#if I could scrub that film's existence from my mind I would

[artbyblastweave]

An aesthetic decision I really like about the Mad Max setting- focusing on Fury Road in particular here- is that the timeline and the setting deliberately defy coherence. Countless elements of our world have carried over- the guns, the vehicles, the musical instruments, the religious concepts, and nominally some of the actual people- but the world is geographically impossible, you don't see much contemporary architecture even in a ruined state, and there's no version of the timeline where this can be the same Max Rockatansky as the original films. But it is. The incongruities are deliberate. The setting is mythic, these are campfire tales told about Max, the King Arthur or the Omnipresent Jack figure of the new age. The world that was is swallowed in myth, the world that exists is borrowing some of the old world toys, and being up-front and bombastic with signifiers of the mythic and abstracted nature of the setting absolves you of the need to make the worldbuilding make sense- or rather, to make it make sense in the way you'd have to take a stab at if you had a year-by-year internal worldbuilding timeline of How Everything Went Down.

Fallout 1 is not exactly like this. It can't be, because you could kill a man with an overhead swing of the setting bible. But it's tapping into a similar impulse. People in the first game are using old world tech, but they don't really live in the old world; they live in settlements using materials scavenged from the old world, or in old world towns that were unimportant enough back then that their current identity totally overwrites whatever came before. They don't live in LA: They live in the Boneyard, which gives you a pretty good idea of how much of what we think of as "LA" would be recognizable as such if we were exploring the space in first-person perspective. When you encounter an area that has a direct, well-documented, and unambiguous connection to the old world, it's a Big Deal, and they're hard places to get to- places that the average person living their life in the wastes would die trying to access. Of particular note in this dynamic is The Brotherhood of Steel- for all their technical understanding of the knowledge they hoard, they've clearly seems to have undergone a few rounds of Canticle-style cultural telephone, mutating from Recognizably The American Military into a knightly order. Fallout 2 does this to a lesser extent- it has more settlements directly named after their pre-war counterparts- but it's also a game about a society that's starting to pull back together and form into something resembling the old world, for better or for worse. And it reproduces the trend of stuff with a direct, legible connection to the old world being inscrutable and dangerous to outsiders- specifically with the reveal that the Enclave consider themselves to be the direct continuation of the pre-war government, that they've just kept electing presidents out on that stupid little oil rig. I haven't really made up my mind on whether the timeframes of the games- 84 years followed by 164 years- actually work for the vibe they're going for, in particular it doesn't work with Arroyo- but on the whole, the vibe coheres.

You get into the 3d games, and it becomes much harder to continue to pull this off. One major tool that Fallouts 1 and 2 used to maintain that sense of abstraction was the overland travel map; you were visiting island of society in a vast sea of Nothing. You had encounter cells that consisted of burnt-out, looted shells of cities, maybe good for a camp site but not as anything else. Another important tool towards this end was the isometric camera angle. In a topdown worldspace you can scrub out a lot of environmental details that would be immediately recognizable to the player as artifacts of our present society if you were exploring the space in 1st person. The examine button can feed you vague, uncertain descriptions that convey enough detail to make the item recognizable while also conveying that there's been a level of information decay. Once you move into a 3d worldspace you lose both of these elements- the worldspace is what it is, I can walk across it in eleven minutes stripping it for loot as I go. I can read every sign on every still-standing building, and I've got eyeballs on every old-world bit-and-bobble with a handy interface description of what I'm looking at. And you hit random encounters in the 3d games at basically the same rate, in real-world time, that you did in the isometrics- but the isometrics could successfully abstract it out to represent that you were hitting something noteworthy every couple of weeks, while in the 3d games it's kinda inescapable that you keep getting jumped every single day walking back and forth up the same stretch of road. Not only is it recognizable, it's cramped.

I think that Fallout 3, to its credit, did a decent job of navigating this and trying to maintain the islands-in-a-sea-of-nothing vibe from the isometrics- most of the settlements are built slapdash in places that were obviously never intended for long-term human habitation (bomb craters, overpasses, suburbs), the landmark-heavy city proper is textually a difficult-to-navigate deathtrap, and the poison-sky green filter, memeworthy as it is, does help shore up the impression that you're inviting death by trying to move through the space. Fallout: New Vegas I think addresses this by going in the total opposite direction; It's set in an area of the country where the infrastructure was abnormally well preserved, and the pre-war culture was revived artificially, and from a thematic standpoint it's really interested in digging into the implications of those two things. The fact that the lonely-empty-decontextualized-void aesthetic isn't long for this world dovetails well with the cowboy themes. They have a fair number of future-imperfect context-collapse gags but they don't overdo it by any stretch of the imagination.

Fallout 4, from many directions, is sort of catching the worst of the heat here. The world is recognizable, aggressively so. In fairly-authentically recreating the suburban sprawl of the Northeast, Bethesda simply surrounded the inhabitants of the commonwealth with too much Boston for a sense of true distance from our world to be possible. Everyone still has the accents. They still know the names of all the old neighborhoods. They're still doing the "Park your car" bit. It's still Boston. And it's a busy Boston, too- you can't throw a rock without hitting a farming settlement that's doing well enough to attract tribute-seeking bandits. It's densely packed with points of interest, and those points of interest are packed to the brim with salvageable materials that, going off of the new crafting system, should be in enormous demand to the people who've been living in this area for 210 years. The game doesn't really advance a satisfying explanation, even an aesthetic explanation like fallout 3's poison sky, for why everything around you hasn't been stripped clean before you even came off the ice, why all these environmental storytelling tableaus are just waiting for you to find. It doesn't spend nearly enough time hammering out what the 200-year chronology of the most-livable area seen in a Fallout game looks like- Why don't you see something comparable to the NCR emerging? Something something CPG massacre (which is mentioned twice in the whole game, AFAICT.) And what's being lost here, right, is the ability to use the sands of time to smooth over rough spots in the worldbuilding, in the chronology. You can't hide behind the idea that the world you're experiencing is mythologized. It's presented as real, and it doesn't make much sense if it's real!

And to top it off- Fallout 4 probably has the highest density of characters who were actually there, by some means or another. The Vault Tec rep, Daisy, The Triggermen, Nick Valentine, Eddie Winter, the vault 118 inhabitants, Arlen Glass, Oswald, Kent Connolly, The whole of Cabot House, Captain Zao, The kid in the goddamn fridge and his goddamn parents, and uh. The big one. You. You, the player. Which is such a goddamn splinter under my skin, from a storytelling perspective. You were present in the before-times- but only nominally, only to the exact degree necessary to establish that that was the case. The ugly shit is alluded to, but not incorporated into the character's day-to-day in a way that's obvious to the player, you're there for like six minutes and it's pretty nifty if you overlook that bit at the end where everyone got nuked. Your ability to talk about the world before is always vague, vacuous, superficial. The dirty laundry you dig up on terminals around Boston never seems to meaningfully impact your character's worldview, their impressions of the then and the now. All of which combine to make this the simultaneously the most specific but also the most frustratingly vague game in the series. At its best, Fallout's love of juxtaposing the then and the now would make it a great setting for the Rip Van Winkle routine. But it requires a strong, strong understanding of what the world was like before and after, a willingness to use the protagonist to constantly grind the jagged edges of those things against each other, a protagonist with a better-defined outlook than Bethesda's open-ended-past approach allowed for- and it has to be in service of a greater point. And for Fallout 4 to do anything with any of that, the game would have to be about something instead of being something for you to do. Maddening. Maddening.

[begrudginglytumbling]

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

Part Five!

Now with gifs!...since I’ve learnt the most basic of basic gifmaking and it was actually quicker than trying to pause at just the right moment, which has been enough of an issue previously to make me swear through gritted teeth.

Time for Love O2O - that’s both the film and the series since the little overachiever just had to get cast in both.

Ready?

Bai Yu plays a character called Cao Guang in both the film and drama. In the film he seems to be a smushed together version of what in the drama are two separate people.

Now then do you see this slightly bewildered expression while looking at a computer screen? Because this was basically me watching Love O2O, both film and drama.

Why the bewilderment?

Well, I’ve come to expect a certain level of odd sitting and leaning from Bai Yu. I almost expect all his characters to be some form of Bi Disaster now. But Cao Guang? So far I’ve never seen Bai Yu sit so straight. It’s slightly unnerving, in a similar way to if someone went into your house and moved things just slightly to the left. There’s not enough of a difference to cause major problems, but there’s enough for your mind to feel uncomfortable and twitchy because something is just off.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, he still does his Bai Yu thing, but it’s almost muted, I suppose is the best word to use for it.

We’ll start with the film version, which also has the alternate title of One Smile is Very Alluring apparently.

Before this moment, he’s actually sitting properly at the desk. Both feet were on the floor and everything which was just weird. But then he stood and transitioned into a lean, that made it a little less weird.

This is, technically, also further evidence that if something is at Bai Yu butt height, he will lean/sit on it. I think I’m going to have to start capitalising it since Bai Yu Butt Height now seems to be a Thing.

(I could not get this paused at just the right moment, so here, have a gif)

And look here! He’s sitting kinda properly and only vaguely uncomfortable looking, but that has more to do with the situation than the sitting.

Seriously, so weird.

If we stick with just the general premise of ‘does he sit or doesn’t he’ then being on a horse counts...even though watching the game scenes hurt me in a major secondhand embarrassment way. Just...the outfits, people, and the hair...I just...I can’t.

At one point he gets his arse handed to him multiple times, which leads to quite a bit of time on the floor.

Even the set refuses to let Bai Yu get up and support his own body weight apparently. The weirdness of him standing under his own power is obviously just too much.

Too odd.

Too strange.

He must be returned to his natural state of being.

The car magnet he’s got implanted in his backside did manage to do its job though...even if it was in the background and barely lasted a couple of seconds at most.

Now then, the drama. Admittedly I only got to episode 11 then I started skipping because I got a bit bored with the main pairing and general story. But the bits I skipped to? Yeah...I may have gone a little over fixated on the whole way of sitting thing since I found myself analysing the degree of leg bend when his feet weren’t in shot to gauge whether or not both feet were planted on the ground or if one was on top of the other and...yeah, let’s just say it was a good thing when I got to the end of this drama. For what remains of my sanity if nothing else.

Look, most of the time, if he’s not standing and walking, he’s like this.

Sitting properly, feet on the floor. And yeah, it counts as not supporting his own weight. But what happened to the floor is lava? How hard was it for him not to cross his legs, or put one foot on top of the other, or rest his feet on something else?

He does cross this legs sometimes, and you can even see it fully a couple of times.

Like here, this is what I’ve come to expect. This is a normal seated look for this man.

He sits.

He flicks one leg over the other.

He’s happy.

Simple.

But most of the time, he doesn’t have his legs crossed in this drama. Which led me to leaning forward and squinting at the screen when moments like this came along.

Because those legs are crossed. I’m sure of it.

Cao Guang, as a character, is not the kind of person to sit like this often. Bai Yu, as a person, can’t seem to stop himself fully though.

And look at this.

When it comes to this desk, this is the weirdest he sits. Which isn’t weird at all! It’s still kinda sitting properly!

And then this. This is one of those moments where I spent way too long staring at his legs trying to determined if he had one foot on top of the other.

From the angle, and the shadows, and the different heights of his knees, I have decided that yes, he does had one foot on top of the other. He is playing the floor is lava when the camera can’t see his feet.

(...don’t judge me for diving off the deepend on this one. I’m already judging myself hard enough)

Cao Guang might not be much of a weird sitter, but he is still a slight leaner if the opportunity presents itself.

Especially in Bai Yu Butt Height circumstances.

But in general, he’s less of a full body lean, and more of a light, quick lean. And it always seems to be on things he himself has placed there.

Like a moped,

or a camera.

He does sit on the floor in a sweaty mess after having his arse handed to him in a 1 on 1 basketball game.

Seriously, if you want a sweat physically dripping off of him Bai Yu, then this is the scene for you.

Further sittingwise you have some general sitting in what I think it meant to be a foreign country(?).

And the delightful lift-and-turn he’s got going on here.

(and I’ve only just realised that ErXi has her hand up as though if she can’t see the teacher, then the teacher can’t see her. I adore this woman, she’s just so cute)

Hospitals.

Every character of Bai Yu’s I’ve encountered so far has a different way of sititng in hospitals.

