pictures for anything that would help her search.

“Is this him?” She spoke after a moment, calling your attention away from the wine that you were searching for again and back to her phone.

You squinted at her screen, watching her thumb swipe over a series of photos, one of which had an image of Harry. He was standing next to two paintings, ones you assumed were his. His hands were behind his back, small smile on his face with some baggy white pants and a loose shirt tucked into the waistband, and the same scuffed Vans he always wore.

“Yeah, that’s him,” you hummed, watching as Mae tapped the picture to see if he was tagged in it.

Success in seeing that he was, going over to his page. Mae was right, it was public.

She scrolled for a bit, going past rows of what you assumed was his art. Some fully finished paintings, some close ups, some sketches in pencil crayon. She stopped once she found a picture, three rows down, of him standing in the sunshine with yellow tinted sunglasses on, an open sketchbook held up in his hands.

Tapping on the picture, enlarging it on her screen as she scrolled down a bit to read the caption. “This is him?”

You nodded again. “Yes.”

She glanced away from her phone, up to meet your eyes. Saying your name quickly, with a little laugh. “He’s so cute. I thought you said all the guys who hit on you at work were old and gross.”

“I mean,” you slid in to sit next to her. “They are. He’s not really hitting on me though. I just kind of have the feeling he’s into me, you know how it is? I don’t know.”

She nodded. “Usually when you suspect it, it’s true though, isn’t it? Flirt with him, see what happens.”

You nodded, lip between your teeth, knowing that she was right. Mae glanced back at her phone, before handing it over to you so that you could further inspect his Instagram. “And seriously, he’s really fucking cute.”

She got up from next to you, tapping your thigh with her now free hand. “I’m going to chop veggies for dinner, you keep looking.”

You only laughed absentmindedly at her comment, although not protesting as she moved to start making dinner for the night. Swiping away from the picture of Harry, scrolling through his feed. Most pictures were of his art, some single pictures, some had multiple one’s together in the post.

Reading over his username, harrystylesart. You briefly wondered if that was his real name or just one he used.

Looking at recent posts first, seeing images of pages out of a sketchbook, orange and red shapes drawn across a white page. Swiping through the post, you saw another image of the same book, this time the picture taken from a bit further away. You immediately recognized the slightly worn wooden table, and corner of the familiar little blue mug.

The drawing itself was of something nondescript, the same oranges and reds, this time with blue outlined as well. You tried to make out what it was, but assumed it was just mindless sketching. Your recalled what Harry had told you, about how he liked to use a lot of colour – this must be his process.

Still, you felt oddly happy that he had taken these pictures at your work.

You kept up with your snooping, looking through pictures of his paintings. He was right, about them being big and colourful. Some seemed to have just odd shapes, some had people, some seemed to include places or buildings.

You kind of wished that you understood them, that you knew why he was making these. All his captions were of very few words, most with no captions at all.

That being said, you found yourself genuinely really liking them. Some in particular, just held a specific feeling that you really enjoyed. You didn’t know anymore than that, you just liked to look at them.

“Find anything else?” Mae asked you, once you had shut off her phone and joined her in the kitchen.

“Nothing big,” you hummed, grabbing a pan from under the counter. “I don’t know, I’ll see. Like I said, it’s just a suspicion. Maybe I’m also a bit bored, it has been a while since I’ve been excited about someone.”

Mae nodded along with you, waving her knife in the air as if to point to you. “That’s true too, it is really fun when you start to have a little thing – I almost miss that.”

She had been in a relationship for nearly three years now. “You do not,” you scoffed.

“Okay,” she paused. “Maybe not. Dating is fun but also kind of awful. But seriously, it is nice to be excited about someone.”

“Never said I was excited,” you hummed, though you knew she saw right through you.

“Okay,” she drew out the word, clearly unconvinced. “But remember that last guy you dated? He was no fun. What was his name?”

“Ross,” you wrinkled your nose at the memory. “Yeah he wasn’t great.”

Mae nodded. “You never even told me about him until the end.”

You had a habit of not always telling your friends about your dating life. Sometimes you would fill them in on every gory detail, and other time you would briefly mention that you started seeing someone but it had fizzled.

It was also very telling about how the dates had been – one’s you were excited about were usually heard of right away.

To Mae, it seemed like you dated a lot, but that was also because she had mostly been in longer term relationships. You thought you dated a normal amount -- you often found yourself saying yes, when people were interested because you told yourself that you never knew what could come of it.

“I’ll come in to your work soon,” Mae continued, changing the subject. “I haven’t been in a while, like to properly sit down. Plus, I want to see this guy.”

“I’m back on Saturday, working right through until Thursday.”

Mae thought over he own schedule. “I have Monday off, and it’s usually calmer then too right?”

“Yeah, it should be quiet. Monday,” you paused, remembering there was something particular about that day. “Oh, I’m closing alone then. Everyone has been taking their vacation at once. But you can stay with me for closing if you want, we could get dinner afterwards.”

“Perfect! I’ll bring all my work to get done, and yes dinner sounds lovely.”

The bliss of your days off ended, and the chaos of the weekend shifts followed. The weekend was always a bit crazy – sometimes you lucked out and it was oddly empty but this was no lucky weekend.

By the time Monday rolled around, you were already tired. And it was only the third day in a stretch of a full week of work with no days off.

At least you were working the closing, offering you a small chance to sleep in as you didn’t have to get into work until the early afternoon, although the downside of today’s shift however, was that you were going to be closing alone.

Mae came into work with you, bringing stacks of paperwork with her to the café to work on.

It was about an hour after Mae had arrived, that you saw Harry coming through the side window. He was just reaching to open up the door, and you were trying to catch Mae’s attention to subtly tell her that the guy she had helped you find online was about to come in.

When Harry walked in, he saw you walking over to the front corner and sit yourself on a chair across from someone else.

He kept walking, seeing your attention pulled away as it was obvious you really knew the person you were chatting with. He heard your laugh ring out through the café from behind him, as he spotted his open table in the back and situated himself there.

Not going up to the counter until he saw you behind it again, waiting a couple minutes as you seemed to be taking a tiny break with who he assumed was your friend. Eventually though, he slowly walked to the front until he was standing across from you at the counter.

“Hi,” you called, from where you stood a bit further back, rearranging clean cups under the counter. “What can I get for you today?”

“Over ice, thank you.”

He watched you pause with a little nod, as you didn’t bother to put the order into the system right away and instead moved further back to the espresso machine to make his drink. He left some change on the counter by the till, sliding it far enough in so that you couldn’t miss it.

He walked around the counter until he was on the other side of the espresso machine, seeing half of you hidden to him as you prepared his drink.

“Sorry if that was weird, in the grocery store the other day.”

He watched you peek out from around the machine. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Must be kind of odd to see a regular from your work outside of that setting.”

“A bit,” you smiled. “But not that much. You’d be surprised by how often I run into customers.”

“Really?” His eyebrows rose. “What’s the worst place you’ve even seen a regular?”

“Nothing really that bad. Sometimes it is a bit weird when I’m at their place of work. Like there’s a woman who bartends at Corner Stone, who also comes here a lot – its like we’re each other’s regulars.”

He saw your eyebrows furrow slightly, as if trying to think of some other occurrences you had had outside of work. “Oh! This doesn’t really count as seeing someone, but I’ve found customers on Tinder before.”

“Really? Ever match with any of them?” He bit his lips together, feeling the hint of a smirk on his lips.

“God no. I never used it that much anyway.” You said, laughing lightly. He briefly wondered if you had done it on purpose, mentioning something like that to him. But he had to tell himself that you were really just answering his question.

You had just finished up making his drink, placing it on the counter in front of him and tapping it lightly against the marble as you usually did.

“Why do you always do that?”

“What?” You blinked back at him.

“You always tap the cup on the counter like that.”

“Oh,” you smiled, small shrug in your shoulders. “It’s a habit. It’s to knock out any little air bubbles from when the espresso pours. If the pour is really smooth, there shouldn’t really be any. It doesn’t matter as much when it’s over ice though, since the ice gets in the way.”

“You do this with all drinks?”

“No,” you replied. “I mean with hot milk drinks you need to smooth out the air from the milk bubbles. And before preparing them you also tap out the milk, and the espresso – again if there are bubbles.”

“All about presentation, isn’t it?”

“Exactly,” he warmed at the laugh that shook your chest. “When it looks nice it tastes nice too.”

He took a small sip of the cold drink. “I don’t think you’ve ever made me a bad cup of coffee.”

“Glad to hear that.”

The two of you both turned your heads at the same time, at the sound of the door closing shut. A group of three women had just come in, chatting loudly as they all made their way to the front counter.

“I got to –” you pointed your thumb in their direction.

“Of course,” he nodded, watching as you turned away from him. Your hand moved down to your back pocket, tapping over your bum lightly as if searching for something in your pocket. He saw you pull out that red pen you always carried, twirling it between your index and middle finger as you went to stand by the till.

Coffee in hand, Harry walked around the counter and back to his to the table where he had left his things.

You eyed Mae while the group wanting to order continued to read the menu, watching her mouth something you could barely make out. She tilted her chin up, nodding her head towards where Harry had gone to sit.

Shaking your head with a light laugh, not sure what she was trying to tell you. You didn’t have time to find you either, as the woman standing closest to the till interrupted you silent conversation. “We’re ready to order.”

Not getting the change to talk to Harry again until a few hours later, right before closing. You saw him standing by the counter, empty cup in hand that he gently placed into the nearly overflowing buss bin.

“Thank you,” you hummed, walking past him on the opposite side of the counter as you started sweeping the inside. There seemed to be more grounds on the floor today than usual.

“Not a problem,” he grinned. “You seem to be everywhere tonight, I swear I just saw you going back to the washrooms.”

“A lot more to do tonight, since it’s just me closing.” You emptied out the dustbin into the garbage can, deciding that you were done sweeping for the day – hoping that the muck left over on the floor would come out with the mop.

“What do you mean it’s just you?”

You glanced around, as if you hadn’t been alone this entire time. Grabbing the dish bin that was sitting between the two of you, walking to grab whatever was left to be cleaned. Harry followed your motions, from the other side of the counter.

“I’m working alone…” you started slowly. “Usually we have two people close together, but we’re short staffed right now. Today and next week it’s just me.”

“That’s no fun,” he said, looking around and seeing nearly all empty tables now.

“Closing isn’t usually that fun,” you laughed, gathering everything that could be sent through the dishwasher. “It just takes a lot longer when I’m alone.”

“I can imagine cleaning must take a while.” He glanced around, looking at all the floor space that needed to be swept then mopped.

“It’s okay,” you shrugged, grabbing your buss bin. “I get paid by the hour, not on salary so I’ll get a bit of overtime in there.”

He only nodded, and your eyes flicked over to the clock hanging on the wall across from you. “I mean this in the nicest way possible but we are now closed.”

Harry followed your eyes to look up at the clock as well, before glancing back at you. “Are you kicking me out?”

“Yes, I am,” nodding with a chuckle, watching him walk over to where his things still sat on a table, gathering them up. Moving the dish bin to the back to fill up the dishwasher, wiping your wet hands on your jeans to go lock the door after Harry leaves.

“You know I’m not the last one here,” he said to you from where he stood, after your reappeared from the back room. He pointed over to where Mae sat at a front table, bent over an array of papers. She didn’t really seem like she was reading them though, her eyes briefly landing on yours when you looked over.

“She gets to stay with me,” you grinned, walking out from behind the counter. “We’re grabbing dinner after.”

“Nice of you to not make her wait outside.”

You laughed, walking to the front door to hold it open as the last thing to do before ushering Harry outside.

You hadn’t noticed he had come up behind you, arm brushing past you. His hand wrapped around yours on the door handle, taking you by surprise the slightest bit, as he was suddenly so close behind you.

“Oh –” muttered under your breath, taking a step back to move away, but your back only hit Harry’s chest as he had you more or less boxed in. “Sorry.”

Your hand slipped away from between the metal of the handle and the warmth of Harry’s hand, trying to slip out from your closeness to the door to give him space to walk out. Slightly propping it open, deciding to move outside and hold it open from the outside.

Glancing up at him, feeling warmth creep up your skin at the awkwardness of the moment, meeting his eyes with your lips bit between your teeth.

“Sorry,” Harry repeated to you, pushing the door all the way open to walk out. You didn’t miss the red tint on his cheeks, and the way his eyes flicked away from yours so quickly you barely got to hold his gaze.

“Have a good rest of your day,” you smiled, giving him a small wave as you decided to quickly move past whatever moment you had found yourself stuck in.

“I’ll see you,” he flashed that wide smile of his, showing off the dimples that appeared as he brought a hand up to move his sunglasses from the top of his head to lay perched on his nose.

You waved when he turned away, walking down the street away from where you were now closing the door and locking it shut.

Mae who had risen from where she was sitting was now slowly walking over to the counter, leaning her elbows on top of it while she waited for you to join her side.

She had a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth, bottom lip lodged between her teeth as if it was nearly impossible for her to keep her mouth shut.

You only laughed at her expression, shaking your head slightly when you walked past her, giving her a little swat with the back of your hand.

“What?” She calls out after you’ve left her alone again, heading to the back to load the last bit of dishes into the dishwasher. “I didn’t say a word.”

“I know what you’re thinking!” You called as you rinsed off old mugs, the traces of coffee now dried to the ceramic.

Double checking that there was nothing left to be sent through, closing the door and pressing the button for the hot water and soap to start cleaning the dishes for the last time of the day.

Emerging out in the open again, on the opposite side of the counter from Mae. You knew there was still mopping left to do outside, but you wanted to get the cash out done first and out of the way.

Mae was silent again, unmoving from her spot as she watched you dump out the coins from the tip jar as you began to lay them out to easily count them. You concentrated for a bit, making small piles of four with your quarters.

“He’s really into you,” she finally said, waiting for you to look back up at her.

You kept your head dipped down, eyes on the counter where all the coins and bills sat to be counted. Biting your lips together as you again found yourself unable to help the slight smile building.

“I know,” you finally uttered, sending her a quick glance with a laugh at her expression.

“He’s even better looking in person.”

“I know,” you repeated, eyes focused downwards at the coins that you were quickly counting. “Now shush! I don’t want to lose count.”

It was the same thing the following week, as it always was. You had your days off, got groceries, ran errands. The weekend was crazy, that was again to be expected especially with the particularly nice weather. Dani had been away, so you hadn’t seen him in about a week.

The week had been just as busy as the previous one, the hot days of late July making more and more people come in for some nice cooled iced drinks. It was a bit crazy to you, how quickly your weeks went by when all you would do was look forward to your days off.

The following Monday, it was nice to have your slow and steady shift again. You had to close alone once more, but this would be the last time as some staff were going to be back from their summer vacation so you would be fully staffed once again.

The afternoon had gone by very slowly, nearly too slow, that you had just been mindlessly cleaning all day. It was good, in a way, because it meant that there would be less cleaning to be done later that evening once the doors were locked and you would be left to finish up alone.

Another commonality with your Monday shift is that Harry was routinely there. Situated in that back corner table he always seemed to get, bag on the chair across from him and things spread out in front of him. You had been too preoccupied with all your reorganizing and cleaning to properly chat with him today. But a small part of you also wanted to see if he would come to you.

Nothing really interesting happened, though, until you were getting ready to start even more closing cleaning and you were passing by his table with a broom in hand.

Sweeping under the empty table across from him first, before moving closer to where he was sitting and letting your eyes wander from the floor to the table, catching a glance at his sketchbook.

It was similar to what you had seen on his Instagram, only this time he had several drawings that were distinctly people.

“Hey,” he suddenly spoke, pulling your attention away from his book and over to where he was now looking at you. “I can see you snooping.”

“Oops,” you shrugged, feigning sheepishness. “I told you, I like to try and figure out the lives of customers. That comes with looking over their shoulder at what they do.”

“Have you figured out the lives of everyone sitting here now?” You didn’t miss how he changed the subject.

“Of course.”

“I think I have too,” he hummed, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest as he gazed up at you.

“I see most of these people a few times a week – I think I have a bit more dirt on them than you.” Placing your broom to lean against the wall behind you, making sure it didn’t fall before crossing your arms over your chest.

The shop was nearly empty by this point, but you knew that almost every customer currently sitting at a table had been in here at least once a week.

“What about those two?” He pointed with his chin, nodding his head in the direction of the couple sitting in the back, across from where Harry was. “Do you think its a date, like a new relationship? Or a longer term thing.”

“Oh,” you hummed, having seen those two at least twice a week for the past couple months. “They’ve been dating for at least a year. Minimum.”

“Okay,” he drew out the word, nodding as he agreed with you. “What about those two?” The only other couple was across the shop on the other side, sitting on the big plushy chairs that Dani always sat at. You had never seen them before.

“I would say,” you paused, trying to observe their body language as you stood back with your hands in the back pockets of your jeans. “Second or third date. They’re still sitting across from each other and have nothing else with them to work on – but they seem just touchy enough. Coffee was probably a last-minute idea, but for sure not the first date.”

Looking back at Harry, finding him still watching you. “You really thought about that one, huh.”

“I told you –” eyes flicking back to the couple in question. “I like to figure out people’s lives. Seeing people on coffee dates is always fun. They’re usually always first or new dates, or in long-term relationships.”

“Coffee dates are easy first dates,” Harry murmured, nodding his head. “Wouldn’t be surprised if you saw a lot of them.”

You thought it over for a second. “I guess I do, yeah. Easy for nervous couples.”

“Can’t imagine you like getting coffee on a first date.”

“Not really,” you said, not missing a beat. Eyes slightly narrowing on him, lips curving, as you silently wondered where he was going with this conversation. “Unless they don’t know what my job is.”

“What about just getting coffee – like not as a first date – is that okay?”

You bit your lips together, eyes briefly leaving his. “Of course.”

He smiled. “Done that recently?”

Was he trying to see if you were single? “No, not recently,” you hummed, eyes flicking back to his.

You only broke his gaze for a second as you watched him pull his bottom lip between his teeth, grin breaking the corners of his mouth. Neither of you spoke for a moment, eyes locked in a little staring contest.

He was the first to look away, clearing his throat as he angled his head towards the front door. “I think I’m keeping you from customers.”

Your attention was pulled away from him, watching a group of four walk in through the door, glancing up at the menu hanging behind the register.

Shooting him one more quick look, before sauntering off to go slid in behind the counter. Hands still placed in the back pocket of your jeans, grabbing the pen that was in one of them as you went to take their order.

After that group there seemed to be another, and another. It wasn’t busy, per se, just steady. And since you were alone, it gave the feeling of being a bit busier since there was no one else there to help you pull shots, or take orders.

Still, slowly customers petered out and there were only a few people left sitting around the café. You had already cleaned the majority of the espresso machine, cleaning out the portafilters and clearing the grounds that collected at the bottom.

Dishes had been constantly running, and you just grabbed the broom to start sweeping the emptier half of the café so that once you were closed, the cleaning wouldn’t take long.

“Closing soon,” you hummed, as you passed by Harry’s table with the broom in hand once more.

“I know, I know, don’t worry.” He put down his pencil, his pause in movement causing you to stop by his table for a second. “You’re closing alone again today, aren’t you?”

“I am,” you breathed, eyes flicking to the clock.

“And you don’t have you friend here to keep you company like last time.”

“I don’t,” you bit your lips together.

He shifted a bit in his chair, feet flat on the ground with one arm placed over the back of the chair as he twisted his body to face you. “Do you, uh –” he paused, flipping his pencil between his fingers. “Do you need any company?”

“What are you suggesting?” You felt the corner of your lips perk to a sly smile.

“If you want,” he quickly started, sitting up straighter. “I could keep you company.”

There was another pause, neither of you speaking for a moment.

But you found yourself nodding to his request. “It’s not that interesting, just me running around cleaning, and counting coins. But I mean – if you want to.”

He nodded along with you. “’Course I do. Plus. I really like this space to work in, it’s inspiring and all that.”

“Okay,” you slowly spoke the word. “But you’re going to have to lift your feet later so I can sweep under your table.”

“Will do.”

You moved past him after that, head still lowered as you swept under the tables across from where Harry sat, moving your little pile of dust and dirt into the dustbin. Busying yourself, since you actually were busy, trying not to smile after your conversation with Harry.

Soon you were ushering the rest of the customers out, the clock hitting seven and the doors being locked. You brought in the patio furniture after fully sweeping and mopping one side of the café, the side that Harry was not sitting at.

The inside cleaning was all nearly done, beans put away, espresso machine fully cleaned and counter wiped down. You were just starting to sweep the second half of the shop, nearly done with the cleaning before you could cash out.

“I can help, if you need.”

Harry had remained fairly quiet after the doors were locked with the two of you still inside. Just as he said, he was still perched over his table with pencils in hand and book open in front of him. You were too busy to really stop by and see what he was doing, assuming he was working on those sketches you had seen when you were spying on his Instagram.

“I’m not paying you,” you teased, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “But seriously, you don’t have to.”

“I can – if you want. I’m bugging you enough, may as well help.”

“I thought you wanted to feel the space, or something? Getting inspired? But really – it’s okay. I’m nearly done here and just need to cash out.”

He paused for a second, before nodding. “Okay, okay. Well I’m here if you need me.”

Conversation stopped there again, for a while at least. You cleaned the washroom, finished mopping all floors and dumped out the dirty water. After all the big cleaning was done, you made yourself a nice cold iced tea in a to go cup that you would take home afterwards.

Grabbing a chair from the back room and bringing it up to the till to sit down while you cashed out, dumping out all the coins and bills from the tip jar first. Counting in silence, not having noticed how Harry had moved tables and was now seated across from you instead of in the back.

“It’s different after closing.”

You glanced up from where you had rows of quarters lined on the counter, trying to not loose your count. “I mean,” you spoke, only after writing down the amount you calculated. “It’s the same – but calmer. Or sometimes more stressful, depending on the day, and who I close with. It’s for sure not as nice as being here alone in the morning.”

You saw Harry nod. “I really like the mornings.”

“You mentioned that,” you hummed, beginning the dreaded task of counting up the smaller coins.

He fell quiet again, watching you quickly move the coins from the counter to the register, counting under your breath while you worked. He didn’t want to distract you and have to start all over again, instead deciding to pull his attention back to his sketch book.

Flipping his pencil between his fingers a couple times, listening to the coins clacking overlapped with the soft sounds of whatever song was playing – he didn’t know it. Finding himself drawing small things he saw around the shop; the way the mugs were stacked, the way the leaves on a plant fell to one side, the way there always seemed to be umbrellas shoved in the vase out front even though it hadn’t rained in weeks.

And then he found his eyes falling back to you; the line that formed between your brows as you focused on counting, the way you sat with one leg tucked under the other, the small movement of your lips as you spoke under your breath.

He hadn’t fully realized he was colouring in the curve of your cheeks until he caught himself unable to stop looking up at you. Using the only pencil crayons he brought with him, colouring you in with two shades of blue.

Starting your outline over again and again, each time focusing on a different part of you that he could see. Squinting as he drew the soft curve of your eyelashes, and then the rise of your hairline, and the dip of skin from your neck until the soft green colour of your shirt started below your collarbones.

After a couple minutes in silence, your sudden movement from where you were sitting brought his attention back up to you, watching as you walked away from the till to the back, quickly coming back with a little baggy in hand.

He shut his sketchbook with the pencils still resting between the pages, rising to his feet with a little push back of his chair. The noise brought your attention to him for a second, eyes flicking between him and your task at hand.

“You did that fast,” he hummed, leaning his elbows down on the counter across from you. You were bagging the counted money, writing down the amounts of the day. Harry tried to not let his eyes linger on your hands. Not wanting to seem like he was spying on how much money you had made in a day, when he was really watching the way you were gently gripping the pen that was being swiveled between your fingertips.

“You learn a few tricks over the years to make it go faster,” you murmured, zipping shut your baggies that would be placed in the safe for the night.

Once you were all done, the only thing left was one last load of dishes to run through before you could close for the night.You began to wait for the dishes to clean, you were suddenly aware of how quiet the space was around you and Harry, the soft music of Mazzy Star creating a dreamy atmosphere.

You also realized you had no real reason for letting Harry stay past closing – it wasn’t like the two of you were doing anything afterwards. But you also knew that you were maybe expecting something, and just maybe the two of you would be doing something together once you were off work.

Bringing the dish rack filled with clean steaming dishes to the front counter, letting them drip dry for a bit before you started to put them away.

Harry was tentatively walking over to where you were, not completely crossing the invisible line that separated the inside to the outside of the café, but pushing it enough.

“Sure you don’t need a hand?” He asked, once he was leaning against the counter that the dishes were sitting on.

“I told you, I can’t pay you for any of it,” you joked. “But really, it’s okay. I’m nearly done.”

He only nodded, watching as you looped your fingers through the handles of mugs to carry more of them at once.

You wondered really what Harry had to gain from watching you finish up your closing shift. You knew he said he liked the space of the café, that it inspired him. Whether that was bullshit or not, you didn’t mind his company.

Still slightly curious about how he was spending all his time at your work, and how he didn’t seem to have anything else going on at the moment other than watching you put away still steaming hot dishes.

“I know you said you kind of work at that gallery,” you started. “But I mean – and I don’t mean this in a bad way but, don’t you have another job? Like not a 9 to 5 but, I don’t know. You’re here weekday’s and weekends, sometimes early and sometimes late.”

Pausing, not sure if you were properly vocalizing the small curiosities you had about Harry. “You know I like trying to figure out the lives of customers but – I mean what do you do?”

He was silent for a bit, and a first you thought you had made a bit of an idiot of yourself but you saw the small tug at the corner of his lips, indicating a smile.

“I’ve been telling you,” he finally said, eyes gleaming when he looked at you. “I’m an artist. That is my 9 to 5. I manage to get some small jobs here and there to make some extra money, but so far I’ve been able to make a living. Get’s a bit tough sometimes but lately I’ve been managing to get a slow and steady stream of commissions.”

You felt a bit bad, nearly dumb for asking. “What kind of small jobs?”

“Well,” he leant against the counter across from you. “Some art handling at galleries. I taught a few classes, probably not very well, at a community centre. Just small things to make some money on the side. But like I said, being an artist is my 9 to 5.”

“Oh,” the word sounded so small in response. “That’s really cool. I mean that, that’s just … really cool.”

You didn’t know why you found yourself so lost for words. He had explained it to you so casually, so nonchalant about following what he wanted.

Picking up the now empty dish tray, bringing it to the back. You didn’t pay that close attention to what you were doing, quickly rinsing it out and turning off the dishwasher. Your mind was wandering, Harry’s words running through your head over and over.

Not realizing it at first, but when you dipped your head down to make sure the dishwasher was properly drained, your vision went a bit blurry. There were small tears pricking at your eyes, building at your waterline and threatening to spill over.

Quickly tilting your head back as if the tears would fall back into their ducts, dabbing the skin under your eyes with the back of your hand.

There was no real reason for the sudden tears that appeared, you knew that. It was probably a culmination of too many busy days of not enough rest. But another small voice was telling you something else, and you knew exactly why you were crying.

But for now, you couldn’t indulge your thoughts too much since you knew that would only open the gates for more tears to come. Shaking your head, pulling out your phone from your pocket to use as a makeshift mirror to make sure the whites of your eyes weren’t shining red.

Keeping your head down a bit as you walked out, avoiding Harry’s gaze. Grabbing your cup filled with iced tea you had made for yourself before cashing out, taking a long sip as if more hydration would make you look as if you hadn’t been crying.

Silently checking over that everything was all ready for the opening shift tomorrow morning. Heading to the iPad to clock out, closing the POS for the day.

“I’m all done,” you finally spoke while heading to the back room for the last time, making sure the fridge door was properly shut before grabbing your bag and keys to leave for the day.

Waiting by the alarm system when you gathered all your things, watching over your shoulder as Harry stood by the door with his own bag. Punching in the security code to set the alarm for the night, hearing the paced beeping that started and alerted the time you had to walk out and lock the door.

He propped the front door open for you, holding it open before waiting while you locked it shut, double checking it was properly closed.

“I just have to…” you muttered under your breath, heading in the opposite direction to the other side of the café. There was an emergency exit in the back, that usually remained lock but sometimes someone would unlock it and forget to close it again, so you always made sure to check.

The door didn’t budge when you pulled on it, finding it properly closed. You met up with Harry again, avoiding his gaze as you kept your eyes trained down on the pavement under your feet.

You knew there had been a big and sudden shift in your mood, but you couldn’t think of any reason to explain it so you simply remained silent.

But, you also didn’t want to start explaining why you were suddenly crying.

“Which way are you headed?”

“Uhm,” you had to think for a second, although you took the same path every single day. “This way.”

Pointing ahead in the direction you would walk down before turning over to the block your apartment was on. Harry hummed next to you, beginning the walk by your side.

Remaining quiet for the first couple minutes, keeping your eyes more or less downcast. Knowing you probably didn’t have the best energy to be around right now, and not even wanting to bother with any kind of small talk.

“Are you alright?”

Lost in your own head, you had almost forgotten about Harry walking next to you in the cooling air of the city. You turned to him for a brief moment, eyes flitting over his before looking forward again.

“Yeah I – I’m just tired. Long couple of days.”

Before Harry got a chance to speak, you realized that you need to turn onto your block. “I’m going here – I’ll see you around.”

You turned the block, stopping for barely a second as Harry uttered a small “See you,” before you walked the opposite direction of him.

Pace picking up as you wanted nothing more than to be home at the moment, quickly walking the rest of the way home.

Finally closing your door behind you, not caring where your bag ended up on the floor and going to immediately crack open a window, airing out the stuffy apartment. You busied yourself with lighting a stick of sandalwood incense, letting the smoke slowly blow out the window, the smell starting to fill the room.

It wasn’t until you went to change into a sweatshirt and shorts, catching a glance of your appearance in the mirror when you suddenly felt tears well up again. Reaching for your phone, deciding that if you were going to wallow in your sudden sadness that you should have a soundtrack for it.

Pouring yourself a glass of wine, knowing you should make something to eat as well but not having the energy for it at the moment.

You only took one sip of the drink before placing it back down on the counter, feeling small tears fall from the corner of your eyes. Wiping under your face with the back of your sleeve, knowing more tears were to come.

The sudden cry had come out a bit out of no where. It sometimes was like that, the unexpected surge of tears that suddenly needed to fall from your eyes.

What surprised you, was that it was triggered by what Harry told you. Him telling you that his work as an artist was his 9 to 5 job, that he was following what he always wanted to do and was so far able to get by.

It was similar to the way you felt with Mae, sometimes. The two of you had graduated with the same degrees, but she was following her dream while you had the same job you held all throughout college. Sure, maybe the location of the job was different, and this time you were manager, but it still felt like the same job.

It wasn’t that you felt unfulfilled in life, and you did really like your job. It was just that there was sure to be more – this couldn’t be it for the rest of your life.

And the small, snarky comment from family or even customers didn’t help. You had had customers ask you if you were just working there “for now” and if it was “some place you were trying to get out of.” It was condescending really, and you always politely smiled at them and told them no, but it never helped with feeling not good enough.

So sitting with your wine, and a little cry, was very much what you needed right now.

#please share and let me know what you think <3 #and i hope everyone enjoys !!!! <33 #cb #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfic

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cherryblossomflowers · 4 years ago

Text

Her Special Day

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Summary: Jensen wants YN to have an incredible birthday, but when his plans start to fail he's worried he ruined her special day. Luckily, YN is very understanding.

Warnings: Mega Fluff, Slight Cursing, Anxiety/Panic

A/N: Happy Birthday @mlovesstories I hope your day is filled with laughter and joy. Here's a little something from me. (I also had to add a JA gif from yesterday, lol) Feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy!

***ASK OPEN***

*LET ME KNOW IF YOU’D LIKE TO BE TAGGED*

Cherry Blossom One-Shot Masterlist

As he pulled into his driveway, Jensen looked down at the clock on his radio, "Okay, she should be here in about an hour. That's plenty of time to get everything set up."

Today was YN's birthday and Jensen was determined to make it an unforgettable one. After all, the two have been dating for 3 years now.

And Jensen believed it was time to take that next step.

Early that morning, he called a local flower shop to deliver a bouquet of roses to YN's office as a surprise for her birthday. Then he made a plan and got ready for the day.

His first stop was the jewelry store in town. It took some time to find the perfect diamond, but after 3 hours of careful looking, he had found it.

He didn't even flinch at the price when he swiped his credit card, especially since YN's happiness was worth more to him than any amount of money he ever had.

His next stop was the floral shop that he had the roses delivered from. He decided to buy a couple more bouquets of roses and use the petals as a romantic decoration around the house.

Finally he popped into the grocery store to pick up ingredients for YN's favorite meal: chicken parmesan. He also grabbed a chocolate cake mix, frosting, and candles, deciding that a semi-homemade birthday cake was better than having someone else make it in a bakery.

After he purchased everything, Jensen climbed back in his truck and drove to his house. He pulled into the driveway, checked the time, and got to work.

Jensen managed to get everything inside, including the ring, and into the kitchen before setting up a plan of action, "First things first: I need to get that cake made so it has time to cool. Then I need to get everything decorated. I should probably get dinner at least put together while the cake bakes."

In his entire life, Jensen had never been this nervous. He wanted YN's special day to be memorable, but he also needed this proposal to be perfect. She was the love of his life and he wanted her to always be happy.

So everything had to go right and be perfect.

After a half hour of mixing ingredients, Jensen popped the cake in the oven and got to work preparing dinner. Since he's made chicken parmesan several times over the years, mainly at YN's request, it was second nature to him.

He set the dish aside and started decorating the living room and kitchen for YN's birthday. He put one bouquet of roses in a vase and set them on the counter, then he set the table for himself and YN.

A little while later, the timer for the cake went off and he pulled the pans out of the oven. He set them on the cooling rack and slipped the chicken parmesan into the oven.

As he was cleaning up the kitchen, his phone started to ring on the counter. He picked it up and saw the picture from his and YN's first date at the water park.

He smiled as he answered, "Why hello, birthday girl."

Her giggle on the other end made his heart skip a beat, "Hello, love. Guess who got off work a half hour early?"

Jensen pulled back his phone and noticed the time, "O-oh, wow that’s...great," he had to think of something to keep her busy a bit longer, "Um, hey why don't you stop by the store a grab a bottle of wine? I spaced getting it when I was at the store earlier."

"But don't you have like rows and rows of wine in your house?"

"Y-yeah, I do. But I want you to have your favorite and we drank the last of it a week ago."

"Oh, uh, okay then. Sure, I'll stop by the store. Is there anything else I could grab?"

"Nope, that should be it. I'll see you in a bit my love," Jensen sighed in relief.

"I love you, Jay."

"Love you, too," he hung up and set his phone back on the counter, "Great, that bought me some time, but not a lot."

After grabbing the ring box from the kitchen counter, he jogged into the bedroom and swung open his closet. He looked around until he spotted the royal blue dress shirt that happened to be YN's favorite on him. He also grabbed his black slacks and dress shoes to match.

He set the ring on the nightstand by his side of the bed and changed rather quickly before walking into the bathroom to fix his hair, spray some cologne, and make sure he looked as handsome as the first time YN fell in love with him.

He took a long look at himself in the mirror and sighed, "You're all right. You can do this. You're Jensen Ross Ackles. Just a simple question: will you marry me? It's not that difficult. Just take a deep breath and relax."

He walked out of the bedroom and back towards the kitchen. As he stepped into the kitchen, he heard YN's car pulling into the driveway and he panicked.

"Shit!" he whispered, "Nothing’s ready. What do I do?"

He had to think quick on his feet, so he bolted out the front door and over to YN's car. He yanked open her driver door, which startled her.

"Jeez, Jay. Are you trying to scare me to death?" YN sighed.

"N-no, sorry. I...um..." he trailed off, trying to figure out what to say.

YN stepped out of the car and shook the bottle in her hand, "I got the wine."

"Oh, right," Jensen nodded, "I'm sorry I scared you."

"It's okay, love," she kissed his cheek, "Let's go inside and chill. I had a long day and I just want to have a nice relaxing evening with my love," she started walking towards the house.

Jensen panicked, "YN, wait!"

"What for?" she turned to him, "Awe, are you wearing that shirt because it's my birthday? Or just because it's my favorite?"

"Both, I guess," he walked up to her, "But you can't go inside."

YN rolled her eyes and smiled, "Why not?"

"Because...because..." Jensen stood behind her and covered her eyes, "It's a surprise! No peeking, okay?"

"Okay," she chuckled, "You know I'm not one for surprises, Jay."

"I know, but...trust me," he breathed, "This is a good surprise."

He kept his hands covering YN's eyes as they walked into his house. He guided her away from the kitchen and living room and towards his bedroom. He kicked the door closed behind himself, took his hands off YN's eyes, and spun her around to look at him.

"Whoa, okay. Now that I can see, what do you have up your sleeve, Jensen?" YN asked.

"Whatever do you mean, my love?" Jensen smiled, "Now, why don't you get out of your work clothes and take a long, hot bath?"

YN sighed, "That does sound nice."

"And while you do so, I'll get dinner ready."

"What's for dinner?"

"Your favorite."

YN smiled, "You're the best."

Jensen turned her around and walked her towards the bathroom, "I'll take that title for sure, but since it's your special day, I think you should take it back. All I've done is put chicken and sauce in a pan. You, m'lady," he kissed her cheek, "do more for me everyday just by breathing."

YN sighed in content, "You're going to be the death of me, Ackles."

"I love you, too," he smiled, "Now, go take a bath and meet me in the kitchen when you're done. Take as long as you need."

YN nodded as she walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind herself. Jensen let out a long sigh of relief as he walked out of the bedroom and back to the kitchen.

The cake had to be cool enough to ice by now, so he took them out of the pans and layered them on a plate. He grabbed the frosting and a spatula, and got to work on the cake. It wasn't the prettiest thing in the world, but Jensen made it himself.

He added the candles to the top then stood back to look at his handy work, "Not bad, Ackles. Not bad at all."

After setting the cake on the counter next to the vase of roses, he walked over to the dining table, picked up the last bouquet, and started pulling off the flower petals. He scattered them around the dining table then started walking back towards the bedroom while scattering more petals as a path.

When he reached the bedroom, he could hear YN's music coming from the bathroom. He smiled as he thought of how the rest of the night was going to go.

First, she'd walk out of the bathroom, her towel around her body and hair, and relaxed from her long soak. Then she'd get dressed and notice the rose petals around her feet. She'd walk out of the bedroom, down the hallway, and towards the kitchen. She'd see dinner on the table, her birthday cake, and more roses waiting for her.

And Jensen would be there, knelt down on one knee with the ring in his hand. He'd pop the question, she'd say yes (hopefully), and they'd live happily ever after.

It was perfect. Well, hopefully it would be that perfect.

Suddenly, a beeping could be heard coming from the kitchen and Jensen could smell smoke. He went into a panic as he ran out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen.

He abruptly came to a halt when he saw black smoke pouring out of the oven, "Shit! I forgot to set a timer for dinner!"

He ran into the kitchen and pulled the oven open, causing more smoke to pour out of it. He blindly reached around for something to douse the small fire and rolling black smoke.

Unfortunately that thing happened to be the vase of roses. He grabbed it and tossed it on to the flame, which ruined the flowers but extinguished the fire.

When he realized what he had done, he felt himself panic more, "Oh, no. No, no, no. This is bad. The flowers...dinner...they're both ruined."

He took a few steps back from the oven, trying to figure out a quick plan to fix this. When he moved backwards, he ended up bumping into the cake and knocking it to the ground.

He whipped around and gasped at the sight, "No! Not the cake too! What am I going to do now?!"

Just then, he heard the bedroom door squeak open and footsteps approaching the kitchen.

"Hey, uh, Jay?" YN's voice echoed in his head, "Do you, um, do you want to tell me what this is that was sitting by your side of the bed? And why there are rose petals all over the floor?"

She walked down the hallway towards the kitchen, but paused when she saw the devastating sight in front of her.

There was Jensen on his hands and knees trying to somehow salvage the cake that had dropped. YN took a few steps towards him before he looked up at her with tears in his eyes.

She gasped when she saw his face, "Jensen? Honey, what happened?"

Jensen wiped his eyes, "I-I messed everything up. The chicken parmesan is burnt to a crisp, the flowers went up in flames, a-and I knocked over the cake," then he noticed the box in her hand, "Oh, no. Y-you didn't...open that did you?"

"No, not yet," YN shook her head, "I assumed it was a birthday gift that you wanted me to open with you."

He sighed, "Well, the entire night is ruined anyway. You might as well open it."

She glanced down at the box then back at Jensen, "Honey, the night isn't ruined. So dinner got a little burnt and the cake is on the ground and the flowers are toast. So what?" she knelt down next to him, "It doesn't matter."

He blinked up at her, "But your birthday-"

"Is just another day, love," she interrupted him, "You could've just popped in a movie, ordered a pizza, and we could have cuddled up on the couch. Just the fact that you tried to hard to make it perfect let's me know how much you really care about me. I love you so much."

Jensen smiled, "I love you, too, YN. And I'm sorry about all of this."

"Don't worry about it," she kissed him, "How about I help you clean up all of this then we'll watch a movie, drink some wine and relax?"

"I like that idea," he nodded, "I'll handle the cake if you want to try and get the pan of food out of the oven."

YN and Jensen stood from the floor and got to work. After YN placed the ring box on the counter, she walked over to the oven, grabbed potholders, and pulled out the dish. She placed it in the sink and started running water on it to cool it down enough to clean it.

Meanwhile, Jensen pulled the trashcan over to start cleaning the cake off the floor. He grabbed cake by the handful and tossed them in the trashcan.

It took roughly a half hour or more to clean up the mess in the kitchen. Jensen and YN had to change their clothes once they finished as Jensen was covered in cake frosting and sweat while YN was covered in burnt chicken parm and soapy water.

Once back in the living room, YN collapsed on the couch with a heavy sigh, "I could use a glass of wine."

Jensen chuckled, "I think I can handle that."

"You sure?" YN asked.

"Hardy har har," he rolled his eyes as he walked into the kitchen, "That was so funny."