Zhao Yunlan looks like he’s barely seconds away from either sliding to the floor or giving himself back problems, Xie Nanxiang is partial to a lean or a cross legged sit. Cao Guang? I would describe it as he sits like a bloke - legs spread, elbows resting on his knees. This might honestly be the straightest Bai Yu character I’ve ever encountered.

Of course he also has an in-game character in this. The wig is less cringe worthy than in the film, but there is something about his eyes in this that freaks me the fuck out so you won’t be getting on the floor pictures or looking in the direction of the camera pictures because looking at it too much seems to trigger a mild fight, flight, or freeze response in me. And I’m in no mood to deal with such ridiculousness.

So, in game character. He does spend time on the floor, only a little though. Most of his time is actually spent walking. But then they get in a boat and Bai Yu gets to indulge in his favoured elbow hook seated position generally reserved for benches and breakfast bar surface things when he’s on a stool.

Ok, last but not least, the moped!

This is a moped that birthed a headcanon for me.

It would seem that regardless of character, if something is a form of transport with wheels, then Bai Yu will find some way to sit or lean on it.

And y’know what? He is fully capable of looking damned good while doing so.

So that’s it? I think the conclusion I can draw from this one is that Bai Yu’s sitting, leaning, and lounging habits are things he can either turn up or tone down depending on the character. It’s just that more often than not the characters he plays allow him to turn it up. But Gao Guang was one of the more subdued ones, more straight blokey vibes, than Bi Disaster ones.

Both film and drama are available on Netflix (at least here in the UK they are).

They’re also on YouTube - film - drama - with subtiles and pretty good quality.

And both are on DramaCool - film - drama

The drama is on Viki too.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

[popculturebuffet]

Why You Should Watch Final Space: A Memorial for one of The Best Shows in Adult Swim's History

Saturday.. it felt like I emotoinally got hit by a truck. And I want you to keep in mind the kind of good day I was having: I went out with one of my best friends, Cory, found amazing presents for my Mom and Brother's christmas , ON SALE no less, and saw the trancendent David Bowie Documentary/Immersive David Bowie Experince/Trip Moonage Daydream, a film i'd been wanting to see since finding out it existed months ago and it did not disapoint. And I capped it off by binging a bunch of quantum leap, which I have been lately at my mom's suggestion (yes i'm a 30 year old man who still listens to my Mom), and loving.

So during this I get a message from @weirdkev27. Olan Rogers Final Space, which wasn't already in the best straits having been canceled last year and with Olan Rogers struggling so hard against corprate dumbassery to continue it somehow he took the step of making a spirtual succesor, Goodspeed, via kickstarter to drum up intrest.

So the nightmare entity that is WBD rewarded this work by.. taking Final Space off EVERY platform. And that's not hyperbole. In addition to the usual stripping from HBO Max they've scrubbed it from every digital platform with only scant episodes remaining at BEST. It makes me fearful enough to make plans to get at least a few episodes of close enough off youtube before THAT'S gone too.

It's a move that somehow goes BEYOND previous dickishness. Deplatforming it from HBO Max was bad enough, WBD COULD make money simply selling them to other streamers and their stock isn't remotely going up. They are not in bad finacial straits. There is ZERO need to keep doing this. But making it ENTIRLEY unpurchasable both makes no sense and is just making things WORSE. Removing tons of shows and films already made them look bad.

It's a decision that rightfully angered Rogers who again, has been working his ass off to SOMEHOW continue this only to be hit with this (And who I dunno MIGHT OF FOUND SOME WAY TO BUY THE SERIES FROM YOU IF YOU ASKED), and for me as a fan and someone whose been following this situation... it drove me to dispair.

Now granted I get it, not everyone would go into despair over not being able to watch a cartoon, espcailly when there are .. other means and WBD just made said means entirely valid by cutting off all standard avenues of watching something. It's not like I can't watch the show.

No what made me despair was EVERYTHING it meant. It meant WBD despite MASSIVELY bad, continuing press, dropping stocks and no one BUT wall street being on their side, REFUSES to listen. It meant that my worst fears of any show not caught in the initial purge being removed no matter how succesful or unsuccesful are frighteningly true. WBD cares for NOTHING but what they can sell for parts. It has me BEGGING for a comcast buyout which I acknowledge is not a great thing: Comcast is only a marginally better company and their subsidary universal's treatment of Dead Meat and other content creators has been legendarily awful this month, and monopoly's are bad. But at this point we have people's life's works getting thrown in the shredder every other week, no teling what will go and stay in no saftey. It's getting me to watch Primal and Harley Quinn soon simply because I DON'T know how much longer either has left on the platform after sitting on them for far too long. There's no telling if something will last a week or 5 minutes, and no way to get them once it's gone.

As someone who reviews animation for a living, got a patreon to prove it , this is horrifying and if Netflix's removal of Hemlock Grove is an indicator and not just a fluke, this might get worse. I could easily see a one season wonders like I Love Arlo or Twelve Forever getting removed. It'd probably mean the end of the Will Arnett Vehicle that wasted having will arnett Flake, but one good does not make up for the bad and even not liking the show people should have the option to make the mistake of watching Flake because they like Will Arnett.

It felt like what I do.. didn't matter for a second. That no matter how hard I love something it'll just go away. It wasn' tjust this either: Owl House is ending (With Disney cheekily deciding to spread out the finale movies to promote it as if they realized it's worth montiarily but still not enough creatively to try making more (or Dana turned them down which yeah, if so fair enough), Ducktales is gone, Amphibia ended, and a lot of the best shows left are on Amazon (Which is thankfully safe but has a small pool) or in WBD's clutches like Craig of the Creek. Which is probably safe for now but we don't know it'l lbe forever. I felt like giving up. I mean depression and a manic episode will do that to you, but it didn't mean part of me truly didn't feel that it was over. That no matter what i did it'd just die and nothing I dose matters. Thankfully my cry for help was heard by my good friend Marco who you can find here on twitter (and you can find yours truly HERE if your at all curious and he reminded me of something: That talking about these works, both in the past with all the hope that there was a bright future and no idea what laid in store and now keeps them alive. That my work, for it's highs and lows, keeps a light on these fine works and might get people to check them out

Hence this article. Instead of just raging against WBD for being monsters I should eulogize the work and get those on the fence about it, espically since it DOES end on a massive cliffhanger or who may of not liked the first episode or so to dive deep into final space. And for those who loved it it not only gives you a tool to spread it to your friends, but something to remember it by while we wait for it to turn up somewhere else in the future like Sym-Bionic Titan, or to somehow luck into one of the few remaning blu ray sets (Seriously if you have one I will make an offer. A low offer but an offer). And yes this is in addition to other planned works for the week but when the inspiration strikes sometimes you gotta go with it. So to start us out

What Even Is Final Space?

Final Space is an animated series by Olan Rogers, an animator who started out on youtube (even publishing FS' pilot there) before the show's pickup by TBS. If that sounds like a bad omen it indeed was as TBS' attempted animatoin lineup fell apart: Tarantula only lasted a season, The Cops never got made because Louis CK is a piece of shit and Close Enough struggled in limbo till it got picked up by HBO Max, a blessing and a curse.

Final Space is the story of Gary Goodspeed (Played by Rogers himself) , the son of the legendary John Goodspeed who as part of the Infinity Guard (Think Starfleet), was a great hero who tragically died sealing a rift in space. After being abandoned by his mom Gary wandered around, became a petty crook and in trying to impress one of the Infnity Guards best and brightest, Quinn Argone (Tika Sumpter) .. and ends up accidently destroying a bunch of ships and a taco stand, instead earning him a 5 year prison sentence.

Naturally his sentence, being stuck aboard the Galaxy 1 with his only companions being HUE (Played by The Legendary Tom Kenny), a seemingly emotionless AI who punishes him for the slightest wrong due to his rigid programming and K.V.N., a cyclopic orb played by Fred Armisen whose INTENDED to keep Gary sane but does the oppsite by being just that damn annoying. As a result Gary tries sending Quinn tons of mildly creepy vlogs (though hte fact he's sending them at all is questionable), and is barely holding on by a thread when adventure calls and a tiny green orb of a creatue (with two more orbs for maxiumum adorable) wonders near them and is rescued by Gary, who quickly dubs the lil guy Mooncake (Rogers again)

Naturally things can't be THAT easy or we wouldn't have a series and it turns out Mooncake is sought after by the Lord Commander (David Tennant), an utterly terrfiying tyrant with empires at his beck and call who wants Mooncake as the key to get into "Final Space" as part of a plan to become a godlike entity known as a titan. He sends his former right hand Avacato (Coty Galloway, a friend of rogers), and uses Cato's son , Little Cato (the always amazing Steven Yuen in the first roll I saw him in and his breakout voice acting roll) as a barganing chip. Avacato quickly forms an incredibly homoerotic (as in once psychically contacting each other by saying "Feel me" and appearing in a majestic wheat field with Gary suddenly shirtless, their pratically together levels of homoerotic), but incredibly sweet and genuine bond with Gary.

The two quickly get a fifth to the group with Quinn, whose investigating a hole in space near earth that the Infinity Guard is refusing to investigate for reasons you can probably guess, and soon teams up with our heroes are her only option of closing it. Together they must try to save little cato, close up the hole, and hopefully bond as a crew with Avacato learning to trust his new friend/love of his life and Quinn learning to do the same and realize the importance in saving little cato. KVN sadly dosen't learn to stop being annoying.

Naturally as the series goes on things get complicated. I wont spoil how as the series is heavily serialized, but needless to say things only get worse before they get better and along the way our heroes pick up more crew: Little Cato, who turns out to be an adorably hyperactive ball of energy who takes to Gary as a second dad, Nightfall(Sumpter Again) , a hardened older alternate quinn trying to badly prevent her own history from repeating itself, Bolo, a badass entity voiced by keith david who soon proves crucial to the series myth arcs and their success, Ash Grayven, an adorable teen cyclops voiced by Ashly Burch with a mysterious and terrible dark power who quickly became one of my faviorites, her brother Fox, voiced by Ron Funches before his career REALLY took off in the rol ltha tmade me love him, a tender giant with a gattling arm hand, a hatred for violence and for ventrexians, the Catos species, which give shim and LC a rivarly, Clarence, played by Conan O'Brian (Yes you read that correct), a skeezy little man who isn't at all fond of gary but is fond of half brained scheems and who adopted Ash and Fox, and Biskit, a tiny white cat again played by Rogers whose a technical wiz with no social skills or politness in his tiny body.

Together they try to survive out there in the void dealing with the Lord Commander and eventually other baddies: Todd H Watson (Played by Alan Tudyk) a forgetable villlian in a muppet suit despite again being played by Alan Tudyk, Cheryl, Claudia Black, Gary's fanservicey serial criminal mom who abandoned him and blames him for her marriage failing, and Invictus, the mysterious nightmarish entity behind everything.

Tone wise Final Space admitely starts off slightly rocky: Gary is a bit shouty (something that would get toned down as the series progressed , especially in Season 2 as Rogers, being a great dude, actually took fan feedback seriously), some of the jokes don't land and it takes a bit for the characters who aren't gary or Avacato to grow on you with HUE and Quinn not being the most likeable to start, HUE being Gary's warden and not shutting up about it and Quinn having to learn to both get help from others and that the mission to rescue LIttle Cato IS important. Understandably keeping one of the main characters imprisoned and not shutting up about it and refusing to rescue a child being used as a baragning chip, arne't great but both grow on you as they do: Quinn learns to stop being as regimented and let Gary in, and HUE is incredibly likeable once i'ts clear he actually does like gary and his previous behavior was him being literally programmed to do his job. Once the sentence is up he not only gladly keeps being Gary's AI, but admits too that KVN sucks.

It's worth sticking with though; The voice peformances are phenomoinal with rogers doing FOUR rolls, sometimes all in the same scene, and probably more i've forgotten, and easily being the standout in a cast full of actors I love in anything (Tennant, Burch, Yuen, David and Funches) and actors I love because of this series (galloway, black and sumpter). If Rogers needs something to help get him by while he tries to revivie this series or find a new project, he'd make a killing with voice work, as would Galloway.

Animatoin wise while the art style seems simple, it's incredibly gorgeous, with space depicted with shocking accuracey, and some truly gorgeous and haunting shots. It really makes everything feel as epic as the scopes says.