He poured two glasses of wine and moved to walk out of the kitchen when the ring box caught his eye. He had completely forgotten about proposing to her after everything had happened.

Jensen grabbed the box and took a breath, "It's now or never."

He walked back into the living room and handed a glass of wine to YN. She took it from him and immediately took a satisfying sip.

"Wow, who knew wine was the key to your happiness," he chuckled as he sat next to her and put his glass on the table.

"Well, not exactly. Just a long day," she sighed and took another sip.

Jensen took a breath and held out the box, "YN, um-"

"Oh, my birthday present," she set the wine glass on the table.

"Sort of," he smirked, "Look, I know that I'm not a perfect guy. I know that I mess up from time to time, and it's mainly from my nerves. Things like tonight, I know it won't be the last time they happen. But out of all the things I know, there is one that tops them all: I know for a fact that I love you and that you love me back."

YN felt tears welling up in her eyes, "Oh, Jay."

"I've done a lot of thinking lately. And I've come to 3 conclusions: 1) I am a huge dork who's dating the most beautiful and amazing woman on the planet. 2) That amazing woman has had me wrapped around her finger from the first moment we locked eyes. And 3) The finger needs a little something more to make it official," Jensen opened the box to reveal the ring.

YN gasped, "Jensen..."

He smiled at her with tears in his eyes, "I love you, YN YLN. Would you do me the incredible honor of becoming Mrs. YN Ackles?"

"Oh my gosh, Jensen. Y-you're being serious, right? This isn't some prank o-or some cruel joke, right?" she was shaking from shock.

"No, baby. This is real. This is 100% real," he took her hand, "So, what do you say?"

YN chuckled, "What do I say? What do you mean 'what do I say'?" she leaned forward and kissed him, "Yes, Jensen, of course I'll marry you."

"Really? Yes?!" Jensen smiled his mega watt smile as he took the ring out and slide it on her finger.

YN took a long look at the ring, "This is gorgeous, honey."

"I couldn't find the exact one that you wanted, but I hope you'll love it just the same," he kissed her hand.

"It's perfect," she reached for her wine glass, "To my handsome fiance. He has his quirks, but he always keeps a smile on my face."

Jensen lifted his own glass, "And to the birthday girl, my gorgeous fiance. There's not a single flaw about her, well maybe except her small phone addiction-"

"Hey, now," YN interrupted him, "I am the owner of a company. I kind of have to be on my phone from time to time."

"But regardless of that," Jensen chuckled, "she's always there for me no matter how clumsy I get."

"To us," YN clinked her glass against Jensen's.

"To the future Mr. and Mrs. Ackles," Jensen nodded.

--------------------

Masterlist

My Cherry Blossoms

@mlovesstories @smollestbean-2 @kitwithnokat

@idksupernatural @desiredposion @thevelvetseries @let-me-luve-you

@obsessedwithfandomsx @mangueweaschester @starchildwild @deans-baby-momma

@spnbaby-67 @unicornmadness2444

@emery--nicole--morrison @spnfamily-j2 @akshi8278 @avocadogirl216

@imthedoctorlove @x-mypeopleskillsarerusty-x @lyarr24

#spn #spn rpf #the boys #supernatural #supernatural rpf #Jensen Ackles #Soldier Boy #Jensen #Jensen x Reader #Jensen Ackles x Reader #cherryblossomstory #happy birthday mlovesstories

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nomanwalksalone · 4 years ago

Photo

TAKE MY IVY, PLEASE

by Réginald-Jérôme de Mans

A few years before my excellent state graduate school destroyed the promise of accessible public education and raised tuition to the same levels as the privates, my housemate, complaining that he wanted an experience that I had already had, transferred to Yale. Said experience, one I had never put a name to, was “the Ivy League experience.” I never thought that my undergraduate years at Dirnelli U (known to non-iGents as Brown) amounted to any sort of emblematic experience of the eight universities that compose the Ivies, nor that the sort of experience that expression connotes exists today outside of the imaginations of a few who have closed their eyes to the sartorial realities of college, whether on the campus of an Ivy League or elsewhere.

Certainly by the time I wandered my college town’s streets the idea of an Ivy look that was not the national college outfit of jeans, sweats or even pajamas was ludicrous, even if those wanderings frequently took me past Brown’s last two, soon-to-be-extinct, soon-to-be-unmourned, Ivy outfitters. Despite one of them adding a large wood carving of the Polo logo to its sign, they remained unrelatable enclaves surrounded by the diners with insane hours (midnight to four AM) and smoke shops with Sobranie Black Russians which I remember more sentimentally.

They weren’t welcoming, either, if I ever braved to venture past the window displays with Royall Lyme and defiantly middle-aged Barry Bricken and Tricots Saint-Raphael mufti. Undergraduates were not buying, and that shop, Hillhouse Ltd, closed my senior year. Times had changed to the point that I remember the opening of a Gap on Thayer Street drawing some criticism in the press for that shop’s expected priciness.

Richard Press evokes Hillhouse Ltd.’s predecessor, Langrock, and the other classic outfitters of the Ivy League in his sparkling memoir Threading the Needle, a collection of reminiscences from his posts on the website of J. Press, the ur-classic clothier founded by his grandfather. Even if J. Press is now owned by its Far Eastern licensee Onward Kashiyama, Richard Press remains the face of the firm, and, for all intents and purposes, its breezy, never windy, voice.

Press is ebullient to the point of becoming almost ethereal, a far cry from my memories of the weary heaviness of my local Ivy shops’ atmospheres, their prosaic furnishings and quite mundane merchandise… But then again, my first recollection of Ivy style, recognized in retrospect like a recovered memory, was of my high school English teacher’s tweed jacket, which he opened to lend me a pen that smelt as memorably bad as almost anything I’ve smelt since then, including tanneries and certain institutional wards, suffused as it was not with the Hebridean peat fires that Richard Press insists you could smell in the old Harris Tweeds his father sold, but with decades of spilt coffee and sweat-drenched wool that must have never seen a dry clean, so that his shapeless, indiscriminately patterned tweed jacket bore the pedigree of its soiling. My first experience, then, was of miasma, not Press’s ether.

No wonder Richard Press makes a virtue out of the emptiness of the actual Ivy stores, filling them with ethos and intangible evocations: a sense not just of community but of belonging. Belonging to the New Haven restaurants that only sat university students and staff, not townsfolk; belonging to the boisterous undergraduates who knew that Press’s frequently invoked “Boola boola” is a Yale fight song; belonging to a time when immigrant tailor Jacobi Press and his staff travelled the trails of the carriage trade and visited boarding schools to sell rich adolescents custom suits, the better to lock them in for college and life. Belonging to dangerous road trips between Dartmouth and its sister college in the days before co-education (or good highways) to flirt, or at least hope to loan out a J. Press Shetland wool sweater; belonging to Frank Sinatra’s party one whirlwind evening when the Chairman of the Board sat most of the J. Press New York staff at his table in all the chic watering holes; belonging to the small group of people who have seen Dean Acheson in his underwear… Always, however, the thrill of this inclusion is in its exclusion of others: through codes of language, through the financial means required to pay for custom tailoring (for children who would grow out of it!); through social class. It is a privilege to read Richard Press’ writing, but it would be unwise to forget the privilege his rosy reminiscences required.

Comfort and ease in tailored clothing, then as now, only came at great expense. It does not surprise me that those physical Ivy shops of Providence, untouched by J. Press’s halo, withered and died. Threading the Needle includes Richard Press’s jabs at casualization. He bemoans it as a great swindle on us, depriving us of knowing what to wear, and requiring us to buy cheaper, junkier clothes at much higher margins than what honest traditional merchants like J. Press were and are selling us. But the reason Ivy is dead is because the class that wore this syncretistic American clothing, a dowdy bastardization of Britishness with Puritan formlessness thrown in, reflexively because it was what was done, and what was sold where one shopped, was quite happy to wear lighter, easier, less confining clothing as soon as they could shed the weight of Ivy, the dress code expectations that changed so radically from the 1960s onward, and quite happy to spend less on cheaper casual clothing than on expensive tailored jackets and ties whose silk had to be madder-dyed in England. You may see a few young people wearing a Harris Tweed jacket or seersucker sportcoat on a northeastern college campus, but they are all doing so with intentionality, the intention to recreate something that no longer naturally exists, populating an invented ecosystem with overthought clothing to which they associate a politics that was not at all certain to be associated with it in the days when so-called Ivy clothing was the norm on Ivy campuses.

Press’s essays even give us, in pieces, the narrative of what actually happened to Ivy Style. Once upon a time it was the norm on rarefied campuses of young gentlemen who might continue using the same tailor who had bench-made their clothes in high school and college once they graduated to Wall Street, like a Fitzgerald protagonist. The aftermath of World War II democratized (to a point) college enrollment through the GI Bill, leading many, many more people, of theretofore-unrepresented social classes, to attend college and adopt a similar wardrobe. (Another prep school teacher once informed us that Columbia University had simply called up his father after the war and asked him to attend, allowing him to climb the social ladder.) Innovations in production allowed factory manufacture of Ivy-style ready-to-wear garments as well, so that the increased number of people who wanted to wear Ivy could also afford to wear the Ivy look without having to pay the prices of artisanal one-off work. Ivy became widespread: Press uses the word “heyday” in the titles of several of his essays from this golden age when Ivy was the look. And every fashionable look has its end. Not only did fashions change, but social changes in the 1960s meant that homogenous dressing on campuses was at an end, particularly dressing like one supposed a white-collar grownup would in coat and tie. The 1970s’ upheaval in prep school dress codes broke the back of coat and tie for kids, dealing another blow to Ivy. The Ivy partisans Press evokes who wore it during those decades, doughty men, men of intelligence like Dick Cavett, of integrity like John Chancellor, were middle-aged men who had started wearing the same style of clothes decades earlier as students. (Even Frank Sinatra, who scooped Richard up to his bosom, only lasted nine months as a customer in the late 1960s before sending an emissary to tell Richard Frank no longer wanted to experiment with the Ivy look.) Ivy as a style worn by current Ivy Leaguers, or by American college students pretty much anywhere, no longer existed.

Decades later I, too, wear tweed jackets, but keep them clean (unlike the original Ivy population), and am not a parafascist reactionary (unlike some of the most visible latter-day Ivy practitioners). Savile Row tailors had to sacralize the concept of tweed for me, washing away all its associations of brown, smelly, shapeless and hegemonic, so that my garments in it, strange alpaca Shetland weaves or unthinkable lavenders, are as far from Ivy as possible. Despite the awful Brown Daily Herald (for which I coined the motto “all the print that fits is news”) carrying a weekly News of the Ivies section, none of us felt any ineffable Ivy-ness. The closest I came to such a feeling may have been reading a cheesy story by Providence’s own H.P. Lovecraft, whose action suddenly shifted to the very room I was sitting in… or perhaps hearing a townie couple at a Spring Weekend concert by the very non-Ivy Violent Femmes mutter about how all the kids in the audience had good teeth.

I do not mourn Ivy, as I do not mourn the shops that died trying to sell it to the college populations that have moved on. I hope my housemate found what he was looking for in New Haven (I did successfully, and evilly, bullshit him into buying two Brigg umbrellas for his move there). Had I been him, no doubt I would have succumbed to some aspect of Richard Press’s winning fantasies, replaying the opening paragraphs of Franny and Zooey in my mind, wool-lined Burberry and all, in search of a possessions-linked romance that reality has no place for in this day and age, if it ever had.

#rjman #reginaldjeromedemans

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douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years ago

Text

WHY I'M SMARTER THAN UNDERGRADUATES

One of the cases he decided was brought by the owner of a food shop. Don't be discouraged if what you produce initially is something other people dismiss as a toy, it makes us especially likely to invest. Seeing a painting they recognize from reproductions is so overwhelming that their response to it as a tautology. There's nothing more valuable than an unmet need that is just becoming fixable. You have to show you're impressed with what you've made. Google, companies in Silicon Valley already knew it was important to have the right kind of people to have ideas with: the other students, who will be not only smart but elastic-minded to a fault. Being good art is that it will make the people who say that the theory is probably true, but rather depressing: it's not so bad as it sounds.

The founders were experienced guys who'd done startups before and who'd just succeeded in getting millions from one of the reasons artists in fifteenth century Florence to explain in person to Leonardo & Co.1 If Microsoft was the Empire, they were the Rebel Alliance. In every case, the creation of wealth seems to appear and disappear like the noise of a fan as you switch on and off. One often hears a policy criticized on the grounds that it would increase the income gap between rich and poor? Perhaps this tends to attract people who are bad at understanding. It would work on a moon base where we had to buy air by the liter. It seemed obvious that beauty, for example, as property in the way we do. It could be the reason they don't have to wait to be an adult.

The answer, I realized, is that my m. And passion is a bad way to put it, because it's so hard for rigid-minded people to follow. That's to be expected. An eloquent speaker or writer can give the impression of vanquishing an opponent merely by using forceful words. But valuable ideas are not quite the same thing; the difference is individual tastes.2 Don't talk about secondary matters at length. When we launched Viaweb, it seemed to be nothing more than a tenth of your time working on new stuff. Now a lot of people in the Valley is watching them. In either case you let yourself be defined by what they tell you to do.3

Of course, space aliens probably wouldn't find human faces engaging. Rebellion is almost as stupid as obedience. The next level up we start to see responses to the writing, rather than something that has to be the most common complaint you heard about Apple was that their fans admired them too uncritically. Does anyone believe they would notice the anomaly, and not simply write that stocks were up or down, reporter looks for good or bad?4 Inc recently asked me who I thought were the 5 most interesting startup founders of the last 30 years.5 Simplicity takes effort—genius, even. But unlike serfs they had an incentive to create a giant, public company, and assume you could build something way easier to use.

Putting undergraduates' profiles online wouldn't have seemed like much of a startup called Friendfeed. That would definitely happen if programmers started to use handhelds as development machines—if handhelds displaced laptops the way laptops displaced desktops. Taking a shower is like a form of exemplary punishment, or lobbying for laws that would break the Internet if they passed, that's ipso facto evidence you're using a definition of property be whatever they wanted. Back in the 90s. Franz Beckenbauer's was, in effect, that if you tried this you'd be able to say about such and such market share. The average person looks at it and thinks: how amazingly skillful.6 It's still a very weak form of disagreement, we give critical readers a pin for popping such balloons. If one blows up in your face, start another. Ten weeks is not much time. Everyone at Rehearsal Day. Merely being aware of them usually prevents them from working. If I could tell startups only ten sentences, this would be one of them.

What counts as property depends on what you mean by worth. It would have been. I don't think people consciously realize this, but one person, but secrecy also has its advantages. Honestly, Sam is, along with Steve Jobs, the founder I refer to most when I'm advising startups. It's also true that there are quite a few marketplaces out there that serve this same market. Obviously the world sucked, so why wouldn't they? There was not much point. There are always great ideas sitting right under our noses. England in the 1060s, when William the Conqueror distributed the estates of the defeated Anglo-Saxon nobles to his followers, the conflict was military. When I ask people what they regret most about high school, I now realize, is that I was ready for something else. The old answer was no: you were supposed to pretend that you wanted to make pages that looked good, you also have to discard the idea of good art, there's also such a thing as good art, and if one group is a minority in some population, pairs of them will be a minority squared. You have to show you're impressed with what you've made.

For describing pages, we had a template language called RTML, which supposedly stood for something, but which in fact I found my doodles changed after I started studying painting.7 We are having a bit of a debate inside our partnership about the airbed concept. It was thus subjective rather than objective. Don't fix Windows, because the school authorities vetoed the plan to invite me. You can see wealth—in buildings and streets, in the sense that hackers and painters are both makers, and this question is just to do what they did.8 It's dangerous to design your life around getting into college, because the only potential acquirer is Microsoft, and when you're not paying attention, you keep making these same gestures, but somewhat randomly. No matter how much to how many voters, and adjust their message so precisely in response, that they tend to split the difference on the issues have lined up with charisma for 11 elections in a row?

So is it meaningless to talk about it publicly till long afterward.9 The way Apple runs the App Store is full of half-baked applications. If I were talking to a roomful of people than you would in conversation.10 The problem is, it's hard to get the gold out of it. Where does wealth come from?11 You can demonstrate your respect for one another in more subtle ways.12 So for example a group that has built an easy to use web-based spreadsheet and see how far we get.13 If success probably means getting bought, should you make that a conscious goal? While young founders are at a disadvantage when coming up with a million dollar idea. I'd like to reply with another question: why do people think it's hard?

Notes

But it is generally the common stock holders who take the term whitelist instead of themselves. There's comparatively little from it. I couldn't convince Fred Wilson to fund them. I've come to you about it.

Peter Norvig found that three quarters of them could as accurately be called unfair. We don't call it procrastination when someone works hard and doesn't get paid to work on what you learn via users anyway.

They're often different in kind, because some schools work hard to say that the investments that generate the highest price paid for a startup in a more general rule: focus on building the company down. Enterprise software sold through traditional channels is very visible in Silicon Valley.

In many ways the New Deal was a kid that you'd want to get jobs. Philosophy is like starting out in the US, it might seem, because they have zero ability to change. If the rich paid high taxes? The two guys were Dan Bricklin and Bob Frankston.

Don't be evil. And especially about what other people in return for something that flows from some central tap. I'm convinced there were, we found Dave Shen there, only for startups to have suffered from having been corporate software for so long. I think investors currently err too far on the dollar.

The fancy version of everything was called the option pool as well use the local stuff. Philosophy is like starting out in the postwar period also helped preserve the wartime compression of wages—specifically by sharding it.

This is everyday life in general. So, can I make it easy. Believe it or not, under current US law, writing and visual design.

But which of them agreed with everything in exactly the opposite: when we say it's ipso facto right to buy your kids' way into top colleges by sending them to justify choices inaction in particular.

An influx of inexpensive but mediocre investors. Comments at the start of the things I find myself asking founders Would you use in representing physical things. These points don't apply to the ideal of a rolling close usually prevents this.

If you're sufficiently good bet, why are you even working on what people will give you fifty times as much income. When a lot of money around is never something people treat casually. No one writing a dictionary from scratch, rather than giving grants.

For similar reasons, avoid the topic. It's not only the leaves who suffer. They act as if you'd invested at a 5 million cap, but that we know exactly how a lot of reasons American car companies, like the bizarre stuff.

Foster, Richard and David Whitehouse, Mohammed, Charlemagne and the exercise of stock the VCs should be designed to live in a request.

Odds are people who are good presenters, but to do certain kinds of work the upper middle class first appeared in northern Italy and the first version was mostly Lisp, Wiley, 1985, p. So during the 2002-03 season was 2. Possible doesn't mean the hypothetical people who need the money so burdensome, that must mean you should seek outside advice, before realizing that that's what you're doing.

Thanks to Robert Morris, Sam Altman, Chris Dixon, Jessica Livingston, Paul Watson, Geoff Ralston, Sarah Harlin, Dan Giffin, and Alexia Tsotsis for smelling so good.

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spideyscnse · 5 years ago

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hey, i saw u were taking requests and i really love your writing!! could u possibly do something where reader is a nerd and she works at a bookstore and peter comes in?? idk where to go from there but i’d like it to be super fluffy and cute if u like :))) thank u so much x

a/n: hi! aw, i’m so flattered that you love my writing! i’m so so sorry for taking so long, but i was so excited by this idea when i saw it because it’s so cute! to make up for it i wrote 3k words and made it extra cute :) hope you enjoy

sci-fi

pairing: peter parker x booknerd!reader

word count: 3k

warnings: none :) just super cute fluff and pureness

summary: y/n is so much of a book lover that the moment she hit fifteen, she applied for a job at her favourite, local bookstore. one day, a boy called peter parker shows up at the store.

note: please don’t plagiarise my work!

masterlist

You had your earbuds in as you left the school through the back gate—the gate that would take the least amount of time to get to the bookstore. You had work today, and it was why Tuesdays and Thursdays were your favourite days of the week.

Your school was a small one, almost adjacent to the prestigious Midtown High, where all of the smart kids went. You went to a girl’s private school opposite to it, and while you liked her school well enough, you sometimes wished that you’d applied to Midtown instead. Just because it seemed so much bigger and fun. Maybe it was just you, though.

The store was a fifteen-minute walk away, and you managed to get through four songs on your way there.

Pulling out your earbuds and switching off your music, you pushed the door open with a soft tinkle and made your way into the store. The relaxing smell of worn pages and coffee greeted you instantly, and just at the scent, you felt yourself calm, because it was such a homely feeling for you.This was where you were when you weren’t at school or at home, and it had been your place to go since you were very little.

“Good afternoon, Jane,” You called out to the manager, who sat at the checkout desk, and the kind lady gave you a warm smile, like she did every time she saw you.

“Hey, Y/N,” She responded, glancing up from the tablet she was scrolling through, no doubt checking through book orders, “You got here quickly, today.”

You chuckled, “Oh, yeah, I saw on Instagram that the next book in my favourite series got released yesterday and I rushed here as soon as I could.”

“Alright,” Jane said with an amused, affectionate look in her eyes, “Well, go get changed into your uniform and then you can go find that book you want.”

Eagerly, you nodded and headed to the back room to drop off your bag and change out of your school’s uniform—a white blouse and dark green skirt. The school logo was embroidered over the chest pocket of the shirt, and a silver and green tie hung from around your neck, tucked neatly under the collar.

Quickly, you pulled out your work clothes, which were far more comfortable—Jane was pretty loose on the dress code, so long as you wore the lanyard and name badge. So, today you’d opted to bring a grey sweatshirt and leggings, which would be cosy enough for you to walk between the shelves and look for people who needed help—also, for you to find that book you needed.Once you’d folded up your school uniform and slipped it neatly into your bag, you stepped out into the store again, greeted by the smell again, that you’d never get tired of.You headed to the YA aisle, the one where you knew your book would be, and you spotted it immediately—it was sitting gloriously on the new releases table, and you quickly snatched up a copy, flipping through it and letting out a satisfied sigh. You resisted the urge to just start reading it then and there, reminding yourself that you were at work and there were customers all around you. So, instead you slipped it into the front pocket of your sweatshirt, making a mental note to pay for it when you left.

Despite your efforts to focus, though, the thoughts of that one book remained swirling in your mind. This made it very difficult to maintain a calm tone of voice when people asked you for help finding things, just because on the inside, you were far too excited.

But you still went about your job like you always would—calmly, kindly, and patiently. Even with the people who complained to you about the prices, or tried to haggle you for a deal, no doubt thinking you’d give it to them, since you were young and looked it, too.

You were sorting through a massive stack of books that had arrived the day before, unboxing each, marking them down and then ordering them alphabetically on the new shelves, when somebody tapped you on the shoulder and made you jump…probably more dramatically than you needed to.

You dropped the two books that were in your hands at the time, and yelped, “I’m sorry! What did you need—?”

Your sentence was cut off as you caught sight of the boy’s face, and the words evaporated from your tongue. He had curly, chocolate-brown hair and warm, wide eyes that were currently filled with concern and shock…at your surprise, probably.

But he was extraordinarily pretty, and you found yourself looking away, leaning down to pick up the books you’d dropped. You cleared your throat, “I’m sorry, what did you need help with?”

“Uhh,” He seemed to be almost at a lost for words as he glanced at you, suddenly nervous, “I was looking for some books for my science project? I wasn’t sure where I should start…”

You smiled, and he blushed, and you gestured for him to follow you. It was rare that a high school kid came in looking for books about science—didn’t most people just find things online nowadays for school assignments?—nevertheless, you decided this boy was far too precious to just refer him to online.Especially not when this bookstore had such a great range of science books; while you loved your fiction, the science was your second favourite.

As you approached the wall, even the boy seemed to be kind of in a sense of awe. You began to talk, hiding your amusement at his amazement. “This is the science wall! It’s my second favourite section, and it’s got basically everything.” You pointed to the said areas as you explained, “They’re organised by subtopics, so you’ve got bio here, and then physics, chem, and so on.”

“What would you recommend for a physics assignment?”

You gave him a curious look, “Well, the ones with the green spines are really detailed,” you started, even though you weren’t quite sure exactly what he was looking for. “If you’re into more basic stuff, the ones on the very left of the shelf, and the more complex stuff is to the right.”

He was quiet for a long moment after you finished. You weren’t sure if he was soaking up the information or just blanked out. Regardless, it left you standing there half-smiling, basking in the awkwardness.It was almost twenty seconds later that the boy seemed to remember that you were waiting for his response, and he immediately flushed, “I’m so sorry, thanks for taking me here—um, sorry, I didn’t get your name…”

“It’s Y/N,” You responded, pointing at the name tag that was pinned onto your lanyard, “And yours?”

“Peter,” He responded shyly, running a hand nervously through his curls, “What school do you go to? I don’t think I’ve seen you around on campus.”

“I go to Y/S/N,” You explained, sheepish, even though you weren’t sure why you were so nervous, and why your palms were sweating, “It’s a girls’ private school, which is probably why you don’t see me at school.” You laughed off your nerves, even though you felt heat begin to crawl through your cheeks.

Peter seemed to deflate a bit, the smile fading from his eyes, “Well, then, I won’t be able to see you. I was hoping you went to my school…”

“Guess you’ll have to come ‘round to the bookstore more often, then,” You said teasingly, “To get your books for your smart-kid assignments. Assessments are mostly over now anyway—except for at Midtown, I hear. Is that where you go?”

He nodded in answer, giving a small smile, even as his eyes turned and became glued to the books on the shelves. He scanned through the titles and asked absently, “What gave it away?”

“You’re looking for science books, Peter,” You said with a small giggle, “Isn’t Midtown a STEM school? I just assumed.”

“Y/N!” Jane called from the front of the shop, and you immediately perked up, your conversation interrupted.Peter sighed, even though he diligently kept the kind smile on his lips, “Well, I guess duty calls, huh?”

You nodded, pressing your lips into a taut smile, a bit disappointed as well, that you had to go now. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“You bet you will,” He said, giving a grin, “I’ll be sure to come whenever I can to get your expertise on science-y books for my smart-kid assignments.”

You almost choked on a laugh as you tried to swallow it, “Good luck with your assessment! And the science books!”

***

Peter kept true to his word.

That boy seemed to make it his mission to show up every day, and talk to you all about your recommendations and his science assignments. Not that you minded—it was kind of cute, what with how enthusiastic he got when he was rambling.

Today, though, Peter was late. School ended two hours ago, and still. No sign of him. Usually he would’ve been here almost at the same time as you, since he’d taken to doing all of his homework in the shop.

Despite how hard you tried to not let it distract you, you really couldn’t help the glances you kept throwing over your shoulder at the door, to check for any sign of him. To be honest, you weren’t quite sure why you anticipated his arrival so much, seeing as he probably had his own work to do, but still…You did your job fine; you made sure to put all of the new arrivals in alphabetical order and unbox all of the stock for the week, but even Jane noticed that you weren’t as focused as usual. And from the knowing gleam in her eyes, she knew exactly why you looked so much more worried and tense than usual.

“Y/N, are you waiting for that brown-haired boy?” She called out, her chin leaning on her palm and looking quite amused.

You fumbled with the stack of books you were holding and said, suddenly flustered, “No, no I’m not,” You denied, even though your words were broken by a nervous stutter.Internally, you swore in frustration at yourself because why were you suddenly so nervous? Jane hadn’t even said anything, really, but—

“Then why do you keep looking out the window? I know that the boy comes every time that you’re here. We all fall in love at some point,” Jane said, her tone turning into a teasing one.

Fall in love?

“Oh, I’m not in love with him—I’m just—I just,” You stammered feebly, “I just like looking at the window display.”

Jane hummed, finally turning her gaze away to return to clicking away at her computer, probably filing in orders. “Sure thing.” Even though her stare had shifted from you, her knowing smile hadn’t faded and you bit your lip in embarrassment before returning to sorting the books.

You weren’t in love with Peter, you barely even knew him! It wasn’t like that—

“Sorry I’m late!”

And yet at the first sound of his voice you stopped everything that you were doing and spun around so fast your hair gave you whiplash.

“Y/N!” He called, his hair mussed by the wind, eyes wide. He was holding his bag, seeming to still be stuffing something into the back pocket of it, and he seemed extremely puffed.

“Peter,” You said, furrowing your brows, “You didn’t have to rush. If you were busy you could’ve just sent me a text.”

As if by instinct he reached into his back pocket for his phone as you mentioned texting, and he pulled it out as he responded, “I’m sorry, something came up that I had to take care of. It’s all good now, though! What new books arrived this week?”

Even though internally, you were still concerned for his well-being, since he looked so genuinely out-of-breath, but the fact that he’d rushed over to talk to you today was kind of…touching. Cute.

You brushed those thoughts away, though, effectively stopping the blush you felt beginning to form on the apples of your cheeks, “We got lots of fiction this week, actually. There’s some sci-fi I think you would like. Is your assignment finished now?”

Peter rubbed his neck almost shyly, “Oh, yeah, it was due today, actually. Thanks for all your help, I think I did better than usual.”

“It’s nothing,” You replied, giving him a smile, quickly turning to finish sorting out the last couple books, and then leading him to the fiction section. He eagerly followed.

“Do you read fiction much?” You decided to ask him, breaking the silence that had settled between the two of you.

“Sometimes,” He said, “I get pretty busy, though, so I don’t usually have a lot of time to read. I wish I did.”

You approached the fiction shelves and ran your hand over the spines, searching for the new arrivals you wanted to recommend to him, “Here,” You pulled the first out, then the second.

“These are really good, I read them yesterday,” You told him, passing the two to him, and he flipped through them curiously, “They’re about the stuff you’re into. Like, science-y, smart superhero, space-battle type stuff.”

His eyes lit up as he scanned through, murmuring absently, “I love that stuff! I can kinda relate to them.”

That piqued your curiosity, and you couldn’t stop yourself from asking, “What do you mean?”“Huh?”“What do you mean you can relate?”

Suddenly, Peter bit his lip and ran a hand nervously through his hair, “Oh, what, I said that? Uh, I just mean I relate to the struggles of the superheroes, you know? It’s kind of…inspirational.”

You considered his words, “You’re right. We do have a lot of superheroes around here, don’t we?” You chuckled a bit to yourself, averting your eyes because his gaze had become far too intense and focused for you to maintain the eye-contact whilst keeping your heart rate at a healthy pace.

“What do you think of them?” He asked, tucking the two books under his arm, seeming satisfied with your selection, “The superheroes, I mean.”

“They’re cool,” You said with a shrug, “They do cool things and they’re important. I kind of wanna be one,” You laughed lightly, “They actually make a difference, you know? I kind of just hang around here and just…” You trailed off, unsure of where you were going, but Peter seemed to understand.

Your eyes were fixated on your feet now, and you shifted on your feet when he didn’t say anything.Then, suddenly, he poked your cheek gently, making you look up at him, and then he said, “You don’t need to be a superhero to make a difference, Y/N.” He leaned in a bit closer and tilted your chin up with two fingers.

Oh gosh oh he was so close now you could see every shade in his eyes—

You hoped he couldn’t hear your heartbeat, but you swore you noted his ears tinge with pink ever so slightly as well when he whispered, “You’re pretty amazing already, I can tell you that.”

“I—Peter, I—,”

“Right,” Suddenly extremely shy, he quickly pulled away. Okay, his face was definitely burning bright red now, you were sure of it, “Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable—,”

“Peter,” You said softly, taking his hand gently in yours, “I wasn’t uncomfortable, I just…” You shook your head, “Never mind. But, thank you, Peter.”

“It’s just the truth,” He said, meeting your eyes with his own.

You weren’t sure what exactly gave you the confidence to do it, but with a light laugh you leant up on your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, “Thank you. You’re pretty amazing too, Peter.”He seemed to be at a loss for words. His cheeks were bright pink and his mouth opened and closed as he searched for the right thing to say. He looked so pretty.

“I-uh,” You bit your lip nervously—shyly, “Are you gonna get the books?”

That shook him out of his trance and he stammered, “Oh, yeah, I will, sorry—,”

“It’s okay,” You laughed, too giddy with the butterflies in your stomach to be nervous about what you’d just done anymore.

After he checked out, you said, “Call me and tell me what you think about those books, okay?”He left with a nod and a beaming smile, and Jane gave you that knowing look again.

“You just like looking at the window display, huh?” She said after the door shut behind him.You half-groaned, half-laughed as you shook your head and began heading back into the depths of the store to keep sorting the stock.

But you couldn’t help the grin of pure joy that formed on your lips the moment you were out of plain sight.

***

Tony didn’t usually pick Peter up, but today he’d been near the store anyway, so he offered to take him to the tower.The moment he got on the car, though, Tony noted his love-struck, dazed expression and said, “So, who’s the lucky person who’s snagged Peter Parker’s eye, huh?”He started up the car, which luckily pulled his gaze away from Peter, because the boy blushed furiously at Tony’s words.

“Uh, Mr. Stark, it’s nothing,” He said, shaking his head, “I just got some books that I like, that’s all—,” he pulled the two books he’d bought out of his bag, and Tony glanced at them.

“Since when did you read fiction?Peter fumbled for an excuse, “Uh, since today?”Tony scoffed in amusement, teasingly saying, “Must be some good books to have you looking so in love.”

Peter didn’t have any reply, or excuse, to respond with because he was really, really bad at lying and he knew that Tony already knew, anyway.“Yeah, they’re pretty amazing books,” He said instead.

Tony didn’t push any further, because it was just too cute.

He smiled fondly.

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sunshine-pup-fics · 5 years ago

Text

V O O D O O // Shinso x Reader

So I actually really like this quirk idea and want to develop it more and make an actual character out of it- but we’ll see how it goes!

Also, this idea just hit me and I really like it... But idk if I managed to write it well... also Shinso feels a little OOC? :p

(Y/n) frowned, gazing down at her supplies before her. There were a plentiful amount of small glass bottles littering her desk, each with a label with something scrawled on it. She traced her fingers across them, scanning the names for what she was searching for. She finally picked out one of the bottles, holding it up to the light. There was a small amount of liquid, perhaps enough for a few drops. She sighed, putting the bottle back as she quickly packed them all roughly away. She fled to her bedside table, grabbing her phone and purse, before slipping them into a messenger bag. She slung it over her shoulder, heading for her bedroom door. She skidded down the halls, sliding on her socks as she searched for her parents, which she finally found in the kitchen. “I’m going to the store super quick, do we need anything for dinner?” Her mother glanced at her, smiling as she hummed softly. “Ah, if you could grab some snacks for your lunches that would be great. There should be some money on the counter.” She gestured vaguely toward the other side of the kitchen before returning to her cooking. (Y/n) swipes the few notes from the counter, then headed toward the front door. She slipped on her shoes then hurried out the door.

(Y/n) dawdled down the sidewalk, eyeing the colourful storefronts. There were bookstores and clothing stores, with the local grocer just down the road. However, she turned into one of the stores, a small one that was painted a deep blue. A little bell jingled as she pushed the door open, and the scent of lavender seemed to smack her in the face as she headed in. There was a small portion of the wall covered in plants, beside it was a small couch. The rest of the room had shelves lining the walls, with a variety of different sized and different colours bottles sitting atop them. (Y/n) headed for one of the shelves, plucking a bottle from it and heading straight for the counter, which was nestled in the back corner. It was decorated with more plants, as well as some different crystals ranging in size and colour. There was an elderly lady behind the counter, who smiled warmly. “Another bottle of lavender? Is it for your newest little friend?” She expertly scanned it, slipping it into a small paper bag. “Thank you!” (Y/n) chirped. She handed over a few yen notes, taking the light paper bag and bidding farewell before heading back out to the street. She turned to her left, continuing down toward the grocery store. There was a dull chime as she entered, but no one paid her any mind. She began down each aisle, picking a few items each time. Arms full, she headed quickly toward the counter. There were a few people already standing in line, so she joined the queue. A few moments passed before she caught sight of a flash of purple in the corner of her eye. She casually turned to glance at it, only to be staring at none other than her classmate, Shinso. “O-oh. Good afternoon, Shinso.” She timidly bowed, averting her gaze away from him. The boy cleared his throat, keeping his gaze off her as well. “You’re... (Y/n), right?” The girl bobbed her head. “General studies, class 1-C.” They fell to silence. Shinso idly glanced around the store, while (Y/n) resorted to staring down at the food in her arms. Her head suddenly jumped to look at him, and she opened her mouth as if to speak. Shinso brought his gaze to hers, quirking a brow. (Y/n) closed her mouth, lightly shaking her head as whispered a “sorry, it’s nothing.”

Shinso seemed to notice her more the next day. They were in the same class, yet he’d never really seemed to notice her. She sat near back, on the furthest row from the door. He wasn’t sure why he was suddenly curious about her. He pinned to the fact that he just wanted to know what she was going to say in the supermarket. He kept seeing her in the corner of his eye. Talking to someone or grabbing a book, or even just passing him in the hall. He kept noticing her, but she seemed totally oblivious to him. Not once did he catch her gaze. It even occurred to him that he didn’t have an inkling of an idea to what her quirk was. The final bell rang and there was a flurry of scraping chairs as the students hurried out of the classroom. Shinso stacked his books, slipping them into his bag before slinging it over his shoulder. He turned to leave, before hearing a small voice call his name. “Excuse me, Shinso.” He glanced over his shoulder, seeing none other than (Y/n) weaving around the tables toward him. She paused before him, gripping her bag strap as she gazed over his shoulder. “I just... wanted to ask if you were feeling okay? I-uh. The rest of the class-Uhm- noticed that you seemed less agitated.” She chewed her lip. Shinso furrowed his brow, before lightly nodding. “I don’t know why you need to know, but yeah. I’ve been feeling... better, than usual.” Shinso couldn’t describe it. As soon as she said that, (Y/n) seemed to glow. Her eyes lit up, and a soft smile graced her lips. She tried to play it off, scuffing the floor with her shoe and pretending to not be too interested. “Oh, that’s nice then! I uh- I have to get going. A few people in the class were just curious.” She bowed her head before ducking around him. He turned to watch her, only catching her (h/c) hair disappear past the door. If he was already curious, he was surely infatuated now. He felt drawn to her. He felt as if he was already comfortable with her like she calmed him down. And he was going to figure out why.

For the next few days, he tried to coincidentally ‘bump’ into her. In the hallways, during lunch, he even headed back to the convenience store a few times in hopes he might catch her again. She hadn’t seemed to change her behaviour, she either didn’t notice his glances or she didn’t care. Yet he had caught her stealing glances at himself a few times. Today had produced futile attempts, as usual. He’d wandered around the store after school, eyeing different foods and drinks in order to at least pretend like he was shopping. However, it didn’t seem she was coming today either. He picked up a bottle of water, quickly heading to the register and paying before shuffling out the door. He turned to continue down the street, only casually throwing a glance over his shoulder. And then he spotted her. Her unmistakable (h/c) (h/s) hair bouncing with each of her steps as she hurried up the sidewalk. She was heading the other direction, but he scrambled to follow her, weaving through the few people wandering the street. He slowed when he passed the store she has come out of. His gaze flickered between the two, before he came to a stop, watching her disappear around a corner. He hesitantly turned toward the store. It was painted dark blue, with a worn-out awning bolted to the wall. He craned his neck, peering in through the tinted window. After a few moments of deliberation, he headed for the door. He nearly jumped when a small bell rung as he pushed the door open. The first thing he noticed was the distinct smell of lavender. He felt as if all his jittering nerves seemed to settle almost immediately. He gazed around, simply taking in the small store. “Do you need anything, dear?” Shinso spun on his heel, realising the middle-aged woman seated at the counter at the back of the room. She was smiling politely. He glanced toward the door. He was too far in to back out now. He sheepishly wandered toward her, coming to a halt as he gazed at the nearest bottles, trying to read their labels. “What can I... hmm.” The woman trailed off, glancing him up and down, brows furrowed. “May I ask what you sell here?” Shinso inquired. The lady seemed to snap from her trance. “Oh, we sell natural oils and extracts. They’re mostly used for things like incense and natural remedies.” Shinso picked up one of the bottles, frowning when he noticed the price. “If you don’t mind, could you tell me about that girl that was just in here?” Shinso tensed as the women sent a stern look his way. “Dear (Y/n)? She’s one of my best customers. Very polite and so dedicated to her craft.” She seemingly smiled to herself. “She’s been buying a lot more lavender than usual recently... must be for someone...” she paused. Her gaze then shot to Shinso and she grinned. “You! That’s where I recognise you from! Ah, of course! You’re her newest victim.” She chimed. “Excuse me?” The woman quickly waved him closer. “Oh, I shouldn’t say it quite like that. You’re a classmate of hers, correct?” Shinso nodded. “(Y/n) has a quirk fit for the hero course, yet it apparently did no good against the machines they set you lot against in the entrance exam. She’s absolutely wonderful. I can’t remember exactly what it’s called, but she uses voodoo dolls! Like in the movies! Bless the girl, she makes dolls for her family and friends and bathes them in oils and showers them with love. Of course, her quirk is involved and whatever she does to those dolls actually does affect the person.” “Wait, are you saying she-“ “Oh! I’ve gone and said too much already! Here, take this lavender oil and give it to her next time you see her, alright? Now shoo! I can’t go blabbering again!” Shinso couldn’t even get another word in. A small bottle was shoved into his hands and he was ushered out the door.