The writing once it gets to buisness really hit's it's stride ballancing comedy with the characters tragic pasts and loveable personalitiess; In the same episode we have the gang bet the ship on a game of the calvinball esque thimbles, a game with visors, laser bats, comblicated rules and dismemberment equalling points (which gary gladly abuses once he finds out to shoot clarence).. and then sequges into Ash's tragic backstory of her sister being sacrificed to a serpent god, her killing everyone present except said god, and her having to learn to let go of her pain in the belly of said beast. The show can be goofy as hell while still having a deep mythology, characters you love and cry over and some truly horrifying moments. And again a literal pissing match which you have to see for yourself.

I both wanted to show it off.. and to also prove that this did in fact happen and was indeed fun depsite having absolutely no right to be.

The show ballanced that with true moments of heartache, epic grandeaur and heart. Most of which I CAN'T share as while i've dropped some spoilers here, there's only so much I can spoil without just telling you about it beat for beat.

So please find a way and check out Final Space, Talk about it, tell your friends. Keep this series alive... both to show all this effort Olan, his writers, his animators, and his voice crew all put in didn't go to waste, and to show that people care. That this mattered. And that this show won't go away no matter how badly they try to write it off. It's back to back for life. Thanks for reading, consider joining my patreon, have a good evening.

[pinky-the-elephant-room]

Lapis Lazuli

⊙ AN: Hello! I spent an entire month on this prompt. It's my love letter to Gojo. He has affirmed my kink for mentor characters. This is very very AU. Keep that in mind as you read.

Warning: Brief Explicit Smut, Dubcon, Smoking, Alcohol, and Casual mentions of death. Read at your own personal risk. Gojo Satoru x Fem Reader

⊙⊙⊙⊙

She put her lips around the cigarette and took a deep, satisfying drag. Already she could feel nicotine working its magic and giving her the much-needed relief she so desired.

“Ara, you know smoking isn’t good for you.” A voice mocked behind her. Y/N could feel irritation bubbling inside of her, and she turned around abruptly to face whoever was interrupting her alone time. It was a curious-looking man with white hair and a blindfold around his eyes. She knew Jujutsu sorcerers came up with weird ways to cover up their eyes, but he had to be the tackiest. “And what’s it to you?” she asked before puffing out a white film in his direction.

If he felt any discomfort by the smoke, Y/N didn’t get the satisfaction of making him cough. He just stepped closer, and she heard his taunting voice once again.

“It’s just a shame that a beautiful woman like you developed such a nasty habit.”

If his goal was to annoy her, well, he managed to accomplish it with ease. She was only acquainted with him for a few minutes, and he already irritated her more than any of the suitors sent by the elders did. Wait, was he a suitor?

Her spine stiffened, and she put out her cigarette bud by crushing it under her heel.

“Alright, let’s get this over with, pretty boy. And seriously, a blindfold? Regular sunglasses don’t do it for you?”

She let her comments settle only to get a smirk in return.

Y/N studied his customized uniform. He seemed like he had it together until you got to his face. Well, whatever, some of the sorcerers had to have a screw loose to keep working in this unfortunate career.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” she continued. “I’m not interested in marriage. I never will be. I’m ready to accept my fate and die a premature death. Give the elders a sob story of how I wasn’t to your liking. And we won’t have to play a charade for weeks on end.”

She waited for him to digest her words and walked up to him to pat his shoulders once.

“I’m glad we had this talk,” she said with a brilliant smile.

In return, he responded with a creepier smile, and Y/N immediately felt the humor dissipate.

She gave him a weird look and went on her way to her dwelling, more like a prison.

Y/N stared at the dormitory that was tucked away from the rest of the campus. Most students didn’t even know she existed, and the knowledge was only on a need-to-know basis with the teachers. She gave a dispassionate sigh before stepping inside the building. She took her time taking off her shoes and glanced at the caretaker who walked in.

“Y/N-sama! I’m glad your back. Someone is here to see you.”

Again? Was it the same suitor she encountered earlier?

Y/N held in a furious growl and walked towards the living room to give him a piece of her mind. Only it wasn’t the white-haired man but some other scrub.

“Who are you?” she demanded. Y/N heard the older woman behind her shift nervously, no doubt twitching at her lack of manners. The man gave her a hasty bow in greeting before straightening up.

“L/N-sama, it’s a pleasure I’m here at the decree of the elders-“

Blah, blah, and blah. Y/N, at this point, tuned him out. She stared at him contemplatively. If this man was her suitor, who the heck was that other man she encountered in the courtyard? His presence had indicated a powerful sorcerer. Whatever his capabilities were, his creepy self would have been more entertaining than the dull man in front of her.

As Y/N settled down to start the Miai officially, she sipped the green tea given graciously by the old caretaker, who she thanked quietly under her breath.

Still, Y/N couldn’t help but wonder what the mysterious man’s eyes looked like.

⊙⊙⊙⊙

The sunset over the horizon, and she couldn’t remember the last time she stopped to watch the beautiful surroundings. Y/N arrived at Tokyo Jujutsu High just a few weeks ago, and the treatment plan was already helping. No doubt it was due to Ieiri-san’s expertise. Maybe it was possible to enjoy a few more years frivolously before she succumbed to the grave.

Y/N eyed the black dress with colorful flower patterns she had on and smiled. Looking beautiful even at the worst of her failing health was a much-needed break from her awful reality. Ever since she came to this school, she accepted her inevitable fate, but that didn’t mean her corpse couldn’t be fabulous when it was being buried.

She fished out the lighter from her purse and held it up to light her cigarette. After a few flicks, it still wouldn’t light, and she let out a groan. At this point, it would be a mercy to throw the useless lighter away and buy a better one. But it held too many precious memories for her.

Y/N once again flicked the cigarette lighter with a scowl, only for it to spark a few times before failing once more.

“Here, let me.” A hand reached over and took the lighter out of her hands.

She glanced up and was startled to recognize the strange white-haired man from the other day.

“Hey… Aren’t you the guy who said smoking was bad?” she asked with heavy sarcasm. “Should you be helping me with my nasty habit?”

“And shouldn’t you be getting married by now? After all, time is not on your side, Y/N-chan.”

She turned to give him her undivided attention. “So, you did know who I was. But I’m afraid I don’t know who you are.”

He bowed exaggeratedly, almost verging on disrespect. “The name’s Gojo Satoru. Teacher here at Jujutsu Kaisen.”

Y/N’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “The most powerful sorcerer, am I correct? The elders don’t really like you.”

“And you’re the elders’ pet project-" With a flick, he had lighted her cigarette with no issue and handed over her belongings.

She scowled and reached for her cigarette.

“I think I prefer you smiling at me,” Gojo said with a chortle.

Y/N refused to entertain him with a response and turned back to the beautiful scenery she was appreciating while taking a drag.

“I have a question for you. The last time we talked, you said you didn’t want to get married. But your curse is unique in that it’s generational. You won’t be able to survive unless you pass it on. Why haven’t you?” he asked while leaning into the side of her face. She could smell hints of his masculine scent. “Unless you’re the type to wait for romance?”

Y/N let out a scoff and chuckled disbelievingly at his statement.

“When you’re born with a fate like mine. You don’t harbor hopes. Instead, you make plans. I planned to survive until my 20s and die alone. I’m ending the curse on my terms.”

He clapped his hands almost as if he realized something important.

“So, you’re a martyr? How noble.”

Y/N took a deep inhale and held the smoke in before blowing it out in a circle.

“Nothing noble about not wanting my curse to pass down to my progeny. More like decency, something the old geezers have forgotten in their lives.”

Gojo let out a giggle at the insult, and Y/N gazed at him incredulously.

“Ah, gomen. It just warms my heart to know someone else hates the same people I do.”

This was the most powerful sorcerer in Japan? Well, Japan was screwed. Good thing she would be dead before everyone else would realize it.

She sucked in the cigarette smoke accidentally and let out harrowing coughs. Gojo came to stand next to her and forcibly took the cigarette from her. He calmly waited for Y/N to quit coughing before interrupting her.

“Another question for you. Indulge my curiosity. Why are those old men protecting you with such intensity? And specifically, forbade me from interacting with you? What’s so special about you, Y/N-chan? Other than the fact you used to be strong until you got sick from the same curse that made you strong.”

She coughed a few more times to settle her irritated chest and wiped the wetness from her eyes. The way he was pestering her was almost cute, like a puppy begging for food. Almost.

“Don’t you think it’s pretty presumptuous of you to demand answers? After all, we only just met, Gojo-sensei. “

“Gojo-sensei, huh. But I think you’re too old to be my student unless you’re looking for lessons late at night. In that case, I’m happy to offer my services,” Gojo replied with a salacious grin.

She ignored the sensation of her ears becoming hotter and rolled her eyes.

“Well, this has been enlightening, but I have somewhere to be.”

“Already? What a shame, and we were so close to becoming friends too.”

Y/N never knew how unnerving it was to see a full-blown pout from a grown man.

She left without another word, and as Y/N made her way back, she heard Gojo yell out.

“Tell Shoko I said hello, Y/N-chan!”

Y/N scoffed and continued uninterrupted towards her appointment.

She made her way to the office of Ieiri Shoko, the brown-haired woman with permanent raccoon eyes. She was skeptical of the woman’s skills at first despite being assured by the elders she would be taken care of by Tokyo Jujutsu Tech. It wasn’t until Ieiri-san’s curse technique relieved the pain her body experienced that Y/N admitted being here had some merit.

“Well, it doesn’t look like you’re improving, but you’re not getting worse either,” Ieiri-san murmured.

As the resident doctor was putting her stuff away, Y/N took it as a sign to slide black straps of her dress back on.

“Hello! I’m here,” a voice announced before the door was broken in.

Startled, she hurriedly tugged the top of her dress back securely and glared at the unconcerned man.

“You can’t just barge in. My patient’s still getting dressed,” Y/N heard Ieiri-san scold her colleague.

“Souka, I’m terribly sorry,” Gojo replied, sounding anything but sorry. In fact, he seemed pretty satisfied.

“Y/N-chan! Konbawa, what a coincidence.”

“Coincidence, my ass,” Y/N grumbled underneath her breath. “Ieiri-san, I’m going to take my leave. Thanks for your hard work.”

She bowed to the doctor and stepped out of the office without acknowledging the other individual in the room. As she left, Y/N heard the two of them conversing amongst themselves. Thinking that he was probably being kept busy by the resident doctor, her shoulders slumped, and a sense of relief coursed throughout her body.

“So, how was the visit? Any good news?” A voice breathed into her ear.

Alarmed, Y/N aimed for the sensations with her fist.

Only to hear the smack of her knuckles against a palm. Agitated, she looked up to see a familiar face whose eyes were covered.

“Whoa, I see your reflexes are still sharp despite being forcibly retired for how many years now?”

“Three years,” she hissed, unhappy that this strange man was bringing up a topic that was still sensitive to her.

If he cared about her displeasure, his face didn’t overtly show it other than a raised eyebrow.

“So…?” he gestured for her to continue.

Y/N fought the urged to give in her to frustration and quietly answered. “Nothing new. Still dying.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be dying if you had someone to pass the curse onto.”

“And I told you exactly why I couldn’t do that. Or are you thick of hearing?” Though she answered with a smile, a bit of her anger was leaked through her words.

Gojo let out a laugh. “Oooo, so she does get mad. How cute.”

He then came closer, and Y/N eyed him warily. She wasn’t scared of him, even if he was unnerving. Due to his sheer presence, her senses were on high alert and were uncomfortably aware of everything.

Gojo bent down slightly at her eye level and whispered.

“That woman who’s taking care of you is not trustworthy. She’s a spy for that old man in Kyoto.”

Y/N stiffened, and a frown materialized on her face. Surely, he was mistaken. Kyoko-baasan had been the utmost help when Y/N was relocated from Kyoto to Tokyo, taking care of her every need. But there were incidences even Y/N admitted were suspicious. Like how she always made a phone call at 10 PM without exception. Even though the older woman informed her she had no surviving family. Who else would she talk to with such an urgency but Gakuganji-sama? Now everything made sense.

“Don’t worry as far as you’re concerned; your health is her top priority. Her reports are disgustingly in detail about every inch of your body. It’s almost disturbing.” Yet Gojo seemed confused somehow like he expected Kyoko-baasan to poison her or something.

She sighed. “Of course not. Me dying would ruin all of their ambitions.”

“And what sort of plans are we talking about here?” Gojo asked, pondering with a fist under his chin. “Like the evil, underhanded tactics for the greater good kind?”