Shinso was nervous the next morning. He wasn’t sure why. All he had to do was talk to (Y/n). It’s not like he hadn’t done that before... but before he hadn’t know anything about (Y/n)... he trailed the school halls, paying no mind to the other students that killed around. Every step toward the classroom felt a little heavier than the last. He felt as if he had become hypersensitive. He could hear her beautiful laugh from the classroom down the hall. He was in so deep now. He tried to act inconspicuous, simply walking into class. (Y/n) was by her desk, talking to one of her classmates. All he had to do was act natural. He shuffled over, pausing a few feet away as they quickly finished their conversation. He cleared his throat, quickly gaining their attention. “Excuse me, I need to speak to (Y/n). Would lunch be alright?” The girl in question looked surprised, stuttering for a moment before nodding. “O-okay. Yeah. See you then.” She kept her gaze locked on her books, and if Shinso wasn’t mistaken, a faint pink flushed her cheeks. (Y/n) stood quietly by the cafeteria door, watching the few stragglers make their way into the lunchroom. She rocked on her heels, gaze trailing up and down the halls in search of the purple-haired boy. She slipped her hand into her pocket, absent-mindedness beginning to fiddle with the little doll she kept in her pocket. Shinso finally appeared, coming to a halt a few steps away. “So... what is it you want to talk about?” (Y/n) asked. Shinso pulled something from his pocket. Held between his thumb and forefinger was a small bottle. (Y/n) knee instantly what it was. “A-Ah... right... Shinso- I-I don’t mean any harm by what I do! I swear I don’t do anything bad! I know it sounds bad you include voodoo dolls but-“ Shinso cut her of with a frown. “Look, that old lady said some stuff, but I want to know from the source. What’s your quirk?” (Y/n) tensed, a knot tying itself in her stomach. She hesitantly opened her mouth. “My quirk involves what’s commonly known as voodoo dolls. I make them all myself... essentially, like the movies, whatever I do to the doll happens to the person... in a sense. So I... I've made dolls of my friends and family and I take care of them. I use essential oils like lavender-“ She gestured to the bottle he was holding, “to help them feel calm.” She smiled sheepishly. “And uh...” she pulled her hand from her pocket, revealing a small doll in her hand. It had a mess of purple wool hair and matching button eyes. It even had a small u.a blazer. Shinso started at, mouth left hanging open. “Sorry if it’s been to invasive or anything...” Shinso shook his head, earning a surprised gaze. “Why? Why would you care about some classmate?” He took s step forward. “You just... you always looked tired, stressed, overworked. I could see it. So I figured I could help. Even just a little bit...” Shinso watched as her gaze fell to the floor, tracing the tiles. “There’s something else, isn’t there?” He pushed. “I guess once I heard about your quirk... I felt like maybe we were already closer... i... i got shunned by my old classmates for having such an evil quirk. They always said that I’d always be capable of more harm than good. Whispered about how at any moment, I could kill someone...” she sniffled, keenly aware of the wet streak down her cheek. There was silence. Shinso wordlessly shuffled closer. He gently took (Y/n)s spare hand, and pressed the bottle into her palm. “I’ve felt the best I have been in a long time. I’ve actually been able to have a good nights sleep... could you... please, keep doing whatever it is you do.” He fell silent, quickly looking away, pink encroaching on his ears. (Y/n) let a smile grace her lips. “Gladly.” Shinso stepped back, shoving his hands into his pockets. His stoic expression returned. “However I’ll buy any of the oils you need. I’m not allowing you to spend so much money on me.” “What-“ Shinso sharpened his gaze. “Okay. Okay... would you like to accompany me to the store after school then?” “Sure.” “See you then, Hitoshi” (Y/n) turned on her heel and disappeared through the cafeteria doors, leaving behind a stuttering Shinso.

#shinso x reader #shinsou hitoshi #my hero academia #my hero academia x reader #x reader #mha #bnha #mha shinsou #boko no hero academia #saladwrites

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theboyz-engup · 6 years ago

Text

To All The Boyz I’ve Loved Before; Letter Four

Summary-

It was wonderful what a few little letters could do; they could make or break a friendship, cause someone to laugh or smile, make someone remember the time of their life or that moment they wanted to forget. Just some words on paper and poof, everyone knew the way your heart beat and workings of your brain. High school really did wonders on you, as did those twelve boys. Maybe they didn’t know it, but they changed your whole life with each smile, each wave, and each word you typed into paper. You made them permanent, and now they had to know why.

Word Count- 8.3k

Previous Letter - Next Letter

Chanhee gave a swift wave to Sangyeon, who lived across the street from him and was sitting on his stairs. The two of them had never been the best of friends but they were always friendly and Chanhee remembered giving him half off plant products he bought for a girl he was into. Chuckling at it, Chanhee unlocked his door and called a little hello. As always, the house was empty and the mail that was fit through the door slot was scattered across his hallway floor.

“God, this is a mess,” Chanhee sighed, groaning a bit as he bent down to pick up the envelopes. Most were addressed to his parents and a few to his siblings but one was addressed to him. He hummed, not knowing mail still got shipped here for him. He moved out of here a year ago, despite still having a key and sleeping here ever so often.

Maybe it’s junk, he thought, placing it down on the table with the rest of the letters as he untied his shoes. Yeah, I’ll just toss it. Probably some weird advertisement for something.

The thought was enough for him to make up his mind, grasping the letter and taking it with him to his father’s office on the first floor. He stood above the shredder, looking at it as it whirred the second he placed his foot on the pedal. The sound bothered him, like he was making a mistake he didn’t know he was making. Whining a bit, he took his foot off the pedal and looked at the letter again.

The writing was foreign to him, absentmindedly walking up the stairs after plopping his worn, leather bag atop the letters that weren’t for him. Flipping it over, he found a little sticker- one he remembered having way back when- and smiled. Unsticking the envelope, he began his light read, taking it all the way with him through the house as he paced.

Dear Choi Chanhee,

I’m sorry if you ever read this letter. It’s going to be so long and complicated and I doubt you even want to hear it but I hope it can help explain. I never meant to upset you, not once, but I’m sorry because I know I did.

Early September, 2015

The door to your local plant shop squeaked open, hot wind rushing in with you to escape the summer sun. A bell ringing atop your head brought your attention to it for a moment before you continued on your way. The shop looked entirely out of place in your town made of wood and dusted colours. It was a shop made of rounded slabs of rock with clean squares and circles cut out to let sun stream in and stare at the assortment of colours in awe. Everything was grey and cool and smelled of black earth. You loved it, closing your eyes to take it in before continuing on your way.

There was some chatter in the shop so you hoped you weren’t being too loud as you spoke to Eric through the microphone on your headphones.

“So why are you going to the plant store again?” He sounded distracted and you figured he was probably doing some of his work ahead of time so he wouldn’t be too stressed during the school year.

As you spoke, you imagined him with his glasses on and hat backwards- he never studied without one. It was his ‘thinking cap’ as he would say jokingly, but you knew he tugged at his hair when he got stressed and he was convinced that was what’s been making him lose hair. You tried to tell him it was how often he dyed his hair but there was no reasoning with him sometimes.

“I told my mom I might want to start dating because I was talking about how Amalia went out on a date with this jock from the year above in the summer and she was all questioning- like asking me if I wanted to go on dates,” you started, rambling as you always did when you spoke to Eric. Your eyes scanned the plants mindlessly, reaching out to touch a few leaves before shaking your head and moving on.

“And?” Eric’s voice pressed for more, noticing the slight pause in your story as you got just a bit distracted.

Taking a breath and murmuring sorry, you continued, “so I was like ‘yes’ and and she gave me this whole speech about how I don’t have responsibility and to date, I need to have responsibility. When I brought up growing Barly, she told me that giving him the name Bartholomew wasn’t very grown up of me and I need to start from scratch, which would be a plant, apparently.”

Eric just started to laugh, pitch getting higher and higher as he started to fully take in what you said. “Y/n, that’s so lame, I-”

“Ha, ha,” you pouted, landing in front of an aisle labelled ‘easy to take care of’. With a smug smile, you marched down it to find a little plant you wouldn’t have to worry too much about.

“I’m sorry, I just think that’s so stupid,” he giggled some more, filling your ears with familiar bubbles, “if you want to date, you should. At least you told her about it, most kids wouldn’t.”

“That’s what I said but she said that she’s not growing up other kids, she’s growing up me and somehow that makes me different and incomparable to other kids my age.” You rolled your eyes at the thought, stopped in the aisle now and staring vacantly at a flower sprouting slightly from the middle of a round-leafed plant. Your hand reached out to touch the fuzz that grew on the stem of the little flower and you smiled.

“Think I found my plant though.”

“Nice,” Eric hummed, “take a picture of it when you get home, I want to see it.” If he was here with you, he would’ve put his arms around your shoulder and pulled you in, making a joke about how that was going to be your child. He wasn’t though, and it was a phantom arm you felt around your shoulders pulling you in for a hug you would’ve claimed to hate.

All you did was make a sound to say yes, picking it up off the shelf gingerly in its cement pot. It had a little string bow tied around it, like it was wrapped and ready for you. Thinking of something else to make conversation about, you started to chatter on while keeping your eyes on your little plant.

“I want to name it something stupid again,” you admitted, a bit of an embarrassed chuckle coming through your teeth.

“Of course you do.”

“It’s against the rules but I’ll think of some anyways,” you decided, trying to amuse yourself. There was a click of a pen in the background of his audio as he suddenly got all excited.

Coming closer to his phone, he crooned, “ooh, I’ll start. How about we do something simple like Xerxes?”

It was hard not to laugh at his suggestion, the running joke between you two being that whoever had kids first had to name their first child Xerxes on a dare. The little burst of laughter was enough to make you lift your head as far as the cashier stand where a boy with black hair and a darker cap was standing. Well, he was more so leaning on the counter with his forearms pressed on the metal and hands stitched together- and his eyes were on you. He had a flicker of a smile on his lips the second your eyes met but you didn’t stare for long enough to see what he’d do after. Instead, you hurried to an aisle where you couldn’t see him and vice versa and exhaled deeply.

“What happened now?”

“D-do you remember the waiter guy from Jan’s who was only there that once because he lived far away and was just subbing for his friend?” you whispered quickly and under your breath. Suddenly your heart was in your throat.

“Uh, sure?” Eric was entirely confused, the conversation shift not natural and your voice weird. “Why?”

You just whined, holding your plant with shaky hands now. You probably looked so stupid just hiding behind an aisle to make sure you wouldn’t see each other. He was the only cashier at the store, of course you’d have to see him eventually. Unless he went on break but in that case, he’d most likely pass by you camping out and think you weird either way.

“Okay, wish me luck,” you whispered, steadying yourself. As it turned out, your desire to eventually date someone was greater than you fear of boys- well, cute boys, that is.

“What am I wishing you luck for, what?”

He was genuinely confused but you didn’t quite have the time to explain as you walked towards the front. You felt like plastic, entirely wobbly on your knees which seemed nonexistent in the moment. The black-haired boy was finishing up another person, handing over a bag and smiling sweetly. The second his eyes landed on you, smile still taut on his lips, you felt your heart sink.

It wasn’t love at first sight but you definitely had some feelings, instantly in adoration.

“Just this today?” His voice sounded like crystals, slightly higher pitched than you expected but clear and kind nonetheless. It forced you to pay attention to him, though you apparently didn’t have a tongue to respond. All that came through was a nod as you placed the plant on the counter.

“I heard you on the phone earlier,” he started, cheery as he typed in the amount on his little computer and then relayed the price to you. You flushed a little, knowing what it was he was talking about and getting embarrassed. “Your mom sounds like a fun time.”

“Is he talking to you?” Eric asked in your ear, to which you made a little hummed noise to. It seemed to be good for both conversations, though Eric didn’t need more of a response and Chanhee, the name which you read off his tag, perhaps did.

“Y-yeah, she’s definitely a character, at least with me.”

“My parents did the same thing,” he admitted, giving you a sympathetic look as he wrapped your plant in some sort of tissue and placed it in a bag, “I wasn’t allowed to do anything and still aren’t but getting jobs and having closer friends helps.”

You were busy paying with your dad’s debit card for the moment, which he graciously lent you in exchange for getting him a chocolate bar on your way home. Desperately though, you wished he wasn’t lecturing you or giving you advice. You supposed that want forced your hand, giving you a reason to be bolder.

“I’m hoping junior year helps them realize I’m not that much of a kid anymore.” The words slipped past your mouth, the lie sounding weirdly natural. Eric hissed in your ear, asking why you lied immediately. Not bothering to respond, you only finished up paying and extended your hand for the bag.

Chanhee, instead, decided to lean against the high counter like before, chin propped up on his hands as he came forwards. “Really? You’re in the year below me? How come I’ve never seen you before?”

Shrugging, you shyly grasped at the bag ends, having to reach a bit but wanting to now get out of there as soon as possible. The reality of your lie was now hitting you as you realized- he also went to your high school. Oh gosh, he was going to find out eventually and that fear gnawed at you starting from that day.

“I- uh, I moved here just last year.” That came out smoothly as well but it wasn’t a lie and you felt better for it. Lying was something you could do well but you didn’t particularly like how heavy they felt- especially this one. This one started to lie in your stomach like cement the second the pride you had for pulling it off so smoothly dissipated into the musky smell of the shop.

“That’s so weird,” he deadpanned, expressive enough with his eyes and the outwards movements of his lips. You’d spent too much time in that instant just looking at those lips that you knew you needed to leave as soon as possible.

“But hey, if you go to Carr, it’d be cool to see you around sometime. I like having new friends, especially ones I get to know from scratch.” Your eyebrow notched up at the sentence and he furthered, “I’ve known everyone here from birth, basically. It’s really refreshing seeing someone new. It makes this place exciting for once.”

Did he just call me exciting? The thought rushed through your brain and caused heat to rise in your chest. As you mulled over his words, its suggestion brought giddiness into your spine.

It took some time for your tongue to work properly, some stutters and shyness existing deep in your voice but eventually, you managed, “t-then I’d lo- love to see you around and not just when I need a date plant.”

He chuckled at your joke, watching you raise your plant slightly as you spoke. His laugh was chimes in the wind, creating echoes in your mind and resonating deeply within you. Something about him felt so present as he asked your name and for your number- he was so real and was acting like someone out of a movie. It seemed almost too good for you until you realized, well, it wasn’t all good.

How was he going to feel when he found out you lied? Would it be a big deal? The questions that ran through your head as you left the store swarmed into a large mass that felt blinding.

“I hate that you made me listen to that,” Eric groaned, though he seemed to still be in high spirits.

“I’m so stupid,” you said immediately, free palm tapping against your head multiple times. You must’ve looked very offset, ranting to just about the only person who wasn’t going to judge you. Though, it was kind of funny as he giggled, little claps coming through your earbuds.

“Yeah, you’re screwed.”

Gosh, I can’t count the amount of times I went to see you at that store. It was like our own little hiding place where we could talk about anything and everything. We had so many little jokes too, especially starting then. You kept making fun of me and my date plant and I kept making fun of you for that video I had of you. Whenever you did fan service, just acting cute or doing something on a dare to get someone to buy a plant, I never caught it on camera except once. You would chase me around the store for that and outside and between the bleachers. I wanted to ask you to do something cute for me too, maybe a heart or a little dance, but I was always too shy to ask.

You were so whiny about it sometimes, but you made me so happy. You were my part time worker but full time cutie, as that one customer said it. Days like that, I remember very happily- days that my age didn’t matter. I hope you do too.

Mid-October, 2015

“Sunwoo!”

His name slipped through your lips, voice louder than you expected it to be but your laugh was even greater. He was running around with you on his back, howling and making noise just to cause a riot. Something about your second year of high school was having him extra excited but you didn’t know he’d be acting like this much of a fool with you on his back.

“Please put me down,” you laughed, though you were clinging onto him for dear life.

“Let go of me then,” he snipped back, turning his head a bit as he tried to look at you. He had to pull away as you leaned forwards, needing eye contact to threaten him properly.

“All right, all right,” Amalia announced, clicking her tongue, “go pull the hyenas apart so we can get our ice cream, Hyunjoon.”

The full-cheeked boy nodded, taking a step towards you and Sunwoo. The one carrying you simply let go of you and you shrieked, clinging onto him as Joon began to laugh a bit. He ran to try and help you down, nearly falling but somehow making it safely.

“You-”

Your sentence never finished itself, hands tapping on Sunwoo’s shoulder over and over again. Placing his hands up in the air to defend himself, cracking jokes with a ridiculous smile on his face. Amalia sweetly came up behind you and wrapped her arms around your body, giving you a little hug to spare Sunwoo.

Immediately, you seeped into it, pouting and muttering, “but he dropped me.”

She clicked her tongue, placating you but not exactly feeling bad for you. Her hand rubbed at your head, giving you slight pats to make you feel better. “I know, baby, I know. Now let’s get some ice cream, yeah?”

You nodded, pouting still but letting her coax you inside. Hyunjoon and Sunwoo followed closely behind, talking like crazy. Everyone had been in a good mood lately, you especially since you’d discovered Chanhee. You would visit his store sometimes, walking around and pretending you had grown a love for plants just to see him. Sometimes, he’d slip around his counter and lead you around, showing you his best sellers or his favourite plants. Most of the time, you wouldn’t remember it. You were just entirely in awe of him, of the way he smiled and pushed his lips out as he spoke. Everything about him gave you jitters, same as Jacob and Sangyeon, but so much more present because you felt like you were actually coming to know him better every day.

Walking in with a clamour, you found yourselves in a nearly empty diner. There was a man with a very long beard and a steaming cup of coffee who looked like he was just passing through for some late dinner to your left and a couple to your right. Nobody turned to look at you, not even the waiters who were talking amongst themselves. They clearly didn’t expect anyone to be coming in, much less rowdy kids who were besides themselves with happiness. An elderly lady made eye contact with you as your group found a booth and she grasped some menus to bring over.

“Anything to get you kids to start?” Her voice was high and sweet, stereotypical but comforting as she grazed her eyes over your little group.

Amalia took it upon herself to memorize your group’s ice cream orders, taking her rightful spot as group leader, as she liked to put it, and ordering ahead. Sunwoo leaned into you, whispering with a laugh on his tongue, “she’s so grown up.”

“Better her than me,” you hummed back, not caring much for the close proximity of your friend, who seemed surprised when you jabbed your finger in his chest, saying, “you could do with some growing up.”

“Don’t push him too hard,” Hyunjoon crooned, reached across the table, “his little brain can’t take too much responsibility at once.”

“Who?” Amalia asked as the waitress made her way to the back and Hyunjoon filled her in. Sunwoo seemed to want to protest but knew it would only dig him a bigger hole.

“Wait, is this progress?” you asked, gasping a bit. “Character development, maybe?”

“Our little baby,” Amalia hummed, wiping her hand under her eyes to catch nonexistent tears, “growing up so fast.”

Sunwoo’s lips came forwards, itching to say something but halfway through his defence (which no one was buying anyways), he stopped and huffed. Your head fell on his shoulder, arm snaking around his body to rub at his arm.

“Good thing is we still like you even though you’re a little dumb sometimes.”

Hyunjoon’s little smile grew for a second as he looked at you and Woo. Amalia snorted, telling you to speak for yourself. Sunwoo only cleared his throat and rubbed at his neck, suddenly meek and shy.

“Thanks.”

“Two chocolate ice creams, one mango, and one green tea,” the waitress announced lightly. She came behind Amalia, holding the styrofoam cups expertly and placing them down nicely on the table. Everyone reached for their own, telling her a sweet thank you before she took her leave.

“So, y/n,” Amalia started, looking at you over the rim of her cup, “how are things on the dating front?”

“Yeah, is your mom coming around since you got a plant and stuff?” Hyunjoon was quiet, though he looked genuinely interested as he dove into his cup. Sunwoo, who usually had much to say, stayed silent as he listened to you.

“i don’t know,” you admitted, feeling a bit down about it, “mum said the plant I bought was too easy to keep and whatever. I don’t know.”

It wasn’t that you necessarily had anyone you wanted to date, you just wanted the freedom and trust that went with it. All the people you had liked were too out of your league anyways, whether it be because of popularity or simply just age. You felt like a kid though, always having to tell your parents when and where you were going and with who. You just wished they’d sometimes maybe trust your judgement but there was no such luck on that front yet.

The ring of the front door nearly distracted you from Sunwoo’s question but you managed to pay enough attention despite the hushed laughter and snickers behind you.

“What about your dad?’

You shrugged. “You know him. It’s a team effort so if mom says no, dad says no too. They’ll have to agree on something together before I get any leeway.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m not allowed either, so, you know.” Amalia’s lips turned down a bit as she kept her gaze down, spoon tapping at the ice cream.

“Really?” Hyunjoon asked, seriously concerned about that. The noises behind you grew into real voices, parts of sentences filtering through your ear.

“It’s not that, it’s just that…”

A little chuckle, “… like them and just don’t want to say it.”

“Shut up.” This one sounded much more familiar and it caused a hiccup to come through your lips. Sunwoo briefly glanced at you, murmuring, “you okay?”

A nod snapped you back to your present conversation, though you couldn’t help but think that maybe-

“- and you guys have met my parents. You know how much it means to them,” Amalia finished, biting the inside of her cheek. Reaching across the table, feeling entirely guilty about not listening to the whole story, you grasped her hand.

“Hey, we’ll figure it out,” you promised, pushing a smile for her. “We’ll convince our parents we’re worthy of being trusted. Going behind their backs will only make it worse so we’ve gotta do our best to stay honest.”

“Yeah, we’ll help you, if you need.” Hyunjoon seemed genuinely sympathetic, giving her an encouraging smile.

Sunwoo took his chance to be serious for once, hand resting on your forearm as a form of support. “Us four against the world, right?”

“Shut up,” Amalia giggled, rubbing at the corner of her eye to catch real tears this time, “you’re going to make me cry. Stop being nice, go back to making fun of Sunwoo.”