Though it was clearly a joke, Y/N couldn’t help but feel there was a hint of seriousness underneath that levity.

“Nothing you have to worry about. But I think it’s time I made my way back. It’s been a long day.” Thanks in no part to the man in front of her. But more importantly, he was asking about information he didn’t need to know. For her safety. If the elders were man-eating sharks, then Gojo Satoru was an unknown predator. At least she was knowingly swimming with sharks. If she swam with him, who knows what he could turn out to be?

“Of course. I’m teaching my adorable students tomorrow, so I’ll be taking my leave as well. Ja ne Y/N-chan!”

The man waved goodbye enthusiastically as he waited for Y/N to make herself scarce.

Step by step, she walked farther and farther away, yet his gaze seemed fixed upon her. Funny how ominous his stare was despite being covered. Goosebumps erupted across her skin, and she hurried her pace, glad to escape his scrutiny.

⊙⊙⊙⊙

“I’ll be back, Y/N-sama.” Kyoko-baasan said as she bowed.

Y/N needed her out of the house for a little while. Ever since Gojo had revealed her, it was hard not to notice the older woman’s heavy gaze throughout the day. It was suffocating, to say the least. So, an impromptu trip to the supermarket it was.

“Come back safely,” Y/N replied, not taking her eyes off the T.V. She gave it about ten more minutes before turning off the T.V. and tossing the remote aside. She had maybe an hour tops to do whatever she wanted without added scrutiny. Yawning, Y/N slumped against the sofa and stared outside of the window.

Only to jolt with surprise when she saw Gojo Satoru staring back at her with a grin.

‘What the actual fuck’, she mouthed to herself.

Y/N was pretty sure she hated this man. Sure, he was the supposed sorcerer that fought evil that plagued humanity. But she was pretty sure Gojo was the evil haunting her. She gingerly stepped out, making sure to take her time in the vain hope that she might have been hallucinating.

“Yes? Did you need something?”

“Weeeell, I saw your handler step out, so I thought it might be a good time to visit you.”

“She’s not my handler, Gojo-sensei.” Y/N waved him in reluctantly and watched the sunny weather outside longingly before following him.

“You’re right, not a handler but definitely a spy. Can you quit with the sensei stuff? I think you should call me Satoru.”

“Gojo-san, would you like something to eat?” she asked, praying he would say no and get to the point of why he was here.

The man just sighed heavily and with grave disappointment, asked for something sweet.

“Sorry. No can do we’re all out, which is why Kyoko-baasan is out grocery shopping.”

“If you knew why did you ask?” his frown became even more severe.

Y/N shrugged. “Just to be polite.”

Instead of getting annoyed like she expected, he just let out a chuckle. “You know I’m getting the feeling that you might not like me very much. That is such a shame because I like you very much. Imagine all the fun we can have.”

Ignoring the way he purred the last few words, she asked, “Fun? What kind of fun are you talking about?”

Gojo raised an eyebrow, and his grin became more wicked.

She laughed forcefully and waited for him to drop the act. “W-wait, you’re not kidding? That’s a terrible idea. Imagine how many people we would piss off.”

“All the more reason to do it. You’re not planning to live, and I hate my superiors. We kill two birds with one stone.”

“Wait. What does me dying have to do with your..your plan?”

Gojo got up from the sofa where he was casually lounging like he owned the place since she welcomed him in and approached her.

She flinched when he put both of his hands on her shoulders in what he intended to be in a reassuring manner. But all it did was ignite the fire underneath her skin.

“If you’re going to die, you should at least do it with a bang. And trust me, any night with me ends with a bang.”

Maybe if Y/N weren’t so flabbergasted, she would have laughed at the cheesy line, but now it hardly registered as she stared horrified at his daringness. Not horrified if she was honest more like fascinated. He seemed like he wanted to invite trouble.

She nervously swallowed and blinked rapidly. “So, in your brilliant plan, I die while having the time of my life, and you get to pick a fight.”

“Nonono,” Gojo quickly shook his head. “In my brilliant plan, you die because of mind-blowing orgasms rather than horrifying curses. It’s a better way to go, in my opinion.”

“Oh my god. You’re serious.”

He let go of her shoulders, and immediately Y/N missed the heat from his palms. He took hold of her hand and bent down. Y/N felt shivers down her spine. It almost felt like he was looking through her behind the darkened sunglasses he wore.

Gojo gingerly kissed the tips of her fingers. “Think about it and let me know. I’m always around on campus, so when you decide, you know where to find me.”

He didn’t stick around long after turning her world asunder. It seemed like he said what he wanted to and left Y/N to her thoughts. Needless to say, when Kyoko-baasan returned, and she found Y/N to be a bit distracted, she couldn’t possibly even speculate the reason for Y/N’s conundrum.

⊙⊙⊙⊙

She was here again in the same courtyard where she comes to get away from everyone. Y/N eyed the moon blearily in the night sky. Funny, how in Tokyo, it seemed so small, barely visible amongst the steel jungle that was the biggest city in Japan. In Kyoto, it seemed larger than life itself. Sometimes she got too sick to go look at the night sky. Figures how another mundane thing had changed inevitably because of her fate.

Not for the first time, Y/N wondered if it was possible to see such a sight beyond the grave. She lifted the whiskey and poured it into the glass. Well, it’s not like she would know anytime soon and downed the alcohol in one go.

The alcohol burned her throat, but she didn’t mind. On a night like tonight, the burn was almost healing in a way.

“Who’s there? It’s past curfew no one should- wait, Y/N, is that you?”

She looked groggily to see a familiar shape.

“Heeeello~ Good morninggg!”

Gojo watched, amused as she waved at him cheerfully.

“I think you mean good night.” He reached over to grab her bottle and sniff at it. “Whoa, whiskey, huh? Hitting the hard stuff, I’m more of a sake guy myself.”

Y/N patted the space next to her on the bench she was occupying. “Sitssh, sensei. I haven’t *hic* see you in a while.”

“What’s this? Y/N willingly asking me to spend time with her? I must be dreaming,” he said while taking Y/N’s wine glass of all things and poured himself a drink.

She watched him eagerly as he gave himself a generous amount before drinking it all down. Y/N stared at the empty glass as if stupefied why there wasn’t any more alcohol, and then realization hit her. She pouted and pointed angrily at him.

“Hey! That’s mine,” she grumbled, swaying with reddened cheeks.

“Not bad for whiskey,” Gojo commented, licking his lips a few times. “Nah, you’ve had enough, Y/N-chan”

He put the bottle and the glass a few inches away from the drunk Y/N just in case.

They sat there on the bench for a few minutes Y/N as she comically counted the visible stars in the sky, and Gojo mischievously recorded her antics on his phone.

“So, why are you out here in the middle of the night and drinking?”

He put away his phone, and as soon as the question left his mouth, Y/N stopped mid count. She turned next to him, surprised as if she forgot he was there.

“Sensei, muusst not be smart..hehehe.. Everyone knows whyyyy.”

“Hmm, explain to me then.”

She leaned into his face as if she was going to tell a secret.

“Sometimes…..Sometimes I get sadsh. I’m sad today.”

Gojo reached over and played with her long, dark hair. He then tucked some of the hair obscuring her face behind her ear.

“Why are you sad?”

“Be-because I don’t want to have a kid. But—tt I also don’t wanna die.”

The word “die” came out as a sob, and soon enough, Y/N covered her face.

She looked up from her hands, curiously peeking at Gojo. Not only were her cheeks now wet, but her vision was quickly becoming blurry due to all the tears welling up. When she blinked, trails of wetness tracked down her face while droplets seemed to glisten in her eyelashes.

“I’m scared, sensei. I don’t wanna die,” she whispered.

Y/N felt him wrapped his arms around Y/N and let her blubber in his secure hold. She was no doubt making a mess of his uniform.

“I sh—orrry. Your uniform is dirty now, sensei.”

Her voice was muffled against his chest.

“When are you going to stop calling me sensei? You’re not that much younger than me.”

Y/N looked up and swayed forward to bump her forehead against his softly.

“I like sensei, though,” she said, her warm breath smelled vaguely of alcohol. “And I like you.”

Gojo blinked when he felt Y/N’s soft lips against his. Her arms snaked around his neck, and she brought him closer. Absentmindedly, he briefly returned Y/N’s kisses. His lips were soft, and she coaxed his tongue to come and play.

“Wait-“ he gasped. Y/N continued to kiss him lazily while her hands reached down to fiddle with his pants. Gojo shoved and held her at arm’s length away. “Now you’re just being unfair.” With a flick of his pointer finger, Y/N eyes rolled back, and she collapsed into his arms. The last thing she clearly heard was, “What am I suppose to do with you?”

Y/N hours later would awake to something touching her face lightly. She grumbled and smacked the sensation away. Just as she was settling to go back to sleep, the sensations returned to bother her some more. Irritated, her heavy eyes snapped open. Her vision was filled with crystalline blue, a brilliance she had never witnessed before. The beauty of it took her breath away. The sight had entranced her so much that it took her a minute to realize she was staring at Gojo Satoru’s eyes. Her cheeks heated from his proximity.

“Yo! You know you’re quite clingy when you’re drunk,” he said cheerfully. If she weren’t so used to heavy drinking throughout her retirement, Y/N would have undoubtedly been nursing a headache. But dealing with him early in the morning, she might get a hangover anyway.

“What do you think you’re doing in my bed, Gojo-san?”

“And now I’m back to Gojo-san. See, last night you couldn’t get your hands off me, so hence why I’m in your bed.”

Her? Couldn’t keep her hands off him of all people? Then she remembers last night how she had cried in front of him and how she clung to him in her moment of weakness. And then… Then proceeded to, Y/N groaned and turned to the amused Gojo.

“Can we pretend last night didn’t happen, please?”

“No way! I want to treasure it for the rest of my life.” Gojo then tried to scoot over on Y/N’s side of the bed.

She shot him an annoyed look. “Again, why are you in my bed with me? Don’t you have any shame?”

“Not really, no,” he smirked. “But then, how can you be shy after last night?”

“We only kissed! I’m not stupid; I can remember perfectly fine. And speaking of last night, how did Kyoko-baasan not notice you bringing my drunk self back home?”

He wagged his finger at Y/N and tapped her nose. “So cute. You think I can’t get past an old woman? Please, I’ve been sneaking in and out of this dorm for months now.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You did what?” He ignored Y/N’s protests and tugged her by her waist closer to his body.

“Let’s not talk about that. Instead, let’s talk about how you said you liked me. Does that mean you’re considering my offer, Y/N?” Gojo asked, his voice became huskier as he uttered her name.

It made her heart race the way he said her name without any honorifics.

“I don’t want-“ she began.

“Don’t lie to me. Your voice quivers when you do.”

Gojo turned her face to face him. “Tell me what you want. Let me hear it.”

Maybe it was the soft tone of his voice or the way his alluring eyes seemed to beckon her. She couldn’t help but melt against him.

“Yes. I want -“Y/N felt Gojo place kisses along her wrist and hand. “I want you.”

“Mhmm. Music to my ears.”

He leaned in, staring intently at her mouth. She placed a hand on his chest to stop him.

“But I have a few rules. If we’re going to start whatever this is. You have to promise me that you're going to respect my wishes no matter what.”

“Y/N, please.” His voice became stern, and all the playfulness fled his facial expressions. “I would never do anything to make you uncomfortable. If you invite me into your bed, it’ll be because you want me there. Today notwithstanding.”

Y/N became uncomfortable and squirmed at the direction the conversation had taken. “No, I’m not worried about that. I’m saying you must promise that you’ll wear protection each time because I mean it when I said I don’t want kids. I don’t want them to suffer like me.”

“Of course,” he replied before slanting his lips over hers.

She hazily stared at the window as sunlight broke through the uneven blinds and covered her mouth. Y/N let out a groan which she muffled to the best of her abilities while he held her hips tightly from behind. She hadn’t realized that when she extended an invitation that everything he said would come true. If she was going to die, then this really was the best way to go. Her feet rustled in the sheets, trembling from the force of her pleasure. She could faintly hear downstairs Kyoko-baasan getting ready for the day as she prepared breakfast. Y/N’s eyes clenched tightly as she finally felt him spill in between her thighs and collapse behind her, spooning her. A little breathless, she laughed, feeling immensely relieved as if a pressure that had been weighing her down was now gone. And it had everything to do with the delighted man next to her.

⊙⊙⊙⊙

“Hurry,” she managed to gasp out while her lungs were straining. “Right now, please!”

He only looked at her with mischief shining in his eyes before burying his face in her shoulder. Y/N could almost feel the smirk as he continued to nibble on her delicate skin.

She bounced on his lap, widening her legs so that he could hit the angle she so desperately needed. But the infuriating man refused to listen to reason. She shook his shoulder with her free hand that wasn’t desperately clinging to the bedsheets and pleaded.

“Gojo-“

“Say my name, Y/N. You let me eat you out earlier until you screamed, but you still won’t say my name?”

She hesitated for a moment, but it proved to be a moment too long because he immediately seized her and prevented her from moving.

“Say.” He thrust hard into her causing her to see stars. “My.” Another slam. “Name.” The noises her cunt was making were embarrassingly loud and wet.

“Satoru-“

He laughed, almost too gleefully. “There! That wasn’t too hard.”

Gojo laid her back on the bed, hovering above her. Y/N dazed, watched captively as emotions danced in his enchanting blue eyes. How many times was it now? She forgot, but without fail, they seemed unable to break eye contact each time. His eyes seemed to beckon, and Y/N was helpless at the avalanche of emotions that built up. The only times she looked away was to close her eyes as her body became overcame with rapture.

A few hours later, Y/N would listen with one ear, and the suitor’s words would come out the other ear. It was hard to focus on anything else except for the cum still nestled in her thighs. He had left her earlier with a promise while slipping her panties to keep his juices secure inside her cunt. Every time she moved or made herself comfortable, the sticky panty clung to her inner thighs, making her fully aware of precisely what she was doing an hour prior.

How was Y/N supposed to connect with anyone when all she could think about was Gojo? The way he teased for hours until finally giving in to his own weakness when it came to her. It made everything unbearable. He was gone on a mission, so he wouldn’t be back for hours which meant that she was here alone with nothing but wet panties and her mind to occupy her.

“Y/N-sama,” she snapped out of her thoughts to look up. “Are you okay? You seem distracted.”

Of course, Y/N was distracted. She wasn’t in bed with the person she wanted but instead here entertaining someone she wouldn’t even remember by tomorrow.

But instead, she smiled and replied sweetly, “Of course I’m ok, now what were you saying?”

⊙⊙⊙⊙

“Moshi moshi. It’s me, Gakuganji-sama.”

“Y/N, how goes the search? Surely, you’re aware of your responsibilities and are ready to move on,” the old man gruffly replied.

It was the opening she was waiting for. “I am, and that’s the reason I called today. My curse is no more.”

Y/N didn’t hear any response for a couple of minutes, almost as if he was struck dumb. “Is that why you sent back Kyoko?” he asked after his momentary shock.

“Hai. Please reward her handsomely. She took the utmost care of me.”

“Never mind that. Who is the father?”

Y/N took a deep breath, knowing he wasn’t going to like the answer. “Gojo Satoru.”

“Nani?” he yelled. “How did that annoyance get close to you in the first place? I hope you’re ready to shoulder the burden of your decision by choosing that man, Y/N.”

“Of course, I expect nothing less,” she replied.

The old man cleared his throat. “With this, my duty has been fulfilled, and you are no longer our responsibility.”

“I know, and I thank you for the care you have been given over these years.” Though the old man couldn’t tell, Y/N did a deep bow, her body moving through the custom unconsciously.

Just as she was about to say more, Gakuganji-sama abruptly hung up. Y/N stared at her cell phone, perplexed, and checked the screen several times to make sure he indeed just hung up on her.

She turned stunned to look at the unusually jovial Gojo, who seemed more than content at the way things turned out.

“Just admit it, you enjoyed that way too much.”

He snorted and whistled innocently. “What can I say? It’s the little things in life.”

Placing a careful hand on her developing bump, Y/N rose from her chair to grab some water. Talking to the principal of Kyoto Jujutsu high always made her sensitive nerves go haywire.

Gojo’s eyes behind his darkened lens followed her curiously. “So, you want to tell me what you’ve been hiding from me finally?”

She sharply inhaled and forced herself to gulp the water down her throat lest she choked on it. She knew that he was curious about the elders’ relationship with her family’s curse. Why they seemed so keen on protecting and providing for her.

“It’s a long story.”

“And I’ve got time now that baa-chan is not following you everywhere.”

She sighed and looked pleadingly at Gojo, who instead beckoned her to continue.

“Well, it goes back to my ancestor. She was born a few years after Sukuna was sealed. She was a phenomenal sorcerer and powerful to boot. But with such fame comes enemies. She died young, and it wasn’t a pleasant death. She suffered, and in her dying breaths, she gave birth to a baby girl. But her suffering turned into a curse, and instead of becoming a curse herself, she passed it onto her daughter. And since then, every girl in my family has passed down the curse from mother to daughter.”

Y/N continued, “My mother, she only had me to get rid of the curse. After she gave birth to me, she abandoned me and then went to live a normal life.”

She remembered being in an orphanage for several years until some men in suits came for her. Then she was passed from family to family in debt to the elders who safeguarded her until she became a first-grade sorcerer. Y/N dutifully completed her missions for many years, knowing that her lifespan was even shorter than an average sorcerer. Then finally, her curse sidelined her with sickness. Her existence was lonely with very few people to call her own, Y/N didn’t want anyone else to suffer like she did.

“Then what does it mean for us-” Y/N jolted out of her reverie when she felt Gojo’s hand caress her stomach. “When we’re having a boy?”

A genuine smile blossomed on her face. “It means that my curse is broken.”

“Huh? How does that work?” Gojo wondered as he tilts his head to the side.

“The curse is passed down from mother to daughter, but when a boy is born, the curse is broken. And the curse breaker is always immeasurably powerful. That’s why the elders have taken care of my bloodline for generations. For that slim chance when a boy is born, and the curse is broken. The elders, in exchange, get an asset.”

He immediately frowned and placed a reassuring hand on Y/N. “I won’t let it happen to him.”

She squeezed his hand in return. “I know, and that’s why Gakuganji-sama is furious because they’ve lost their chance to influence the next generation even without knowing it’s a boy. Because they know if you’re the father no one will get close to him.”

With a cheeky smile, he bent down to lightly kiss her lips. "I love how much faith you have in me.”

She licked her lips, savoring the taste of the man in front of her. “What kind of wife would I be if I didn’t trust my own husband?”

“Good point. But how can I get my wife upstairs and naked? She’s been ignoring me all day!”

She rolled her eyes and let Gojo take her by the hand.

⊙⊙⊙⊙

Gojo POV

“Go on, say Papa!” he urged the toddler in front of him.

The cherub baby furrowed his eyebrows with an intense look. It was almost comical how serious the tiny human seemed.

“Mama!” the toddler pointed at him and clapped. “Mama!”

Gojo gasped and looked towards Y/N with a betrayed look. “You’ve corrupted my son!”

“Of course, he’ll choose the person who gave birth to him, not the parent who runs away at the sight of his diaper,” she replied with a bored tone.

Gojo trudged sadly and handed over his son. “Here, since he likes you better.”

Y/N sighed, “You’re just saying that because he’s hungry.”

“That too! As expected from my wife, she’s so smart.”

She ignored him as Gojo blew kisses to her and made heart signs with his hands. Y/N smiled gently at her two-year-old and tried to feed him mashed peas.

“So, Sukuna’s vessel, you are going to try to save him, aren’t you?” she asked amid wrestling with her son.

“Maybe. Who knows?” Gojo shrugged as he checked his phone’s notifications. “Ah, it looks like Nanami is waiting for me. Bye wifey, don’t miss me too much. I’ll be back. Bye son who loves his mother more than his own father.”

He leisurely took his leave while his own family ignored him. Both mother and son were stuck in their world. They were lucky he loved them so much because the bond between the two was starting to make him a bit jealous.

Gojo stepped out to see his friend waiting for him. “Nanami~ How come you never come inside?”

The solemn man said, “It’s rude to drop in uninvited.”

Gojo just shrugged off his friend’s seriousness. Ever since he had informed his colleagues of his impromptu marriage and the birth of his child, it was like they didn’t know what to make of his sudden family. But then again, he could hardly blame them when he hadn’t planned for this either. Not in a long shot.

When he first came upon Y/N standing solemnly and smoking, she looked so lost. She was so worn and corpse-like despite being very much alive. It wasn’t her physical appearance that made her seemed dead, but rather the look in her eyes. As if she already gave up before even trying. There was something about it that compelled him to talk to her. From there, Gojo teased and rankled until he forced a response out of her. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted to make her feel alive. And she felt so warm underneath his body.

It was then he realized that he wasn’t about to let her go. So, he broke his promise to her. She needed a child to live, so he gave her one.

Gojo remembered sneaking into her supply of birth control some placebos. Or after their many sessions, he took her while she was half asleep without protection. She was none the wiser about what happened the next day. No doubt if Y/N ever found out, she would leave him. But it was better. For her to be alive to hate him than to be dead and never feel again.

He chuckled ruefully. “I am a bastard.”

“We all know that. Are you just figuring it out?” Nanami bluntly questioned.

Gojo reached over to poke his friend’s cheek. “Takes one to know one. Right, Na-na-mi?”

Nanami smacked Gojo’s hand away. “Tell me what you need from me. I would like to get off on time today.”

“Take care of Yuuji for me. He needs training, but I can’t be here to guide him.”

“What about your family then?”

Gojo smirked slowly as he knows something Nanami doesn’t. “Don’t worry about that Y/N is stronger than you think.” And his kid, a curse breaker belonging to Y/N’s family and Gojo’s legacy. No wonder the old coot was furious.

Yeah, he was always a bastard, but he saved what he cared about, at least this time.

⊙⊙⊙⊙

Disclaimer: For any younger girls that might be reading this: Do NOT take this piece of fiction for reality. If any partner does what Gojo did, it is your right to immediately break up with your partner. This is gaslighting and manipulation which I included for pure entertainment purposes. Again DO NOT take this to heart.

[kayecorral]

Freight Car

Chapter One of the Brown Book Series

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mentions of violence, PTSD (!), swearing

Word Count: 3.4k

Series Summary: Nine years ago, The Winter Soldier murdered your friend in front of you. Nine years later, Bucky Barnes shows up at your door with the hope of making amends.

⭑⭑⭑

⭑⭑

⭑

You wake up on the floor again.

In the crossfade between dreaming to waking, the hardwood is concrete against your cheek. The sweat in your hair is the slick of blood. You fade in and out, and awareness comes back slowly. A siren descends, moving closer and closer, then recedes into the quiet. You don’t know if you imagined it.

You do know that your alarm isn’t blaring. Your ringtone isn’t sounding. The birds chattering and chirping at your window are real. The steady knocking of your heart against your ribs is real. Maybe that’s enough.

You open your eyes. A sliver of light from the parted curtains cuts across the floor. Above it, dust dances in the still air. All is calm. If you had woken up in your bed, this would be a good morning.  

But you didn’t wake up in your bed. So, you peel yourself off the floor and half-walk, half-limp to the bathroom. As you cross the threshold and flick on the light, a face flashes before you. Before your mind can work to discern its features, you slam the door shut and flip the switch. You cry in the dark.

⭑⭑⭑

You call into work again.

You’re tempted to stay where you are—curled in on yourself under the covers—but Dr. Kaplan’s gentle voice prods from inside your skull.  “Trauma changes over time,” it says. “You have to face it as it comes. You’ll feel worse if you put off dealing with it.”

She picks up on the second ring. Judging by the sound of clinking silverware, she’s on her lunch break. You promise to keep this impromptu session short.

“I haven’t had a nightmare like that in a long time. That’s why it hit me so hard, I think.” You begin. Your eyes fill with tears. You don’t know why. The nightmare is so distant now — just bits of feeling. Your brain is scrubbing away the memory like a mounted defense.

You’re quiet for what feels like minutes, and Dr. Kaplan just waits. She doesn’t pose a question or make a suggestion: in other words, she doesn’t offer an out. She never does. At first, her silence and seemingly unending patience unnerved you. You would later understand the value of having the space to organize your thoughts before speaking them.  

“I thought I was doing better,” you eventually say. “But now, it’s like I’m back where I started.”