“Hey!” he protested, mouth open wide.

“Gladly,” Hyunjoon chuckled, at the same time. Only your hand was reluctant to let go of hers. The slightest squeeze from her helped you know she was okay.

“It’s on us this time, right?” Sunwoo fixed his jean jacket over his black t-shirt. He devoured food in seconds, always being the first one to finish. Amalia tried to protest but Hyunjoon pulled out his phone checking his notes.

Very quietly, he mumbled, “hold on, I’ve been keeping track,” and trailed off, focused now. His finger fell on his lips, which stuck out whenever he was focusing. Amalia leaned in closer, trying to see what was on the screen. Sunwoo leaned into you, eyes landing on your ice cream instead of a phone screen.

“Looks like its melting,” he stated plainly, giving you a nod. The second he opened his mouth to say more, you stuck your spoon with the rest of your ice cream onto his tongue, watching him clamp his mouth shut out of instinct.

“Not anymore.” Your smile was annoyingly smug, even for you, but you couldn’t help but chuckle at the little action.

“It’s actually a free for all this time,” Joon chimed, letting everyone know. Sunwoo, pulling the spoon from his mouth, exhaled dramatically and went on a tangent about how he’s broke anyways.

Amalia, pulling you up from the table with you, mimicked Sunwoo’s facial expressions perfectly as he spoke, eliciting all too many stolen laughs. Grasping her hand lightly, you came forward and whispered, “hey, are you sure you’re okay.”

She shrugged, giving you another squeeze and murmuring, “it’s really not that big of a deal. I’ll get over it eventually.”

As you reached the counter, everyone proceeded to pull out their money. Stupidly, you forgot most of your cash at home and were now digging around in your pocket for change. The ice cream was relatively cheap but a few cents short wasn’t something you wanted to deal with- especially in front of your friends who hardly had issues with money despite lightly joking about it.

Muttering under your breath, checking your pockets, you nearly whined. Hyunjoon asked if you needed anything but, upon looking for his own change, realized he had none. He apologized quietly, hand on your shoulder for comfort. Sunwoo, who thought he was going to cover everyone’s food, also came short, and Amalia never carried cash.

The second you tried explaining yourself to the elderly waitress, who looked entirely exhausted, a familiar voice traveled up the tiled floors to you.

“Y/n?”

You didn’t need to turn your head to know who it was, feeling bubbles in your throat the second your eyes made contact. Chanhee’s little smile was sweet but there were dark circles under his eyes and he looked weary. “Is something wrong?”

“N-no,” you instantly tried to explain, not wanting him to know you came short. It was embarrassing for you, especially when it was someone you were interested in like this. Heat formed on your skin out of shyness, mouth opening and closing but not much coming out.

“Y/n’s just adding something to her tab,” Amalia offered, attempting to make a joke. Her laugh sounded forced and awkward, as did the other two’s laughs. “You know how it is.”

“Can I help?” His hand was already reaching for his wallet, which was sticking out of his pocket and covered in ridiculously bright stickers. You wanted to tell him no but really didn’t see any other option. The waitress wasn’t exactly letting up either, saying she didn’t know you or your friends well enough to let you just walk out unpaid.

“I- I’m sorry,” you stuttered, eyes torn from his and focusing hard on the floor. He only chuckled, pulling out five cents and handing it over.

“What are you doing here?”

The sudden conversation shift seemed to shock him, his mouth halfway through a sentence poking fun at a five-cent difference. Lips pouted outwards and eyebrows that travelled up his forehead, he exhaled a small laugh and said, “I was with my friend but he went home early because of a homework call or something. You?”

“Us,” Sunwoo stated, sounding relatively calm. When you glanced back at him, he had his hands in his pockets and was rocking back and forth on his heels. His tongue darted out at you to get you to lighten up- you mimicked his actions.

“Oh sorry, right,” Chanhee hurried, looking a bit panicked that he hadn’t realized it. After finishing up his payment for his coffee, he quickly turned to introduce himself. His winning smile was now plastered on his face, the roundness in his cheeks adding to the softness of his look.

Names went around and then exchanges of plans for the next few moments. Everyone said they were going home and, while Hyunjoon seemed interested in asking publicly how the two of you met (which he already knew), it came to Chanhee’s attention that they lived in the opposite direction of you.

“Ah,” he drew out, nodding like he understood everything about the world now, “so that’s why I haven’t seen any of you at my store. It’s too much of a walk.”

You gave him a little chuckle, shy and entirely awkward in front of him and your friends. You knew it was up to you to be inviting and help him feel welcome but the situation coupled with your lack of funds simply made you turned off to everything that was happening. You became cold and unresponsive in a way that was adding tension, which made you want to withdraw more.

Amalia, noticing it easily, quickly found a way to excuse herself and the boys. “Well, they’re meant to walk me home so we’ll take our leave now, won’t we boys?”

She was very proper around people she hardly knew, adding an air of elegance to her as she led the two away. Hyunjoon waved to you, understanding what Amalia meant to do, while Sunwoo was a bit harder to convince. They looked like a parent and a child bickering with each other under their breaths before he broke and wished you a goodnight.

As the group split, you and Chanhee leaving the store and walking towards to left while the others went right, you felt some release. It was easier to be yourself around Chanhee because he seemed to care less sometimes. He was so light that he seemed to take that lightness with him and sprinkle it on the path he was walking on so anyone who walked beside him felt just as airy. As you stepped on clouds with him, you apologized.

“I’m sorry again, for the money and for making it awkward.” Your apology was coupled with nervous laughter but the boy beside you just shook his head.

“It’s fine. Though, I do expect a five cent donation at my store for saving you just then.”

“Deal,” you breathed, extending your hand towards him. He shook it, smiling deeply. The way his hand seemed to linger for just a second longer than it should have made you breathless. A side effect of floating was a lack of oxygen. He seemed to make you go higher and higher, making it harder to breathe along the way.

“By the way,” he started, going on a completely different line of conversation. HIs hands were now clasped behind his back and his gaze was forwards, somehow serious but trying to remain friendly. “I hope you’re not embarrassed about the money thing. It’s really okay to be short sometimes.

“They can be a bit crabby at times there but most places here are understanding. Trust me, you’re not weird or anything, I’ve been in that situation many times.”

You blinked, not fully understanding but wanting to. “Really?”

He hummed, making a low noise. He seemed to look at you from the corner of his eye before turning a bit to keep his gaze on you now. There was something serene about him, something that brought your heart rate down and relaxed you into your bones.

“I’ve bounced between almost all the jobs in this town and the next. My parents didn’t come from much and it’s been hard making a lot so I wanted to help. It feels embarrassing at first, sure. Makes you feel like everyone’s looking at you when you don’t quite have enough money- at least for me, that’s what to was like,” he admitted, nodding again to himself.

“It just motivated me to work harder, though. There’s no point in looking at things that put you ‘behind’, so to speak, in a negative way. It’ll just make you feel worse about it.” He used his fingers as quotation marks, somewhat exaggerated in his speech but saying rather thoughtful things.

“Turn what people think is bad and make it good,” you finished for him, wanting to let him know that you were paying attention. He nodded, coming a big closer to you so your shoulders touched briefly. The lights on the pavement kept him in constant illumination, not that he really needed it. He shone just fine on his own.

“There you go.”

You didn’t know what to say. Thanking him felt ridiculous and painfully obvious to do but saying nothing felt rude. Just as you were thinking up a response, he thought aloud, “you know, I don’t think I’ve told lots of people that before. About my parents, I mean.”

Eyes widening, you instantly began, “o-oh, I’m sorry if you felt pressured to-”

His little chuckle interrupted you, a shake of his head very exaggerated. “No, I wanted to say it. I- I want to get to know you better so I should share too.”

Well, that was forward.

Once again, you dropped your eyes to the floor out of shyness, though you did find yourself beaming this time. “O-oh.”

“I know your parents are still being weird about the dating thing so I’m sorry if that was too much,” he added immediately, also seemingly embarrassed. Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest. It was unbelievable to you that someone so amazing was actually interested in you- a little grade ten that stayed cooped up in your room and had to get permission to do things even now.

“No, no,” you immediately protested, not realizing your hands as they reached out. One managed to grasp at his arm as you assured him, “it’s okay, I- I feel the same, I want that t-too.”

The words felt ridiculous to say but also freeing in a way, like keeping all of your emotions bottled in were what made you feel so heavy all the time. From then, Chanhee’s expression seemed to pick up. He grinned, getting excited as he decided to concoct a plan with you on your walk home. The way he smiled made your heart race, listening along to all he had to say and agreeing without thinking much about it.

I remember meeting you so much after that. We basically had little dates of our own and we talked all the time. I always felt so grateful whenever you took me out to food on your breaks even though I knew you needed the money or perhaps more time to work. You would never hear it though, clicking your tongue at me and telling me all these places we had to go together. You would even grasp my arm and skip, telling me to live a little when I wouldn’t play along right away. You made me so shy, you know? And telling you all of this seemed impossible until then- when you told me you were interested just the same.

After that, there wasn’t a day that went by where I didn’t think of you. I used to do my homework and wonder what you were doing. Did you ever think about me that much? I never built up the courage to ask, though I doubt I’d ever get a response. I just hope you know that you made me very happy, no matter what. Even though I know I disappointed you, I hope I made you happy- even if it was just once. That would mean I did something right with us, which was all I ever wanted to do. I just wanted to be right. I’m sorry it didn’t turn out that way for us.

Early November, 2015

You had planned to go on a date with Chanhee. You plotted and exchanged numbers and talked everyday. It was amazingly easy to speak to him, especially when he always had something on his tongue to say. Sometimes he would call when you asked for help on a problem you were stuck on, though he’d get suspicious of the work you were doing. Jokingly, he’d ask why you were doing easy questions. He loved to tease but he could take it just the same, mentioning how he’s usually the butt of everyone’s jokes.

“Not that it bothers me,” he murmured nonchalantly, the clock clicking past midnight as you both lay in bed, chatting away quietly, “it’s not like I think they’re meaning to be mean to me so it’s okay. It’s fun when I can turn it back on them too.”

His laugh would ring through your ears and lull you to sleep. The best nights were when he’d sing to you or send you videos of his recorded covers. The more you spoke and the few times you passed each other in the halls- the one time you ate lunch together on the bleachers even- the more you just wanted to be around him. It got to the point where Haymond knew and if Haymond knew, your parents weren’t too far behind.

“I won’t tell them,” Haymond promised, clicking away at his computer as he listened to your stories. He’d gotten more patient with you, always having an open ear and mind about these things but this was different. He seemed to genuinely be trying to be a good brother for you.

“But you will.”

You began to protest it but didn’t want to risk getting too loud and simply whined that you wouldn’t. He was right though. Eventually, you cracked when your mother asked who it was you were smiling at as you texted Chanhee the day of your date. You hadn’t realized how much you wanted to tell your mother about him that just her asking sent you into a fit of conversation; and gosh, what a long conversation that was.

She sat you down trying to be calm, trying to ask you who he was and how you met him. It was all okay and she even liked what she was hearing until you mentioned his age, and then mentioned that you lied about your age. From that moment on, the air shifted and she was disapproving, not to mention the date you were also going to lie to her about. Your father came and sat down beside her, perpendicular to you in the living room. Both had their hands folded and were leaned in towards you, concerned and asking you questions.

“Why did you lie?”

“Did he pressure you into anything?”

The list went on and on until you felt tears pricking at your eyes. You knew you were wrong and couldn’t believe yourself either but seeing it- hearing it from them- it changed everything. Now, you just felt like an attention-seeking liar and it was the thing you never wanted to be. After quite a lot of speaking, you picked up your phone, took a deep breath, and began typing.

Y/n, 5:20 p.m: hey, I have something kind of important to tell you today.

Chanhee, 5:22 p.m: please don’t tell me you’re in love with me yet lolol

Chanhee, 5:22 p.m: it’ll be the death of me, we’ll have to get ~ married ~

The smile that reached your cheeks at that immediately made you upset. Would he still be as light and joke around with you after he knew. You stuck your fingernail between your teeth as your mum looked over your shoulder, urging you on.

Y/n, 5:23 p.m: nothing like that ~

Y/n, 5:24 p.m: swear not to hate me?

Chanhee, 5:26 p.m: no promises

Your mother looked at you, being very firm now but also trying to be comforting all of the sudden. With her hand on your lower back, she rubbed circles into it and murmured, “I’m sorry, honey, but you can’t start off lying to someone and expect me to be okay with that. I thought you were more responsible than that.”

“I am,” you tried to press, wanting to convince her but knowing that whining wasn’t helping your case. She gave you a quick look, complete disbelief on her face.

“It’s really not looking like it right now.”

Sitting down on your bed, you let out a little huff. Your hands dared to go on your face, palms pressing against your skin as you felt the severity of your little fib. Everything would’ve been fine if you didn’t lie, and age wasn’t really a big deal but keeping the lie for so long was. How many times had you mentioned how hard grade eleven was, or boasted about a mark you got and how happy you were that it’d go on your transcript for universities to see? What was worse was that you felt like he wouldn’t forgive you for it. He mentioned once he appreciated honesty over anything and there you were, standing in front of him, holding your tongue about something so stupid.

Chanhee was sitting in front of you, hands covered in mittens that had the fingers cut off, wearing a calm look. He had no idea what you were about to say, probably thinking it was another one of your jokes. As his fingers curled around his little mug of coffee, his lips curved lightly into a smile.

“You look really nice today,” he chimed, wanting to get it out before anything else. He pointed at your head, chuckling a bit before saying, “although your hair’s a mess.”

“Hey,” you whined, reaching up to try and fix it but knowing you couldn’t without a mirror. He only chuckled, bringing a little rush of wind with you. For the life of you, you couldn’t figure out why he chose an outdoor table in the middle of winter; but it was an empty patio and no one could hear you. That, at least, you were grateful for.

“Look, I feel really bad about what I’m going to say so I just want you to listen if that’s okay.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, embarrassed now but for a completely different reason. Finding yourself picking at your nails, somehow you managed to start. Your tongue exposed yourself quickly, thinking it would be easier to just rip it off like a band-aid. Knowing it didn’t seem like a big deal, there were worse things to lie about than age, you hoped he wouldn’t be too upset. The reaction you got wasn’t necessarily what you would’ve wanted.

“What about that time you talked about how scared you were for university applications? Why did you make that all up?”

He seemed to be picking apart every conversation you had, confused and conflicted. You watched him go through all the stages of understanding and anger but he finally decided to detach himself, saying he didn’t think he could listen to it anymore. Slowly and politely, he pushed his chair out and walked around to grasp his coat off the back of it.

“Chanhee, please, I’m sorry,” you attempted, getting up yourself. Kicking back so quickly caused the chair to fall, echoing off the walls of the store.

His mouth became slanted, like he genuinely believed you. The coat he had on was black and long, making him look like a figure painted into a grey sky. As he fixed his collar, he said, “I know you are. I just don’t know what to say. This just seems really childish to me.”

“That’s what my mum said,” you muttered, retreating further into your shell. Your back was suddenly concave, eyebrows pressed in and lips pressed out.

Chanhee laughed somehow, though it felt rather cold. “You would say that.”

“Are you leaving?”

“I just need some air, y/n,” he started, waving his hand around. The other was fixed in his pocket. “I know we’re outside, I just need to be alone.”

“Do you think-”

“No, I don’t think we should see each other like this,” he interrupted, being rather blunt but you appreciated it. Words like these didn’t hurt as much when they took longer to hear. You just nodded, not being able to look him in the eye. Slowly, you felt his arms wrap around your shoulders, bringing you closer to his chest.

Jokingly, he hummed, “I get it though. Why you lied, I mean. It’s real hard to resist, huh?”

You found yourself laughing at his joke, hugging him as tight as you could. The tears that fell down your face felt ridiculous and you wished he hadn’t seen them. His smile was so soft, as were the napkins he picked from the table and used to dab at your cheeks.

“I’ll see you around?” Your voice cracked as you asked, taking the tissues into your own hands. This time, when your hands brushed, no spark rose in your chest. You knew the airiness he’d given you- those little butterflies in your stomach- that was all long gone.

He nodded, telling you to come by his store again. “You know when I work.”

With that, he was off. His leather bag was secured firmly on his shoulder, working perfectly with his outfit. He looked slender and sleek walking away from you, not even daring to give you a look back. You couldn’t say you blamed him, though it did make you feel helpless. How were you just constantly making mistakes left, right and forwards?

Not knowing what else to do, you picked up your phone and dialled the only number you knew by heart. A few rings in had you worried but when he finally answered, you let out the breath you were holding.

“Y/n?” Eric asked, sounding slightly panicked. “Is everything okay?”

“No,” you whispered, picking up your chair to sit back down at the table. Your tears stuck to your cheeks as you spoke to the person you knew listened to you best. He stayed with you on the phone until you went home.

There’s no doubt that you captured everyone’s hearts when they came to your store. So many people came to see you and I just happened to be one of those few customers that caught your eye. I felt lucky enough to even be friends with you and everything else after was just a dream. I’m sorry for lying to you though. You deserved honesty from the start and I realize now that two years difference, especially for us, would have been too much. I still appreciate every time you talked to me after though there was a change. You pulled away and we eventually stopped talking and I didn’t fight it. You had every right to be upset with me or to distrust me.

The only thing I want to ask you is to not dislike me too much. I realize how awkward I was, how absolutely childish and ridiculous I acted. I’ll try harder from now on, I promise, so I don’t make this mistake again. If anything, just know that I’ll still pick up the phone if you call. I miss our little chats. I miss you.

From y/n y/l/n. On November 28th, 2015.

Immediately after finishing, Chanhee’s fingers found his phone. The sun streaming in through the store window caused a glare and he hissed, having to turn around to look for your number. He knew he had it. He never deleted it, not even after he graduated and went off to his college and job and new life. Other contacts around you he could let go of but somehow, he never could for you. Biting down on his lip, he realized he missed you too. Whether it was friendly or not, you always gave him a lightness in his chest that he felt he needed. As much as you said he swept you off your feet, you did the same.

“Come on, pick up,” he murmured, foot tapping impatiently against the floor. Hating the sound of that, he began to pace again, going in and out of his room. Just as he was about to hang up, the line connected and he held his breath.

“Chanhee?”

Your voice was crisp and sweet. He didn’t know how to place it but you sounded older and it made his breath hitch a bit. Then, suddenly, he could say everything he had been holding back.

“I don’t hate you, y/n,” he started suddenly, eyebrows crossing each other, “why would you say that?”

You chuckled nervously. The sound of cars was faint in the background of your call. “Chanhee, what are you talking about?”

“Your letter. The one you wrote me like three years back.” He was serious now, rather upset you didn’t seem to be understanding. You sent the letters after all, why didn’t you understand what he was saying now?

“W-what?”

“Your letter,” he repeated slowly, hating how condescending he sounded.

“Yeah, what? How did you get that?”

He blinked, stopping in his spot in the middle of his hallway. His free hand was still clutching the paper. “You didn’t send it?”

“No, I-” you began to stutter, like you would whenever you got super nervous. Not knowing what else to say, you quickly excused yourself and hung up, leaving Chanhee in shock. What he wanted to tell you was not even close to being said and honestly, he was more confused than before, especially after hearing the panic in your voice.

“Listen, Chanhee, I don’t know who sent you that letter b- but please don’t read it. If you see anyone else with those, please rip them in half, I- oh fuck, I’m screwed, I’ll- I- I’ll talk to you later.”

The dead line ringing filled his ears.

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muskywolfthings · 6 years ago

Text

Drivethrough

Derek didn’t need money for much, and it wasn’t just because his family was pretty well off, okay? He wasn’t stuck up, or snooty, like Jackson. He didn’t subtly flaunt his wealth like Lydia. He just...was Derek, plain and simple. He didn’t buy much, his mom usually taking care of his clothes, as childish as it sounded. He hated shopping though, so it was a pretty sweet deal. He took Laura’s car to school now that she was taking college classes from home, so she always filled it back up. And come Christmas, his mom gave out a hundred bucks to shop for everyone in the family. Which, in retrospect, was certainly not enough for the twenty plus Hale’s that gathered out in the preserve around that time. But they made it work. Which was all to say, he’d never had to worry about getting a job. He was seventeen, a senior in high school, and he’d never had a job. It had never really embarrassed him, more so made him that much more grateful for the life he was able to live. Until he’d started dating Stiles. Stilinski had always been on his radar, loud and filling up space so obnoxiously it was hard not to notice him. Especially when he flirted with Derek so hard sometimes the other boy contemplated just choking Stiles out on his dick to get some peace. Only sometimes though. Derek wasn’t aggressive by nature. Usually. But that’s all it had ever been, annoying digs at his dick and height, talks of stubble burn between cheeks that made Stiles giggle and Derek blush. But then Stiles had actually asked him out on a date. And Derek...Derek fell really fucking hard in the span of about forty five minutes.

Needless to say, they’d been almost inseparable ever since. Six months of fucking awesome dates, sneaky school and car sex, and overall cuteness between the two. And then Stiles had gone and done it. Ruined everything. Entirely. Derek wasn’t one for dramatics, okay? But Stiles had gotten him a small triskele pendant carved into a shined piece of copper on a necklace for his birthday, and Derek had strong armed him with extra smelly pits that afternoon until he spilled how much it had cost. Derek’s eyes almost bugged out of his damn head, and though Stiles assured him he didn’t mind, and was just happy Derek liked it, Derek felt...weird. Stiles had been working at their local comic shop since he was fifteen, picking up as many shifts as he could before he’d started dating Derek to save for college, and to help out at home. It was his own little heaven on earth, but then Derek had come along, and he’d shifted down to part time. Which meant he’d spent like two paychecks on a gift for Derek, which Derek couldn’t even begin to fathom.

Jump forward two months, and Derek found himself nearing Stiles’ birthday with increasing worry. Wasn’t going to ask his mom for the money, knowing she’d say yes, when Stiles had worked hard to get something that Derek never took off for anything. Derek knew what he wanted to get him: A first edition Batman comic that was on display at his store, that he’d wanted since he first went in at age nine. Derek got nervous just looking at the price tag on that thing whenever he went in on Stiles’ shifts to keep him company sometimes, but dammit if Stiles didn’t deserve the world. And Derek was going to give it to him! One comic book at a time. Needless to say that all led to the here and now. Two weeks out from Stiles’ birthday, and one paycheck away from his goal. He was so close he could practically taste the plastic covering that damn comic. Too bad the grease in the air from the burger joint he’d gotten hired at was all he could taste at the moment. Beacon Burger, a run down burger joint just on the edge of town, that literally no one ever stopped in. Derek came in three times a week, for a night shift. 8 PM to 4 AM, Fridays, Saturdays, and Wednesdays. It was easy going, but boring as fuck, and due to the time of his shifts Stiles could never stop by. One perk was the free food- when he got hungry he’d whip up something greasy to chow down on- which was resulting in a slight pudge in his usual hard stomach that was bothering him, but Stiles’ sort of loved it so it wasn’t all bad. He’d find something that was a little more hands on and fun come the summer maybe, but for right now, this was the first place to hire him-Hollister aside, he hadn’t even wanted to go to that interview, but Stiles insisted the pretentious surfer clothing aside, they could have hot sex in the dressing rooms, which was tempting, but the overwhelming smell of teen in that store gave Derek a headache. So Beacon Burger it was. Tapping his fingers on the counter next to register, Derek hummed to himself- flipping through his phone with his free hand, about to text Stiles and see if he was up, when the light indicating a car was coming through the drive through flashed, and he frowned- setting his phone down and lowering his headset mic to his mouth. It was almost one in the morning on a wednesday, who the hell was here? They didn’t have a camera to view the customers at the speaker, so he cleared his throat, before turning his headset mic on and reciting the usual. “Hi welcome to Beacon Burger, my names Derek. What can I get for you tonight?” His voice was soft and monotone, perfect for customers, supposedly, but he made a soft high noise in the back of his throat at the familiar laugh that came through the static in his headset. “Don’t suppose six foot four hunks who didn’t shower after wrestling practice are on the menu?” Stiles called from the window of his jeep, grinning as he imagined Derek’s brows doing that adorable wiggling and dip thing. “What the hell are you doing out right now?” Derek questioned, Amusement palpable in his voice, as he leaned against the counter and smiled. His night a thousand percent better already. “I couldn’t sleep dude, and I’ve got the sickest sweet tooth right now.” Stiles admitted, head on his hands as he spoke into the speaker as if he and Derek were just on the phone. “Uh, we have like, some shakes and shit...don’t know if the cream in the fridge is anything good though, to be honest.” Derek muttered, glancing over at the suspiciously warm fridge of theirs. “Lemme try and find something for you.” He called, before going to move into the kitchen, only to have Stiles’ voice freeze him. “I was thinking some cakes?” He said, innocently enough, and Derek’s brows did indeed do their adorable wiggle, as he looked around himself almost to see if he were somewhere. “We...what the fuck? We don’t have cakes.” He scoffed, shaking his head and moving back to the window, glancing out far enough just to see the bumper of Stiles’ jeep. “Lies, you one thousand percent have cakes dude. Come on, just two, just a taste, to get rid of my craving.” Stiles’ voice dripped with that sound that sent shivers down Derek’s spine, also the crease in his sweaty nuts. His cock giving a throbbing to life slowly in his dirty briefs as he gulped, and recalled a conversation he’d had with Stiles just a few days ago. When he’d refused to stop calling Derek a snack in class, and demanded to eat his ‘cakes’. Glancing around the restaurant to ease his own mind, Derek spent no more than five seconds contemplating what he was about to do, before he locked himself in the kitchen, and adjusted himself behind his apron. He better not get fucking fired for this, or he was going to strangle Stiles. “Come on around, these are on the house.” Derek whispered, clearing his throat and blushing furiously under his week old stubble and Stiles laughed, and the sound of his jeep pulling forward came through his headset. Derek had in fact had wrestling practice before coming into work, and he’d come straight from the school. He hadn’t showered since Monday night, Stiles’ keeping him busy Tuesday night, and practice running late before he had to go in for his shift, he just hadn’t had the time. His balls and bush were crusty with dried cum and spit from Stiles’ expert blowjob skills the night before, and his ass hair was matted and dripping with sweat. Both from practice, and the heat in the kitchen. He knew he smelled fucking atrocious, caught a whiff of it as he slid his shorts down with one hand, and slid the drive through window open all the way with the other. It made him huff a bit, growling under his breath as he took a second to fan the scent up at himself, eyes bleeding yellow for a split second, before he shook it off and hopped up on the windowsill. Fat ass plump and hanging out of the window just as Stiles drove up. The chilly night air blew through his smelly, wet crack and made him break out in goosebumps- just as Stiles parked and leaned out of his window, wasting no time in running his nose along the crack of Derek’s hairy ass, and moaning out brokenly at the ripe scent. “You’re so fucking dirty.” He nearly mewled, Derek grinning despite his blush as he looked back over his shoulder, cock fully hard and dripping piss and precum from his foreskin as he watched Stiles press his face into his ass, face engulfed by Derek’s huge hairy cheeks in a way that made Derek moan just from the image- gripping his cock at the base and stroking up, balls swinging and dripping sweat onto the floor as Stiles found his asshole, and pressed his nosed into the dirty wrinkled pucker. Rubbing it up and down, easing a slight itch Derek had been picking at conspicuously throughout the day. His mouth fell open, and he felt like an animal as he openly drooled onto his apron, cock out and ready to bust already, his ass hanging out of a fucking drive through window as his boyfriend began to eat it. Tongue flicking out once he’d gotten his fill of the stink, and now doing his damn best to lick up every ounce of raunchiness from between Derek’s cheeks. The noises he made- sloppy and wet, mixed with his mouns and snorts for more funk in between jabs of his tongue into Derek;’s dirty asshole drove the bigger boy wild. He was bucking back on Stiles’ face, gripping at the window with one hand so he didn’t fall out and break an arm or something, the other stroking his cock furiously. Wet, snotty noises coming from his soaked foreskin. He was grunting like an animal, fucking himself on Stiles’ tongue as he looked back and did his best to spread his ass on the windowsill, despite the metal beneath digging into his taint hard. “Eat that fucking ass, god your tongue feels so fucking good. Deeper, fucking- deeper! Fuck!” Derek was nearly screaming as Stiles spread him open wide, exposing his ass to anyone who may be around and want a peek, licking all over his hole, before sucking on the wrinkled fleshing and plunging his tongue in so deep Derek tensed uncontrollably. Feeling his own walls clamp down on Stiles’ tongue, dug so deep up his fucking hole Derek was sure any more and he’d tongue fuck his prostate, sent him over the edge so suddenly his vision whited out. His cock bursting hard enough to spray the register and counter with cum- fat balls jumping near the base of his cock as he milked himself for all he was worth, a solid minute and a half of spurting till he was wringing out the last drops into his foreskin and out onto his apron. So fucking tired all of the sudden that he slid back and used Stiles’ face as a rest for his ass and a good chunk of his weight. His boyfriend munching on his hole until the familiar sounds of his own orgasm hit Derek’s ears- glancing back again just in time to watch Stiles’ plump pink cock burst over his steering wheel. Derek smiled lazily, grinding his ass back and wiggling it on Stiles’ face just to be a dick, before hopping down from the counter on shaky legs, listening to Stiles gasp for breath. Clean air, face red, a few streay ass pubes around his mouth, his lips swollen and red, and a dopey smile smack dab in the middle of it all. “You’re a public menace.” Derek laughed, leaning out of the window, ass dripping spit to mingle with the various other bodily fluids on the ground as he brought Stiles into a soft kiss. Woofing under his breath as he drug his nose above it, scenting his own ass. “If I get fired because someone finds out we did this, you’re dead.” He growled, nipping down Stiles’ chin and neck, shaking his head at the eye roll he could nearly hear, before Stiles was nibbling on that special part of his earlobe that made him grip the edges of the window to keep from falling to his knees. “You’d totally still love me.” And dammit if that wasn’t the truth,. Derek though, biting extra hard on Stiles’ shoulder just to hear him shout, before pulling back and shoving his face back into the jeep. “As if.” He huffed, before smiling and winking at Stiles as he started the jeep back up- slumping back in his seat, prepared for a comfortable ride home. “I’ll see you at school in the morning?” He asked, as though there was more than one answer. “Of course. Hope you satisfied your craving. Zero calories too.” Derek grinned, that wolfish thing Stiles’ loved so much. “As if. Take it easy, big guy. Love ya.” Stiles called, before pulling forward. “Love you too.” Derek muttered, taking a deep breath and expelling it dramatically. Fucking Stiles. He should’ve pulled his skinny cute ass out of that jeep and made him lick Derek’s mess. Now he had to clean it up himself. Just great. At least his last two weeks were going to be very, very enjoyable. ((Hello all! I know it’s been a while guys, seriously sorry for being so quiet and not posting literally anything in weeks. Just haven’t been super motivated to write since the whole Tumblr crack down thing. But I got this idea after seeing a particularly raunchy gifset, and tada! It inspired me super quickly and I was actually able to sit down and immediately and...here you have it lol. I hope you guys enjoy! More stories to come, hopefully soon, but no promises :3 ))

#stiles stilinski #derek hale #Sterek

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sanderssidesfanfiction · 5 years ago

Text

We’ll Carry On - Chapter Forty Two

We’ll Carry On Tag

General Content Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Substance Abuse, Abandonment, Minor Character Death, Transphobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dissociation, Bullying, Homophobia

July 21st, 2012

Roman hugged his mom tight as she laughed. “Roman, it’s not a big deal,” she said. “It’s a book of fairy tales. It’s a small birthday gift.”

That may have been true, but that didn’t mean that Roman didn’t love it any less. It was, by far, the highlight of his birthday. “Thank you!” he exclaimed. “Thank you so much!”

His mother laughed and pet his hair as she responded, “You’re welcome, my little knight. I’m glad you like it.”

Roman loved it. Especially with the dedication on the first page. To Roman - With your determination, my little knight, you can do anything.

January 10th, 2020

Roman sat in the den after dinner, which was from that new barbeque place on the edge of town that he had tried once and immediately loved. Everyone was just hanging out, the TV on in the background, playing Finding Nemo. Everyone came back to the moment, though, when Dad muted the TV. “Roman, Ami and I have a little something to give to you.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to!” Roman exclaimed.

“Yeah, but Ami saw this and he couldn’t resist,” Dad said, passing over a present wrapped in bright red holographic wrapping paper. “As you know, he occasionally goes to thrift shops looking for little treasures to bring home. Usually it’s a shirt or occasionally a decoration, but this time he found something among the books. He was in Scottsdale this time.”

“Okay...?” Roman said. He knew he had grown up around the Scottsdale area, which was maybe an hour away from home by car, but he hardly saw what that had to do with this.

“You’ll understand why that’s important when you open it,” Dad said. Ami grinned wide as Dad gestured for Roman to open it. “Go ahead.”

Roman gave them a confused look, before sliding his finger under the seam of the paper. He unwrapped it quickly and his eyes widened. “My mom got me this book when I was six,” he breathed. “It’s the same edition.”

“It’s more than the same edition,” Ami said, leaning back with his hands laced behind his head. “Open the first page.”

There was no way. Roman had lost the book as he was bounced from foster home to foster home until he found himself in the permanent one he had run away from. But there was just no way...he opened the cover, and he gasped at the familiar handwriting. “It’s...” his voice gave out, his mouth opened but no words could form. He hugged the book to his chest, starting to cry. “It’s my book! My mom...my mom wrote that dedication...! How did you find it?!”

“I noticed the fairy tale book and thought you might be interested in it, and I flipped it open, saw your name, and connected the dots. How many Romans could have grown up in Scottsdale with an affinity for fairy tales, and were called ‘my little knight’ affectionately?” Ami grinned. “I couldn’t believe it either when I first found it. I couldn’t buy it fast enough.”

Roman sobbed. He didn’t have anything to remind him of his mom when he was at the old foster home. He had lost the book and he grew out of the clothes she picked out with him quickly. But now...now he had something from her with him again. Through sheer dumb luck and Ami liking to go to out-of-the-way thrift stores. He had a piece of his mom with him again. “How long...how long have you had this lying in wait?” he asked with a laugh.

“Since December thirty-first. Emile let me go to that thrift shop as a birthday present to me, I saw it, and just knew.”

Roman wiped at his eyes and stared at the book adoringly. “I don’t believe it,” he said. “Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome,” Ami said. “Be careful with that book, okay? Because if you lose it again I can’t guarantee that I’ll find it afterwards.”

Roman nodded seriously. “I’ll keep a close eye on it,” he promised. “I definitely don’t want to lose it again.”

“Yeah, I imagine you wouldn’t,” Ami said with a kind smile. “Don’t worry, we won't touch it without your permission, either. Not even if we’re cleaning your room. Okay?”

“Okay,” Roman said, staring at the book in wonder. He still couldn’t believe it. He had his book back. He thought it was lost forever—he had cried for days when he thought he had lost it for good. He hugged it close and took a deep breath. “I feel like I’m gonna cry more. I don’t want to, though. I just got back from dinner, I don’t want to be a weepy mess.”

“If you need to cry, Roman, you can cry,” Dad pointed out. “Crying is healthy, especially if it’s happy tears.”

Roman shrugged. “I guess,” he said. “Honestly, I’m just in shock. I never thought that...that...I would ever get anything back that reminded me of Mom. It was just the two of us, and I wasn’t allowed a lot of time in our house to grab my things after CPS stepped in. This was the one thing that I took that would always remind me of her, and I lost it in one of my foster homes, before I wound up in the one I told you guys about. And now that I have it back...I genuinely don’t know how to feel. It hurts, but it also makes me unbelievably happy.”

“Conflicting emotions are natural when reminiscing about a loved one who has since passed,” Logan pointed out. “It can make you sad, but the memories will always have that touch of nostalgia and happiness.”

Dee looked at the cover of the book curiously. “Is that a knight?” he asked, before pointing to the man on the front of the book.

“Yeah,” Roman said. “My mom always called me ‘her little knight.’ I would always argue back that I was a prince, because I wanted to be noble and in charge but still go on adventures. Mom said that the knights were the ones who fought for honor and often went on the best adventures, though.” He smiled softly, staring at the cover. “She saw the book of fairy tales with the knight on the cover and she instantly thought of me. It was a little pricey, she told me. It was the only birthday present I got that year. But it was completely worth it. And it’s pretty sturdy. The cover still seems to be in good shape, and I know I read it front to back about a thousand times. The spine might be a little broken in, but...” he opened it and smelled the pages, smiling. “It still smells the same, even after being in that thrift shop for who-knows-how-long.”

Dee looked at it with interest. “Do you think you could read it sometime to me?” he signed. “Just because I don’t trust myself but I want to know the stories.”

“Oh! Sure,” Roman agreed. “But I’ll warn you these aren’t like Disney fairy tales. There’s not always a happily ever after. Plus, some of these stories are fairly obscure. I don’t know if that makes a difference to you or not.”

Dee shook his head. “No, I still want to know why you love them.”

“Okay,” Roman said, with a soft smile. “I’d love to read these to you sometime.”

“Me too, maybe?” Patton asked. “I mean, I’m more into folk tales and fables and stuff with a moral bottom line, but fairy tales are still pretty cool.”

“Sure,” Roman agreed. “Virgil? Logan? Want to join in on the fun?”

Logan scoffed. “I don’t need to be read to,” he said. “However, if you tell me the title of the story I’m sure I could find it online and read it without risking harm to the book.”

Virgil shrugged. “Honestly I’m just scared of damaging it.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “Guys, this isn’t like a museum piece, all right? It’s part of my past, and an important part of my past, but you better believe I’ll be using it. You can’t convince me otherwise. I’ll let you borrow it if you want. It’s not strictly a collectable. It’s biggest price point was how many stories it had rather than how fancy its design was.”

“You will, of course, have to ask for permission before taking it out of Roman’s room, though,” Dad said to everyone. “If for no one else’s peace of mind than mine. I don’t want to worry about Roman losing this again.”

Ami nodded. “That goes for any of your possessions that you boys have that you might not want touched. We try to ask your permission before cleaning your rooms, anyway, and we only do that if guests are coming over and we want the bedrooms to be presentable. And you boys do good jobs of regularly cleaning your rooms anyway. We don’t usually do much more than vacuum and maybe clean the windows.”

“I hate the smell of window cleaner,” Dee signed, wrinkling his nose.

“I know,” Ami sighed. “Unfortunately, it’s a necessary evil once every two months or so. Otherwise, the creepy-crawlies and germs get too cozy on it and might make you sick. We don’t want you getting sick from something in the house that could have been prevented.”

Dee pouted but nodded. “I know,” he signed. “Doesn’t mean I like it. At all.”

Ami rolled his eyes. “You’re so dramatic. You don’t complain this much when we actually clean it, and we crack the window open to get rid of the smell.”

“But being dramatic is fun!” Dee signed, hands slightly exaggerating the signs before he struck a pose. “I like being dramatic.”

“You’re definitely going to be a drama gay,” Roman said with a laugh. “Provided, you know, you’re gay. I forget sometimes that straight people exist.”

“I think I’m gay?” Dee signed. “I don’t know. I never had a crush on a girl. But I don’t think I’ve had a crush, period.”

“You’re six, Dee, give it time,” Roman laughed. “Crushes don’t always happen to people, either. Sometimes you just think, ‘Oh, I’d date them,’ without months of endless pining.”

“Yeah, crushes are nasty beasts, anyway,” Virgil said, wrinkling his nose. “Why would you want to pine after people for months? It’s not fun.”

Dee shrugged. “It might make me feel normal?” he signed, eyebrows raising at the end like a question.

“Normal is overrated,” Logan said, before promptly flipping how he was sitting on the couch so his head was closest to the floor. “Take it from your local transgender man. Normal isn’t always what you should want to be. And if you’re not normal, that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Yeah!” Patton exclaimed. “Like, I like skirts and I don’t feel like a boy, but that doesn’t get me down! I’m not ‘normal’ but I don’t want to be!”

“Is there even such a thing as ‘normal’?” Virgil contemplated.

“Okay, if we’re getting philosophical we’re stopping this conversation,” Dad said, raising his hands in surrender. “We don’t need any existential crises keeping you boys up half the night. You need a full night’s sleep, no matter what plans you have the next day.”

“I read that having a regular sleep schedule is key to feeling well rested,” Logan said, raising his arm and pointing to the ceiling. “That doesn’t mean sleeping at night and staying awake all day, it means more...going to bed at the same time every day and sleeping for the same amount of hours. And it takes a while to set up that schedule, but only a couple days to fff...fudge it up.”

Roman laughed. “Oh, you nearly got yourself in huge trouble, Logan.”

“Why?” Dee signed. “What was he gonna say?”

“He was going to say an adult word, I think,” Patton said.

Virgil had a mischievous glint in his eyes as he said, “I know which one!”

“What’s an adult word?” Dee asked.

“Oh...uh...words that adults use a lot?” Logan said. “Taxes, politics, financials. That sort of thing?”

“That’s not true,” Virgil sang. “Well, adults may use it a lot, but you would not get in trouble for saying ‘financials.’”

Roman was making a cut motion across his neck, but Virgil ignored him.

“What was he going to say, then?” Dee asked.

“Virgil, if you tell Dee what Logan was about to say, you will be having a very long talk with myself and Dad,” Ami warned.

Virgil considered that information, and Roman was surprised that Virgil would visibly show he might ignore that warning and say the word anyway. “Maybe I’ll tell you later, Dee,” Virgil said. “It’s something that shouldn’t be repeated. At least, not around adults.”

“Not at all,” Ami warned again. “You don’t want to wind up with a talk, do you?”

Virgil shrugged. “I don’t really give a—”

“Woah, goodnight everybody!” Emile exclaimed. “Virgil, you’re having that talk now anyway. Everybody else, get ready for bed, please.”

Roman was chuckling a little as he went upstairs. “Kid’s got guts,” he whispered to Logan.

“More than I do,” Logan said. “Would you have done that?”

“Not with my mom, for sure,” Roman said. “Here? I wouldn’t be punished, but I don’t like discipline either, so I’m not going to.”