“You are not back where you started,” she says. “We haven’t talked about your night terrors in months when we used to talk about them every session. That’s incredible progress. You should be proud of how far you’ve come.”

You hold the phone away so she can’t hear the tears in your voice. “But what does it mean? ”

“Well,” she pauses. “Have you been thinking about Jean lately?”

“Kind of,” you start to say, then remember Dr. Kaplan’s rule about specifics. “I’ve probably thought about her… twice in the past week. Marie, she, uh, she sent me a Facebook request.”

“Did you accept it?” She asks, with just a hint of amusement.

“I haven’t. I don’t know if I should.”

“Why not?” Dr. Kaplan asks. She knows the answer, of course. You haven’t spoken to Marie since the funeral nearly a decade ago. You know she resents you. You saw it in the tightness of her smiles and the way her eyes turned to stone as you stood before Jean’s casket. You’re alive and her sister isn’t. You understand that. What you don’t understand is why she would reach out to you after so many years.

“I’m afraid of what she’ll say,” you admit.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Dr. Kaplan says. You shift on the couch. “She knows that. Maybe she’s been thinking about Jean, too.”

“Yeah,” you respond simply. Your head is light from dehydration, and you should probably take a nap at some point.

“I’d recommend you take easy today…”

“But?”

“But next week, I’d like to hear about your Facebook convo.”

You smile. The tears have dried on your face.

⭑⭑⭑

Snippets of dialogue filter through your thoughts. A woman is talking about a missing child, and a detective is asking the “who, what, where”s. It’s an episode you’ve already seen, but it makes for good background noise: the dramatic stings, the fast-talking, the screech of tires as the driver peels off. You don’t know why you gravitate towards crime shows. It might be a bit morbid, but until now, you’ve never thought to mention it to Dr. Kaplan.

You’re almost done with the cake batter. It’s looking a little watery, though. You really should have followed the recipe instead of improvising.

You reach for the flour bag on the counter, and just as you raise it to the mixing bowl, someone knocks at your door. You jolt and the bag slips from your hands. You narrowly dodge as it plummets to the ground. It lands with a  thump and now, your feet and pants and floor are covered in a film of white powder.

“Fuck,” you breathe.

There’s another knock, a bit louder this time.

“Give me — give me just a minute!” You call out, voice frayed.

You step over your mess and towards the door. You notice how slick your hand is on the doorknob, so you wipe your hands on your pants and try again. You forget your ritual of checking and re-checking the peephole. You unlock the door, already anxious at the idea of keeping anyone waiting.

When you finally swing the door open, a tall, dark-haired white guy is staring at the carpeted hallway floor. He’s not looking at you, but you feel exposed in your flimsy tank top and flour-splattered pajama pants.

Meanwhile, his look is carefully nondescript: a leather jacket, a dark shirt, and jeans. His hands are stuffed into his pockets and his shoulders are slightly hunched. He looks like someone who doesn’t  want to be seen, but here he is, standing at your door.

Maybe he’s just a neighbor on a reluctant mission to convince you to turn your volume down. Maybe he’s a dealer at the wrong address. Maybe he —

Your stomach drops. The shadows had been obscuring his face, but now that he’s tilting his chin up to look at you… the broadness of his forehead, the color of his hair, his height, all these things pull together. They pull tighter and tighter around your heart, and you realize that you’ve seen this man before. You’ve seen him a thousand times.

Your hand flies up to your neck. Fear hits like a punch to your gut. He looks normal — so normal that you could convince yourself that it’s not him. It’s not him.

But now, his eyes — a startling shade of blue— meet yours. Cold washes over you as every sensation in your body amplifies. You feel small and weak. Your vision starts trembling at the edges. You can’t move — not even to release your breath.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he says. His voice sounds so different from the one in your memories. It’s not as coarse and low, it’s gentler and higher-pitched. “I just wanna talk.”  

“Talk.” The word escapes you, but you hadn’t meant to speak. Hearing your own voice makes this real.

He clears his throat. “My name is James Barnes, and I’m no longer The Winter Soldier.”

The Winter Soldier. You suppose it doesn’t matter now what that means. If these are your last moments, you’re not going to spend them deciphering code. Instead, you think of your life and all the things you’ve done and all that you haven’t done. In the span of moments, you try to make peace with your death.

“If you’re going to kill me...” you can’t keep your voice from shaking, “do it.”

His eyes widen. “I’m not here to kill you. I’m — ”

“Hydra wants to know what I know. Is that it?” Your mind reels with the new theory.

His eyebrows tick up. “Hydra doesn’t exist anymore,” he says with a measured tone. “Not really.”

You don’t know how to respond to that divulgence. You don’t even know if you can trust it.

“I’m here because you,” he adds your name — your real name, “are part of my efforts to make amends.”

Your thoughts catch on how he knows your name. It’s a small thing, really. He knows where you live, after all. 

“I know you’re confused, and I know you have questions.” He reaches up to scratch his neck. “And if you’re not, ah...” he glances from your face to your body, as if he were just now noticing your state of dress, “comfortable talking here, we can talk somewhere public. I guess what I’m asking is: can I buy you lunch or, uh, dinner? ”

You consider, seriously, that this man may be clinically insane. You have no other rational explanation for his showing up at your door on a Thursday afternoon, let alone his proposition. But you allow yourself to imagine it: you and him, sitting across a table with Jean’s ghost between and behind you. Your stomach turns at the thought.

“You murdered my friend,” you say slowly, “right in front of me.”

He nods. A pained look crosses his face, and that expression spurs your anger. It hadn’t occurred to you earlier that you should call the police. This man is a murderer, and he’s walking free. 

“You shouldn’t even be here — you should be in a prison somewhere!” You choke out as your throat tightens with impending tears.

“I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t want to kill her!” He says forcefully. “I didn’t want to kill anyone. I — ”

“But you did kill her!” You can’t hold them back anymore, and now, you’re crying in front of the man who killed Jean. Humiliation heats your cheeks.

“You did kill her,” you repeat quietly. You turn your watery gaze away.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” He says.

In your peripheral, you watch him step closer. When you flinch, he bobs back.

You should step back, shut the door, and call the police. Not that a slab of wood could stop him if he wanted to get to you. You’ve seen his silver arm. You’ve felt the grip of its fingers at the base of your neck. But, maybe you could manage a dial ‘9-1-1’ before —

“Look, I’m not asking for your forgiveness,” he interrupts your line of thought and, against your will, you look at him again, “I know I don’t deserve it, but I do want to offer you answers. Maybe it can…” He waves his hand as he searches for what he thinks are the right words. “Maybe it can give you some closure. And then, you’ll never see me again.”

You consider the furrow of his eyebrows. Over the years, you’ve tried reconstructing his face from its missing half. Now that you have the full picture, it makes perfect sense: the upper edges of the mask aligned with the cut of his cheekbones, the thin bridge really did conform to his nose, and the wideness of his jaw was merely accentuated. But his features are such a striking contrast to the severity of that mask and that metal arm. He looks so much leaner than you remember. He looks like a man, not a machine.

“Stay here,” you say. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

He nods and his brow softens. You shut the door and press your forehead against it.

After a few beats, you rest your hand on the base of your neck and suck in a few deep breaths. It’s a calming technique Dr. Kaplan taught you. But without meaning to, you flex your fingers. Just as your heart was beginning to slow, you’re pulled into the memory of him raising you by the throat. You gasp for air.

That man is behind this door. That man is behind this door.

You race around the couch to snatch your phone off the coffee table. You unlock it with shaking hands and now, your thumb hovers over the number pad.

“Fuck,” you whisper as you press ‘9’.

It’s true. You do want answers. You want to know why he killed her. You want to know about Hydra and his role in it. You want to know why he left you alive.

So you’ll get your answers,  then call the cops.

You pull on some real pants and cover up with a sweatshirt. But at the door, you hesitate to step out again. If you’ve imagined that whole encounter, if it was some vivid manifestation of your survivor’s guilt, then you wouldn’t have to go.

You press your ear against the door, and, as if your doubts had broadcasted through the wood, he coughs. You sigh and grab the doorknob. Your hand isn’t sweaty this time.

At the sound of the hinges creaking, his gaze snaps to you. You meet his eyes without meaning to. There’s no recognizable emotion in them. The creases in his forehead and the furrow in his brow are gone. Now, his face gives nothing away.

“There’s a place about two blocks from here,” you say simply.

He nods and looks to you as if for direction. If he were anyone else, you would start heading for the elevator without further ado, but the thought of Jean’s killer trailing behind you makes your stomach flip.

“I’d prefer you walk ahead,” you utter. His eyebrows raise slightly, but he gives no other visible reaction.

“Alright,” he says.

He moves down the hallway, and you follow. Your eyes stay trained on his back. Aside from your occasional direction, it’s a silent walk.

⭑⭑⭑

Sully’s is a dive, but it’s always busy, and this evening is no exception. The people who frequent this place are the kind of people who get loud after a few drinks and don’t give two shits about you unless you’re bleeding out on the floor. That’s perfect. God forbid anyone overhears your questions about murder and secret organizations.

“You want anything?” He asks after you choose a corner booth and tuck in. His casual tone bothers you, but he keeps his distance, at the very least.

“No,” you deadpan.

He nods and starts for the bar. A few people graze him as he passes, and it’s so crowded that you’ve already lost sight of him.

You place your phone face-up on the sticky, varnished wood table. Absentmindedly, you nudge the pedal base with your foot. You try to hone in on any particular voice, but all you hear is a buzz of conversation. It’s a comfort. It means that you’re not alone and he can’t hurt you here.

“I know you didn’t ask for anything, but…” Fuck. Your knee knocks on the bottom of the table. His voice is so sudden at your side.

He places a water glass in front of you, and you stop yourself before you can say “thanks”. He drops into the chair in front of you, a beer bottle tucked between his gloved palms. Gloves. He’s wearing gloves. You hadn’t noticed until now.

There’s an awkward pause. He watches you intently. Your stomach is churning, but you steadily meet his gaze. You have so many questions. Some of the things he’s said don’t make sense. One thing, in particular, though, is nagging at you.

“Back there, you said you didn’t have a choice,” you say dubiously, “what did you mean?”

He takes a drag of beer and sets the bottle down carefully before he speaks. “They brainwashed me.” He replies bluntly. “Hydra, I mean.”

Brainwashing? It’s not entirely outside the realm of possibility. Aliens exist, as do superheroes and Norse gods and Mad Titans. What was once science-fiction is now very real and devastating.

He gives you a few beats to process, then continues. “For seventy years, I operated as The Winter Soldier.”

“Wait. Seventy years?”

“I just turned 106 in March,” he says with a sardonic smile.

“How is that possible?”

“I was on ice.” He sighs. “They only took me out when they needed me.”

“And Hydra… what happened to them?”

His jaw tightens. It’s the most reaction you’ve gotten so far. “They used to have this saying: cut off one head, two more take its place… Maybe they’ll come back, but right now, they’re gone.”

“So they aren’t after me,” you say softly, more to yourself than him.

“If Hydra wanted you out of the way, they wouldn’t’ve sent me.” He grimaces, even as his voice mocks a shrug.

You get it now: you’re not a threat, and you never were.

“But I was a loose end, wasn’t I? Why didn’t you kill me?”

He shakes his head and says, “I don’t know.”

He doesn’t elaborate further. Instead, he finishes off his bottle and shifts his gaze to the table.

After a minute or two, you consider moving on, but something about his expression, both vacant and pensive, implores you to wait. In the interim, you glance from the people knocking shoulders at the bar to the couple in front of you.

“It was that look on your face,” he says, and you find his gaze is fixed on you again. “It was rage. And grief. And that-that grief almost overtook everything else, but I saw it.” He leans towards you, his eyebrows knitting close. “That part of you that… that part of you that wanted me to kill you, too.”

He glances at his hand on the table and releases a shaky breath. “I understood that,” he says. “I know what it’s like.”

Like a clenched fist releasing, the tightness in your chest eases. You understand something else, now, too. This is meant to be an exchange. He wants answers as much as you do, no matter how much pain they carry.

“Do you wanna know what I saw? On your face?” You ask after a few beats. He hesitantly nods. “Nothing. There was nothing,” you say. “You didn’t even look human.  It was like you were an animal. And you were looking at me like I was prey.”

You look away. The intensity of his eyes threatens to pull you into that memory. “I’ve never been more terrified in my entire life.”

“I’m so sorry,” you hear him say.