Logan agreed. “Times may change, but some things never do. And that includes the rule about not swearing around kids or parents.”

“Yeah,” Roman said. He looked at the book in his hands. “I’m probably gonna read until light’s out, so night, Logan.”

“Night, Roman,” Logan said. “Congrats on one year of being in the family.”

Roman smiled. “Thanks.”

#we'll carry on #sanders sides fanfiction #roman sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #our creations #danger gays

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business-gnome · 6 years ago

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Mercantile Society Newsletter: Issue #1

Fitzkrank Oils and Lotions is coming to Boralus! Look forward to the grand opening of our shop in the harbor on May 15! We are currently looking to employ a local Kul Tiran sixteen gold an hour to work the store! If you are interested, address a letter to Gerald Fitzkrank to set up an appointment!

During one of my first nights, I was able to interview Aneokame, the owner and operator of The Brig and the Ashwood Vale Consortium.

Ran by the kaldorei named Aneokame Crowsong, The Brig is a delightful hole-in-the-wall tavern located just outside of the dwarven district.They are open from six to ten bells nightly and offers a quiet, more mature atmosphere. Things here are taken at an easy pace and one does not feel harried or as though they are surrounded by rowdy rabble rousers like at other bars in the city. Their menu includes a variety of high quality wines, meads, ales, and liquors, a true staple. If you do go to the tavern, make sure to try their moonberry mead, as it is truly out of this world!

Next door to The Brig is Miss Crowsong’s shop, the Ashwood Vale Consortium, who offer a wide variety of strange, unusual, rare, and eclectic goods! Some of the goods include potions, tea leaves, dried herbs, books, furs, beautiful jewels, and artifacts! They even have hand sewn dresses and men’s shirts, a perfect boutique if you are going to a ball! If you are ever in need of a custom piece, the Ashwood Vale Consortium should be your go-to place for fine wear! The Ashwood Vale Consortium is open in the afternoons or by appointment! Stop by today!

(Character name: Aneokame. Character Tumblr: https://aneokame-crowsong.tumblr.com/)

Now in stores, experience an absolutely divine scent of, La Gnome's Tresour lotion and moisturizer! Selling for 22 gold pieces, it is an essential date-night accomplice. The scent is intoxicating -- a sexy, feminine blend of rose, peach and apricot blossom (among other fruity, floral goodness). Plus, the lightweight formula leaves your skin so smooth, it'd be a crime to go un-caressed.

Now in stock: the scent of roasted pine lotion, selling for 17 gold pieces! Available in store or from Gerald Fitzkrank! This scent will leave you smokey and desired, a mature fragrance that will be sure to lead to delightful company! This lotion was created due to the desires of Ms. Seraanna!

Next, I was luckily able to speak to a woman that recently joined the Mercantile Society! Her story is of struggles and triumph, and she is a true self-starter! Unlike Haris Pilton, of course.

Jacqueline McLean was but a girl when she arrived to Stormwind from Gilneas. She had had nothing to her name but the clothes on her back! She had to learn the streets rather quickly, and learn what the denizens of the city wanted and needed. From there, she started working on several ships, taking up whatever tasks she could. She became well known in the docks, Jacqueline McLean becoming a common name for the denizens of the harbor. She then found herself working under a nobleman for some time and that is where she began to invest in a more lucrative business. She studied language, rising up to be one of the leading Gilnean diplomats. She is often stationed in Boralus, maintaining relations with the people there and the Alliance.

She captains ‘The Siren’s Rose’. She acquired it by saving for five years, and it is the product of all her hard work since she arrived in the city. Even though she was quite young to commandeer a ship herself, she was able to make her dream a reality! She accomplished her goals at just twenty-five years old. Now she is twenty-eight, and she is her own boss! Some would even say she is the captain of her own sails! She usually employs for other men, besides her first mate, Troy. If you are looking to work on a boat sailing between Stormwind City and Boralus, then ‘The Siren’s Rose’ may be perfect for you!

Jacqueline McLean’s cargo consists of raw materials such as herbs, cloth, and ores, as well as items for personal clients. If you need a reliable captain to navigate your cargo to another port, Jackie is your gal! Her ship is almost always at the harbor in Stormwind or in the harbor of Boralus, when of course, she is not on the seas. Her door is open most of the time, always welcoming to guests!

(Character tumblr: https://shewolf-jacqueline.tumblr.com/, character name: Jåcqueline)

Say goodbye to the unpopular scents! ‘Pumpkin Gut’ and ‘Peppermint’ beard oils are officially being shelved, as they are truly out of season! They will, however, be replaced by two rejuvenating scents, bringing life to your beard!

The first scent is that of extracted anchor weed, an exotic herb found only in Kul Tiras and Zandalar! This scent is reminiscent of the ocean, and the clear oil brings a beard to its full potential! Make your beard smell of the seas and be as soft as a fair maiden’s touch today! This scent is only available in our Boralus location for 21 gold pieces.

The second scent is true to the season is that of wild steelbloom! Now now, gentlemen! It may not sound the manliest, but the flower offers a hardy scent that is sure to have your partners hoping for more! This scent is offered in all stores and in person for 15 gold pieces!

If you are seeking a rowdy experience every other Friday night, then Kegfist Brewery is for you! The popularity of the joint is astounding, full groups entering and enjoying the festivities the Kegfist offer. It seems their name-sake, the ‘kegsmasher’, is quite the hit. From what I’ve seen, it seems to be a heavily potent beverage that gets the party started. I am starting off with the appetizer of ‘Steamed Mushan Mandu’, a dumpling filled with meat from those large, savory reptile. It tastes vaguely fowl, like chicken or duck, but the seasoning is absolutely delicious. I am drinking their ‘Light Tea’, which helps wash down the heavy dumplings. There even seem to be patrons of the other faction at this establishment, a neutral place to ease the tensions of war that is currently crippling our world.

For my entrée, I decided to sample the ‘Way of the Ramen’, ordering myself some greenstone ramen. It contains lean sliced tiger, cabbage, bean sprouts, and carrots. And while it tastes amazing, one of the kickers is that it is cooked right in front of you! The noodles came out perfectly, the texture helping emphasize the stark tastes within the bowl. The tiger was cooked within the stew, soaking in the broth and the juices of the vegetables. The many different tastes bring forth a delightful sense, the textures aiding the tongue. The carrots are soft and almost mushy, yet they taste as though they were freshly picked. I highly recommend this meal, as it is an all around delicious entrée. It even comes with a fortune cookie!

I ordered from the ‘Way of the Grill’ next, Mr. Kegfist’s specialty. I ordered the black pepper ribs and giant shrimp! Yet again, this was a meal that was cooked in front of me, and boy howdy did it look very interesting! Pandaren cuisine is a marvel sometimes. Mr. Kegfist offered me three options for the ribs; mild, spicy, or dragon sauced! I chose spicy, as I consider myself quite the daredevil, but not to any extreme. I am no Sneevil Cogdeevil! Ah, I remember the days of seeing him do his stunts in the salt flats. May he find peace, wherever his is today. The ribs were delectable, falling off the bone and nearly melting in my mouth! The sauce was indeed spicy, and it felt as though I could breathe fire! The shrimp were out of this world, fresh caught and gutted in the establishment, you could taste the ocean on them! They were spicy as well, popping in your mouth as you eat them!

Finally, it was time to take my tastes to the ‘Way of the Fish’! And I am feeling -extra- spicy this evening, so I ordered the dragon sauce calamari! This may have been the spiciest thing I have ever tasted! Though it was absolutely delicious, a staple of the establishment. And yet again, Mr. Kegfist prepared it right before me! Added fun to the whole experience!

Wupoda Kegfist is the owner and head chef of Kegfist Brewery. He is a Pandaren of Halfhill, and he has been growing crops and learning the way of cooking since he was a child! Wupoda gets all of his vegetables fresh from Pandaria, crediting the magical soil for allowing his crops to grow at rapid paces and with massive growth!

Originally, his name was Wupoda Kegfist, Wandering Merchant of a Thousand Ales. It took them many tries to settle down in Pandaria, as they tried Stormwind, Kul Tiras, and a few other random places here and there in an attempt to appeal to different crowds. Then one night, his group were hired to work an event in this establishment, and they never left!

Kegfist Brewery also do catering! You heard that right, and the best way to get them to cater your event is to reach out to Mr. Kegfist through the mail! They have a pricing sheet and a few different modules for folks to find the best catering package for them. Mr. Kegfist’s tip to those of you wanting to break into the catering scene is: “Find your niche. We thrive because there aren’t many Pandaren chefs out there who have made business out of their skill. Most of us just do it for their friends and family.” So if you have a dream of becoming a caterer, do not be shy to express yourself and be adventurous! You may turn out to be as successful as Mr. Kegfist. If you market yourself as unique, it becomes harder for others to compete with your business! If Mr. Kegfist wasn’t running his restaurant, he would be tagging alongside the Darkmoon Faire! He has learned quite a few party tricks over his years in the bar tending scene.

Kegfist Brewery is always recruiting! “We can never say no to hopeful aspiring employees. We have more positions than just cooks and bartenders, so never consider yourself out just because you’re no good with food! Entertainers are always in high demand. Magic, jokes, a silly costume, it all works if you bring the charm. I’m posted in the Mage District of Stormwind pretty often for open interviews, if you ever see me around, come introduce yourself! -Wupoda Kegfist.

To close, Wupoda Kegfist leaves us with this nugget of wisdom: “Build your tables low to the ground, it is much harder to be drank under them.” He welcomes all to stop by Kegfist Brewery, as their doors are always open with cold drinks and friendly smiles! Be sure to catch them every other Friday night, from six bells to nine bells at The Drunken Hozen!

(Character name: Wupoda, guild tumblr: https://kegfistbrewery.tumblr.com/)

#wra-a #wyrmrest rp #wyrmrest accord #wyrmrest roleplay #wyrmrest alliance

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home-working · 5 years ago

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The One Where I Become a Product Reviewer

Hey there, fellow kids! Jumping on the already-parked annual back-to-school bandwagon, I bring to you an AWESOME new blog post highlighting my FAVOURITE 15″ LAPTOP BACKPACK PICK! Get ready for at least 145 paragraphs of preamble before I reveal this NUMBER ONE TOP 100% BEST 15″ LAPTOP BACKPACK PICK and DIY BACKPACK HACK!!

I also realised I needed a post in my “lifestyle blog” repertoire that might convince people to send me free products? So this is that post. Search engine optimization.

Backstory

On February 19, 2019, esteemed letterer and all-around Creative Professional Jessica Hische tweeted out that she was looking for a new, fashionable laptop backpack and wanted suggestions. I happened to see this tweet that night and thought, “Maybe I, myself also a Creative Professional, need a new, fashionable laptop backpack as well?” I read through the mostly terrible (???) suggestions from her followers, saw one I liked, and then, with the quick late-night text approval of my probably-drunken sartorial consultant T, impulse-bought a $235 backpack.

The Arrival

A week later The Backpack arrives. It’s partially leather! It smells very new! It’s literally made by a Creative Professional for Creative Professionals! It’s so nice that I’m already worried about ruining it with thoughts of biking or commuting. But the straps are kind of stiff and uncomfortable on my delicate mammary glands. And did I say it’s pretty expensive?!

It’s the kind of backpack I’d be happy to keep if it were, say, $79. Maybe even $89. But $235?! For a backpack that’s not even some sexy upscale Creative Professional household brandname?? My lower middle-class upbringing prevents me from committing to such an expenditure on which I’m only lukewarm. What to do?

The Virgo/Libra Cusp Solution

Obviously I go out and buy two more backpacks.

All my children.

On Being a Virgo/Libra Cusp-er

I’m on the Virgo/Libra cusp which makes me the perfect person to review anything because I’m really picky and really indecisive. This means that if I’m forced to make a decision about anything, I generally change my mind multiple times and lose sleep in the process of over-thinking every minute detail, what fun! (For the record, I’m also strictly adhering to the deeply-scientific, back-of-your-local-free-weekly astrology column definitions of these signs. [Also, unnecessary childhood trauma story, I never really knew how to astrologically-identify growing up because as a cusper my sign categorization changed from paper to paper? The struggle was—and I cannot stress this enough—real.])

Laptop Backpacks: Necessary?

“Why does one need a special laptop backpack?” you might ask. Obviously, you don’t. No one needs anything. Why do we buy things, to feel a brief sense of happiness or accomplishment in our lives? Does it work for you the way it definitely and always 100% works for me? Leave your response in the comments!

But also I’ve never had a bag that was made for a laptop, so I figured I should probably get a backpack that's actually functional and isn’t painful to carry heavy shit around in all day?

Criteria

In order to be considered for this review, a potential backpack had to meet the following criteria:

Must hold a 15″ MacBook Pro

Enough padding to protect that laptop without a case

Must be comfortable to use while biking

Unisex design

Is black/screams “Creative Professional”

Bonus points: also screams “... who deserves a large salary”

In addition to my a laptop, I assembled a weight/capacity testing control group with the following everyday accessories:

Work essentials: mouse, laptop charger, Moleskine notebook, pencil

Life essentials: overnight kit, moisturizer, deodorant, underwear, sports bra, water bottle

Um, glasses and some other crap: eyeglasses & case, dirty socks, folded blanket, Le Creuset 18cm cast-iron pot

🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒 The Backpacks 🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒

Bag option #1: The ISM Backpack

The ISM retails for $235 USD; it’s only available online but comes with free shipping and returns in the USA. It ships in a pretty box with a pretty branded dust bag and a bunch of tissue that smells of “Instagram unboxing moment”.

I wore this bag out in public a few times: to the work lounge at the Public Hotel (a hotspot for “cool-looking people” working remotely), to pay a visit to my old MoMA office, and to a job interview. Did I feel like a Creative Professional? You bet I did! But then my former coworker commented that the bag made me look like a “techy person”, which ruined everything it had going for it. (There is a fine line between Creative Professional and Startup Chic that I refuse to cross. It involves hoodies.)

Left: fancy regal satin lining, to remind you that you’re the millennial queen you are. Right: full bag, with front pocket that is great for fitting flat stuff and maybe only flat stuff.

It fit everything in the “capacity” control group, albeit quite snugly, but its real downfall was the straps: although they were quite hearty, being both wide and well padded (which would be great for those with flat chests), their stiff sturdiness meant they were very inflexible, and basically cut into my breasts any time I raised my arms together, as one would if biking:

MEINE POOR BOOBS.

ISM owner/designer Justin emailed me after I returned the bag, and explained they were working on a smaller version for 13″ laptops. I explained this doesn’t help people with mammary glands who own 15″ laptops. Per Justin:

I feel what you mean Christy, a bag that fits a 15" laptop and is unisex has been a tough design challenge given the size difference between males and females. We have been able to shorten the straps to accommodate though.

I get it. Designing for the fact that 50% of the population has boobs is hard! Did you know that basically everything is designed around men and their stupid bodies?? It's also subsequently a prime example of how e-comm genders backpack sizing: you’ll find that 15″ laptop bags are generally only found in the “Men’s” section of websites. I need a drink.

Pros

Looks and feels fancy

Separate laptop pocket from main compartment

Water and weather resistant

Good amount of padding everywhere

Real leathurrrr bottom

Bitches be loving gold zippers

I am weirdly very into the simple strap adjustment design (not pictured but trust me that it’s nicely done)

Cons

High price point for my feeble income

Cut into my boobs

Front pocket is pretty difficult to put stuff in due to being so flat

Makes me look like a tech bro

Did not get the job I interviewed for while using it

Rating

Comfort: ★★☆☆☆ Creative professional-ness: ★★★★★ Female compatibility: ★☆☆☆☆ (one star for gold zipper) Value for monies: ★★★★☆ (if you don’t bike or have boobs) Overall: ★★★☆☆

🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒 Bag option #2: MUJI Water Repellent Backpack

I bought this bag at the MUJI store for a very reasonable $49 USD. Like everything MUJI, it’s pretty decent quality both in materials and design, and feels like it’ll last a while.

Unfortunately, I didn’t end up testing this “in the real world” because, whoops, it only comfortably fits a 13″ laptop. But I did uncomfortably fit my 15″ laptop inside, really stretching the limits of the side panels, and then managed to cram the test “capacity” content on top (with room to spare!). I then did a “hunch test”, folding myself over as one would on a road bike, and found that there was barely any padding on the back panel, and my spine was knocking against the hard surface of my computer. Not cool! Plus the back did not have a mesh surface, literally making it not cool on a sweaty back.

Yes I get it, I have a big stupid computer.

Pros

Nice quality

Large capacity

Water repellent

Has a secret little back pocket you’ll probably never use

Has those tacky side pockets for water bottles which are surprisingly handy for sunglasses or pocket chargers

Cons

Made for a 13″ laptop

Non-meshed back

Not enough back padding

Rating

Comfort: ★★★☆☆ Creative professional-ness: ★★★★☆ Female compatibility: ★★★★★ Value for monies: ★★★★★ Overall: ★★★★☆+

🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒 Bag option #3: UNIQLO Water Repellent Backpack

Right after purchasing the MUJI bag I walked across the street and picked this up for $29.90. YOLO!

Realising that is was yet another bag made for 13″ laptops, I could immediately tell that the quality was much lesser than MUJI’s: it was much lighter in weight, and the fabric thinner. Look at those ugly shoulder straps where the fabric is bunching. The front pocket’s structure is so weak that it sags. Sad!

But: pretty good akshully?!

I again force-fit my behemoth laptop and belongings into the small frame, yet, contrary to expectation, this thing was comfortable AF?! And even had room to spare. The straps were super soft and cushy and malleable around my boobs, and the “hunch test” revealed amazingly thick layers of padding on two sides of the back panel, with a thinner center panel that relieves any pressure on your spine. What kind of ugly genius is this?

Pros

Stupidly comfortable

Large capacity

Water repellent

Again, tacky side pockets, this time with an angled top hem

Cons

Made for a 13″ laptop

Pretty cheap and ugly looking

Pretty cheap and ugly feeling

Rating

Comfort: ★★★★★ Creative professional-ness: ★★☆☆☆ Female compatibility: ★★★★★ Value for monies: ★★★★☆ Overall: ★★★★☆

🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒 Other opshuns, you ask?

There’s a few other mid-range “nice” bag brands I was looking into online, such as the one which esteemed Creative Professional Jessica Hische ended up going with, but let’s just assume I left them out because they lack the quality needed for this rigorous assessment and not because the bag designer whom I went on a date with decided to ghost me after I sprained my ankle while in Canada. Ahem.

Final Verdict... and a Backpack Hack (!!) (...Backhack™?!)

Although I was quite impressed with the comfort the UNIQLO model provided (both to my body and my wallet), I was actually going to declare this experiment a failure and return all the backpacks. Until, that is, I took a closer look at the interior construction of the UNIQLO and MUJI bags: they measured as though they should be tall enough for my latop, and yet the MacBook corners stubbornly stuck out. Time to play detective! 🔍

Turning the bags inside-out, I noticed they both included a superfluous, space-reducing seam at the bottom of the main pocket. WTF.

UNIQLO bag before & after: the difference a simple seam (and lack of colour temperature matching) makes!

By removing this seam on the UNIQLO model, I gained a full inch of vertical room, ALLOWING THE 15″ LAPTOP TO ACTUALLY FIT IN THE DAMN BAG. Yes, it fits snugly, and some may argue that the superfluous seam protects the edge of the computer from hitting the ground, but the very bottom edge seam is actually pretty bulky and does a decent job of protecting as is.

Verdict: With the inclusion of this super deviant hack (and ONLY with this inclusion), UNIQLO wins!!!!!!!!

Epilogue

I’ve been using this bag for 7 months now. It looks kinda cheap and it tends to collect lint, but my shoulders are miraculously like never sore. And, even on a grocery run after stuffing a myriad of pokey-shaped food items in the thing until I can barely close it, it’s always very comfortable on my tender back when biking home (I did this very thing 2 weeks ago at the Farmer’s Market after buying Celine Dion tickets, because I am a white woman in her late 30s).

Oh, also: it’s black, so yes I am a Creative Professional, thank you for noticing!

TL;DR: UNIQLO; cheap; comfortable. Send me your products to review! 🔚

Colophon backpacks: ISM, UNIQLO, MUJI; socks: UNIQLO; t-shirt: from a Women Who Code meetup hosted by One Month; sweatpants: Alternative Apparel; laptop: Shmapple; glasses: Steven Alan clearance; stool: Target; plants: IKEA & Home Depot; blankets: Hudson’s Bay, E. Stocking; mirror & couch: IKEA; drawing above mirror: K. Freeman & P. Lyle; posters: Bruce Nauman and a Finnish Design Annual fold-out; calendar: Massimo Vignelli; bike: Miele; weight/capacity control group: thrifting, Peru, Amazon, HAY, more places; suddenly questioning the consistency of whether I’m listing where objects were bought or the brand name of the object itself: something I am going to pretend to resolve at a later date in time; brevity rating for this blog post: ★☆☆☆☆; fan appreciation: I am so sorry if you read this far

#product review #backpacks #UNIQLO #ISM #MUJI #review #diy #hack #padding #seam removal #laptop #macbook pro 15"#knapsack #computer bag #SEO

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