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” you say quietly, chancing a glance up.

His face twists into something like shame. If he were a different person, you might try to comfort him. But he’s not a different person. He’s a stranger wearing the face that’s haunted you for nine years.

“So why now?”

“Well, I was…” He mimics a snap with his right hand. “And after that, I… started going to therapy.”

He pulls a small, brown book from his jacket pocket. “My, uh, shrink told me to make a list of people I’ve wronged,” he says as he flips it open to a page in the middle and places it in front of you. “You’re one of the last.”

You find your name third-to-bottom. The ones above are crossed through. He glances from your face to your fingers as they trace his careful scrawl.

“You don’t let people look at this, do you?” You ask.

He half-smiles and shakes his head.

“So why are you letting me?”

“I, uh,” he flexes his hand. “I don’t know. I just… thought I owed it to you.”

You briefly consider asking about the other names, but he doesn’t owe you those. He owes you answers about the life he can’t return. Just as another question bubbles up your throat, a ringtone sounds. You glance at your phone’s black screen, then back to his furrowed brow. He reaches into his back pocket to fish out a flip phone. A  flip phone.  You haven’t seen one in years.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath. He looks up from the screen.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” he says as he squeezes out of the booth. He disappears as quickly as before.

⭑⭑⭑

You finally take a sip of water. The sweat of the glass bleeds onto your fingertips, so you wipe your hand off on your pant leg before touching your phone. 6:15, it says, which means you've been sitting on this hard, plastic seat for over forty minutes. He's been gone for about ten of them.

Before you can seriously consider just leaving, his form comes into view.

"I've gotta go, but..." He says as he pulls the brown book out of his pocket again. When he opens it, he tears a small piece from the page corner, then scribbles something with a pen.

He places the piece of paper next to the perspiration ring on the table. Stealing one last glance at you, he turns and leaves for the third and final time.

On it is a phone number and a name:

Bucky

[jenomark]

PART 1: LUCAS, THE BOYFRIEND

➔Pairing: Lucas x Reader (Female) | Ten x Reader (Female) ➔Other Members/ Characters: -.- ➔Genre: Smut (+ angst, + fluff, + plot) ➔Warnings: vaginal penetration, passionless sex, exchanging money for sex, very light bdsm and mentions of pegging ➔Word count: 5,107

➔Summary: You don’t know what you do. You don’t even know who you are. Some would call you a whore. Some would refer to you as a sex worker. All of your clients would say you’re damn good at your job.

MASTERLIST

  It hadn’t rained in months. It felt strange to hear it coming down hard enough to drown out Lucas’ snoring. You laid in bed and listened a little while, wishing that it would lull you back to sleep somehow. But your eyes were wide open and they kept searching for the clock Lucas kept on his bedside table. 2:45 a.m. 3:14 a.m. 4:20 a.m. Time kept moving as you stayed still, eyes occasionally glancing up at the water marks on his ceiling, and hoping the rain wouldn’t drip through.

 “Lucas.” you whispered. 

  When he didn’t stir, you sat up in his bed and reached for your phone. He slept soundly on the nights when you had sex, which suited you just fine. You didn’t want him turning over in the night and asking you why you weren’t sleeping. 

  You unlocked your phone, your password far more complicated than it needed to be. You and Lucas once got into an argument when he asked you what you were hiding from him. You felt too exposed, for someone with something to hide. You felt like you no longer belonged to yourself, and he felt hurt that you didn’t want to share what secrets you kept.

  Unread text messages: 56   Unread emails: 134

  Your phone wallpaper was a photo of Lucas during Christmas of last year. He was smiling and holding up a gift you had bought him: an expensive watch nestled in black satin. You remembered the moment well. He opened the box and nearly dropped it to the floor when he realized it was the same model of the one he’d been lusting after for years. Every little boys dream was to own an expensive watch just like their father, and Lucas was no different.

“We can’t afford this.” Lucas had said.

  You, not we. You had wanted to say it, but his family was around the Christmas tree and all eyes were on you. It was true that Lucas could not afford the watch with his low-end salary, but you could. Of course, you had to play the part of the lowly office worker with a salary fit for someone shoved into a shoebox apartment.

“Don’t worry about it,” you had said to soothe him. “You’re worth every penny.”

  And Lucas was. You were with him because he was the first man in a while to make you feel alive. He used to be more daring before he got older, used to make you laugh so hard you’d nearly piss your pants. Like all things, the older things get, the harder it is to keep them in good condition. Your relationship with Lucas never failed on the surface, not really, but there were too many things brewing underneath. You were a lot like the watermarked ceiling: barely holding it together.

  You checked to make sure Lucas was sleeping before opening your inbox full to the brim with emails from men. The descriptions were all the same: I’m tall, handsome, and worth your time. The names all basic and no doubt aliases, were lined in a row for as far as you could scroll down. Every once in a while, you would entertain one of them and look at their email, expanding it so you could see their plea. Pick me, I’m a winner. 

  Tonight's lucky winner was a twenty-three year old artist. The picture attached was of a man smiling, his whole face lighting up at whomever was behind the camera. He looked barely legal, and definitely too cute for what he wrote in his description

WinWin, 23. I want to fuck you raw and parade you around town to all of my friends.

Not today, kiddo. 

  You closed the email and set your phone back in your lap. You wondered how much longer you could keep it up.

     You were dreaming of him, which you did often. He was sitting at his kitchen table, his tie undone and resting around his neck, and a newspaper spread out in front of him. You waltzed into the kitchen in a bouncy dress, announcing your presence with a slight clearing of your throat. The picture felt very old school, static-y lines and scalloped edges. Like a dream of the past, you were bordering in housewife territory, red lipstick turning grey in the black and white film. He looked up immediately to smile at you over his shoulder. The camera panned to reveal a table with food set on it, and two children sitting in chairs.

“Is it almost ready?” he asked

  All you wanted to do was go kiss your dream husband and wrap your arms around him. You wanted those kids to pull faces, like they were really disgusted their parents were still in love after all the years. But you couldn’t move. You looked down and your little kitten heels were stuck in quicksand that was dragging you under too fast. He couldn’t save you. He didn’t even care, just went back to his newspaper. It was all white noise.

  You woke with a jolt, shooting up so fast that Lucas came out of the bathroom. A toothbrush was hanging out of his mouth, and he wasn’t wearing clothes. 

“Bad dream?” he asked, toothpaste spitting in all directions. 

  You looked at his body, just trying to collect your thoughts. Lucas assumed you were checking him out. He started flexing his muscles to make you laugh, showing you all the parts of him he’d been working out lately. You smiled for his benefit and held your hand to your chest.

“Nightmares,” you said. Lucas went into the bathroom to rinse his mouth. When he came back out, he was heading towards his wardrobe.  “Are you leaving for work so soon?”

“Gym.”

“Again?” you asked. “You went last night. Isn’t it true that if you go to the gym too much you’ll leave a very disgruntled and lonely girlfriend behind?”

 When Lucas wasn’t working out, he was at work. During the day, he was the terribly intimidating Veterinarian assistant, his pink scrubs and puppy pin making all the Great Dane’s growl in his direction. From another direction, all the women who worked there practically swooned when he walked his muscled body through the door.  

You got out of bed and opened the blinds. “The rain stopped.” 

  The view was terrible, but he got what he paid for. You watched the little old lady from across the other apartment building hang her clothes on a line. When you turned back to talk to Lucas, he was silently masturbating.

 “Oh shit,” he breathed.

  You closed the blinds quickly before he practically tackled you, lifted you into the air and swung you around. 

You screamed like you were being murdered. “Lucas! Put me down.”

  He lifted up your pajama shorts and smacked your ass. His laugh was loud and boisterous, and you couldn’t help but laugh with him. He dropped you on the bed. His big cock was swinging between his legs before he took it back in his hands and continued stroking himself. You weren’t in the mood for sex, but the sight of him standing over you made it hard to resist. 

“I have to be at work.” you said, your eyes on his cock.

“That doesn’t sound very convincing.” he laughed.

  He took your ankle and pulled you to the edge of the bed, sliding you across the sheets like hot butter in a pan. You were taking off your shorts and panties while still denying him access.

“I do!” you said. “And I need you to drop me off at my apartment so I can get my things.”

 You didn’t need to tear your tank top off. Lucas pulled the spaghetti straps off on either side to reveal your breasts. His big paws were on you as he moved closer. Without wearing a condom, he pushed himself inside of you, both hands holding either breast while he thrusted.

 There was no talking as you fucked. Lucas took your leg and placed it on his shoulder. He kissed your calf softly. There were always tender moments like that, where it felt like it was only him and you that existed in the world. His eyes were big and brown and full of love whenever he looked at you.  You hoped that when he looked into your eyes, he didn’t just see his own reflection peering back at him.

  You felt something swell inside of you with a big wave, before quelling. Lately, you couldn’t seem to orgasm with him. There was a mental disconnect somewhere between him and you, but that didn’t stop you from pretending. You moaned and told him you were coming, even though you and him could feel yourself drying up.

  Lucas lifted your ass up and held your body as he moved, his pace too fast for you to enjoy. You just stopped moaning and stared at him, your mind completely blank. Whenever he came, the veins in his neck popped out. You were expecting him to come inside of you, but when he pulled out and came on your stomach, you let him. You held him as he collapsed on top of you, his big body making it harder for you to breathe.

  Dressed in his gym clothes, Lucas sat in the driver's seat. The drive over to your apartment was silent, mostly because Lucas still hated that you hadn’t moved in with him yet. The other reason was the awkwardness that existed after you both had sex. You laid on the bed for far too long with his semen pooling in your belly button. Not bothering to hand you a towel to clean up, he very quietly got dressed. 

  Lucas had never came on you before. He had always been the romantic look-me-in-the-eyes-as-I-fill-you-up type of guy. It’s not that you didn’t like it, just that it was so out of character you were wondering if something was wrong.

“Do you want me to come inside?” he asked.

  You snapped out of your thoughts, leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I think I can handle it on my own.”

  You got out of the car and walked up your steps without looking back at him. You went inside and closed the door behind you, leaning against the wood to regain your nerve.

  You didn’t like Lucas being anywhere near your apartment. He was insecure that yours looked a little better than his. Whenever he was there, he had a million questions about the things you owned. Why they were so expensive. Why it seemed like you had never lived there. You assured him it was because you spent the majority of time at his apartment, but there was always a bitter taste left in both of your mouths any time it was brought up. The other reason was that you weren’t sure what he would find if he looked hard enough.

 You ran up the stairs and unlocked your second door. You could never be too careful. Inside, you were met with a musty smell. You didn’t bother cleaning as you went, just tore through the place gathering what you needed. You stopped briefly to look at yourself in the mirror, at the way your pantsuit hugged your body. Business professional is what the saleswoman had said. It’s what all the men want. 

What do you know about what men want? You wanted to ask her.

  You moved on, click-clacking your way to your bedroom. Your bed was unmade, and there was trash strewn everywhere. You opened the door to your walk-in closet, grabbed a duffel bag and started shoving lingerie into it. You picked up a pair of handcuffs and threw them aside. Rifling through your things didn’t help you find what you were looking for. You cursed out loud and sat down in your closet, leaning your head against the wall. 

“Must be in the other apartment.” you whispered, trying to recall where it was.

 By the time you made it back to the car with Lucas, he had fallen asleep. You tapped the window and apologized for taking so long.

  Lucas pulled up in front of your office building. He hadn’t asked why you brought a duffel bag, because after his nap, his attitude was so damn chipper that he couldn’t stop smiling. He leaned over the console to kiss you.

“You know what?” he said. “I’ll walk you inside.”

There was a panic in your chest. “No, baby, it’s okay.”

  He didn’t hear you. He was halfway out of the car. Lucas opened your door and held out his hand for the duffel bag. Reluctantly, you placed it in his hand and got out of the car.

“So, what time do you work until?” you asked, your eyes on the bag he was holding.

“Late day,” he said, taking your hand with his other. “I won’t be home until after dinner. Save me some?”

“Of course.”

  Normally, Lucas would lead you, but it was your place of work, so you did the leading. You opened the door and walked inside, your heels tapping against the marble. The woman at the front desk and the security guard both nodded at you at the same time before looking back to what they were doing. You guided Lucas to the elevator.

“Are you done the same time as always?” he asked. “I can send someone to pick you up.”

“No, that’s okay.” 

  You stepped into the elevator. You weren’t the only people in there. Luckily the office building was so big that you didn’t need to know everyone. He held your hand the entire ride, giving it a little squeeze. And every time he did, you were forced to look at him and smile.

“This is me.” you said, stepping out. 

  A glass wall separated the hallway from your offices, gold lettering etched on all of the doors. Lucas had never made it this far up, so his eyes were taking in everything like a greedy child.

“This looks expensive,” he said. “No wonder they pay you so well. Maybe I should quit and get a job here.”

  You laughed. It was obligatory. You leaned on your tip-toes and kissed Lucas at the same time you ripped the duffel bag from his hands.

“Call you during break?” you asked.

Lucas smiled. “Yeah,I’d like that. I love you. Have a good day.”

 You could tell he didn’t want to leave. He was too curious about what was behind the glass wall. He could see people milling about, stacks of papers in their hands. There were cubicles and privacy offices, a break room that was too high-tech for a plain office building. 

“I love you, too,” you said. “If you just go down to the ground floor I’m sure someone can help you find your way out.”

  You waited until the elevator doors closed to walk through the glass ones, crossing the threshold like you were walking into a new world. As soon as your heels stepped down into the grey carpet, you walked a little looser, your hips swinging. You did feel professional. And as eyes were on you in every corner of the room, you were the one person who knew exactly what men wanted.

  The office. You didn’t belong. Everyone could smell it on you, that new car smell that always seemed to drive right onto their floor and disrupt everything. For many of them, you were something they couldn’t afford. Oh, how they’d love to test drive you, though. As soon as they got a tasty look at you, all cream interior and buttered seats, all eyes seemed to avoid meeting yours. You sashayed across the floor in peace, your eyes scanning cubicles and the people coming and going.

“Hey.” a familiar voice called.

  You ducked down beside a cubicle. A woman sat in a chair, her long legs bare and freshly waxed. She crossed them and swiveled her chair to face you. You picked up a paper from the floor and shoved it in your pockets. 

“You’re early.” she said.

“Needed time to change.” you shrugged.

  You put your hand on her shoulder to lift yourself up and kept walking. No one stopped to talk to you, and there was something lonely in that feeling you couldn’t put your finger on. You stopped before a door, one of the only non-glass ones in the whole place. Your manicured fingers against the shiny door knob made you pause. You caught your reflection for the second time that day, the distorted figure grimacing back at you.

  You would never open the paper so brazenly in front of other people, but it was the calm breath you needed before you opened the door. It was what would launch you, truly, from this office into the next part of your journey. You opened the paper and stared at each letter burning a hole in your retinas. 

             Sweetie, I miss you. Today’s advice is to never look behind you.

  You tucked the paper in your bra. Every inch of you wanted to look behind you, but instead, you opened the door to the dark closet and changed your clothes.

  You stepped out of the closet dressed in clothes one would find in the mens department. Sweatpants that could be worn playing basketball, a grey sports t-shirt with faded writing, and a black windbreaker. Your sneakers were white with little worn marks on the side, and your hair was thrown underneath a ball cap. If anyone thought you were crazy for entering as yourself and exiting as someone socially male passing, they didn’t bat an eye. 

  Passing by the cubicle, the woman whistled. “If I didn’t know you, I would have you bend me over this desk right here.”

You smirked. “Only if you pay me enough.”

  You threw the duffle over your shoulder and kept walking, all of the confidence in the world in the way you moved. People still looked at you, but it was in a new, illuminated light. You walked through the glass and made it to the elevator. 

“Excuse me.” you said, weaving your way past a man.

“No problem.” he said, eyeing you up as he stepped out. He stared at you until the doors closed.

  In the lobby, you waved hello to the woman at the desk and the security guard. Both were unbothered by your new attire. You swung open the front door and stepped into the sunlight where a black, unmarked car was waiting for you.

“Am I too early?” you asked the driver.

“Right on time, miss.”

 He opened the car door and you slid in, the leather feeling cool, even through your sweatpants. In a fancy car like that, you felt underdressed, but it was all in the job description. He shut the door and went around to the drivers side, any chatty banter he may have started falling short of his lips.

You took out your cell phone and unlocked it.

  Unread text messages: 72   Unread emails: 212

You looked at the very last message from Lucas sent right after he left:

             I love you more and more every day. See you when I get home.

  Trees. That was all you saw. Streets with trees lining them, parks with the healthiest limbs and most luscious green leaves. They stood proud and strong, only wavering with a slight wind. Occasionally, when you were lost in thought, they played against the glass of the car window, a kiss of a leaf here and there, as if to say, “Welcome, open your eyes.”

“We’re almost there,” the driver said. “He asked that I don’t escort you inside. I expect you know your way around.”

  You nodded, making eye contact with the driver in the rearview mirror. He was judging you, you could tell. He wasn’t new, by any means, but the lifestyle took some getting used to. When you first met the driver, you were scared of what he  thought of you, but now you didn’t spare a single thought for him at all.

 The car came to a stop in front of a three-story brick building, its red face powerwashed to pristine condition. There were flower boxes on every windowsill and forest green shutters. A wreath on the door felt welcoming, but only if you were someone who liked open invitations. In the neighborhood, that might have been plausible, but only you really knew what lay beyond the oak front door, its stained glass windows more expensive than Lucas’ monthly rent.

“Thank you.” you told the driver.

  You stepped out of the car, your sneakers crushing a twig. It was the only blemish on an otherwise clean street. You closed the door behind you and held your duffel bag in your hand. The driver waited a beat before driving off, his strict time schedule unable to be rearranged if you chickened out.

 But you would never chicken out. Before you was a place you had been to many times. Anyone who looked out of their window would recognize you, even if the flavor of you didn’t sit well under their tongue. As you ascended the stairs, no one bothered to push aside their curtain for a glimpse of the girl dressed in baggy clothes, every trace of her from this morning vanished completely.

 You walked right in.

  You were met with a smell that hit you instantly: cinnamon. Candles burned on a foyer table, the wick barely black. 

Just lit, you thought. You have to be around here somewhere.

  The home inside was cozy, deep blue accents and unexplainable modern art tucked into corners of the room. It was the home of someone with an eye for the unusual, but whose very facade made one feel more comfortable with themselves. You walked further inside, your fingers touching along the walls. When you were away, you missed the smells terribly.

“Where are you hiding?” you asked. “Little kitten.”

  You walked further inside, your shoes still perfectly on your feet. At his request, he wanted you to keep them on. You never asked why, but you expected that after you left, he got on his hands and knees and scrubbed his floor after your every footprint, in his bid to serve you. 

“Don’t you miss me?” you asked.

  There were so many doorways without doors. You weaved in and out of rooms, taking your sweet time to make sure he could hear you trampling through. You touched some things softly, and others, haphazardly. You didn’t wince as a part of a measuring cup family fell from its hook, clattering to the ground loud enough to make your teeth hurt.

“Tenny,” you said. “Come and play.”

  You wandered up the stairs, your manicured fingers tapping against the wooden railing. You let the duffel fall to the ground when you made it to the top, and rubbed your shoulders.

  If the downstairs was grandmother chic, the upstairs looked like the hallway of a sex club.The walls were deep sapphire and velvet, gold tassels dividing each door. You walked down the center, looking foolish and out of place. On your right, you went in through the first door to an empty bedroom. You looked around but could find nothing. 

“This is taking too long,” you said. “What if I just leave?”

  A sound tipped you off. Your head snapped in the direction you heard it coming from: the very last door on the left. You walked towards it, stopping before it. You rubbed the wood, massaging it in your palm. 

“My little kitten.” you cooed.

  You opened the door to find him in plain sight. His arms were above his head, his wrists strapped to a mechanism chained to the ceiling. He was naked and blindfolded, and there were headphones around his ears so he couldn’t hear anything. You stepped in but didn’t close the door behind you. You stood in front of him, watching as he mouthed the words to a song. When you pulled the headphones down his neck, he gave a little shake.

“You were right under my nose the whole time.” you said.

  You walked around him. His joints looked like they were straining too much. He could hardly keep himself up right. And yet, he began to smile as you made your way back to him.

“How long have you been waiting?” you asked.

“An hour.” he said, his voice hoarse.

  You took off his blindfold and was met with the most mischievous eyes. He looked you up and down, his cock twitching right as he got to the sneakers on his carpet. You had been in the room before, so all of the sex toys and contraptions lining the walls didn’t bother you. People liked to play, and in your line of work, you would do whatever they wanted for the right amount. 

 His name was Ten. He was your age, but there was something about him that felt older than your years. His eyes were that of an old soul, his body young and supple. You scraped your fingernails against his chest and watched him close his eyes and quiver.

“Should I leave you here for another?” you asked.

He shook his head. “I need you to hold me.”

  Ten was one of your favorites. It wasn’t so much about the sex but the companionship. Sure, there were things he did and wanted you to do to him that were a bit different, but your attachment to him was hard to explain. 

“Before I hold you,” you began. “I need to know I can’t disappoint you.”

He opened his eyes. “I don’t think you ever could.”

“You put too much faith in me.” you said. 

  You reached up to unhook him from the ceiling. He whimpered in pain as his arms fell. You massaged his shoulders and brought him against your bosom. Ten’s hair tickled your chin. You were scared to tell him that you forgot his blanket, that it was in your real apartment with the life you hid from Lucas. 

 You wrapped your arms around Ten and kissed the top of his head. You owed him honesty, so you opened your mouth and told him that you forgot the thing he wanted most from you. Tears welled in his eyes, and for a second, you thought about breaking the arrangement and asking if he wanted his money back, but Ten took your hand and started leading you out into the hallway.

“We can do the comfort blanket next week,” he said. “This week, we’ll do something else.”

  Briefly, he showed you the man he was when you weren’t there. He was straightened up and assertive, his eyes more disobedient. It was rare that you were privy to how he was when you weren’t there, but it was always refreshing that somewhere underneath it all, there was something you liked to think of as a friend.

  Ten brought you to a room with only a bed in the middle of it. An island of sadness is what you always thought of it. You remembered when you had found him there sprawled on his stomach, his puckered, wet asshole waiting for you to fuck it. You did as he asked, the money too good to turn him down.

  Ten waited for you to get on the bed by yourself. Before you did, you made sure no hair was peaking out of your ball cap before you stretched your body across the sheets. Ten climbed in and tucked himself into the side of your body. He moved down so that his cheek was pressed against your stomach.

“Tell me you love me,” he said. “And that you’ll never leave me.”

You let your fingers smooth his hair. “I love you, Kitten, and I’m never going to leave you.”

  You fell asleep on the car ride home, the sound of thunder waking you up just a stop away from Lucas’ apartment. You groaned because, for once, your sleep was dreamless. It was too good of a thing to wake up from.

“Drop me off at the corner,” you said. “I don’t want anyone to see me.”

  You had ditched the clothes at Ten’s place and changed back into your pantsuit, but you had hat head and felt like your body had been run over by a truck. You cuddled with Ten for six hours in the same position, your body aching more than his was when he was chained up. You cracked your neck and got ready to jump out of the car as soon as it stopped, just in case someone in the neighborhood was nosy enough to tell Lucas.

“Thank you.” you said for the second time that day.

“See you next week.”

“Yeah.” you sighed.

  You got out and walked the last block to his apartment. The duffel was in your hands, but it was empty. If Lucas asked, it was once full of office supplies the company let you borrow that you needed to return. He would buy into the lie. 

 You let yourself into the darkness, removed your shoes like you were a zombie, and thought about collapsing right on the floor. It wasn’t even that late, but there was something about being deceiving that sucked the life out of you. Deciding against it, you walked your way to the bedroom and flipped on the light. 

 After you usually left Ten’s, you felt too soft to the touch. Some nights, you cried the whole car ride, missing something you didn’t know what you were missing. Often, you would climb into Lucas’ arms and make the most passionate love to him. You just needed to be near him, to make sure it was him who would never leave you.

  Everything looked the same as you had left it, only Lucas’ gym clothes were on the floor and one of his drawers was half hanging open. You went over to it and stuffed his shirts down so it would close properly. Your fingers lingered on the soft fabric. You brought his shirt up to your nose and buried your face in it, inhaling deeply. When you went to put it back, your hand knocked into a small jewelry box.

Uh-oh.

 You took the box out and opened it. A diamond ring sat nestled in black velvet, the name of the jewelry shop printed in silver script on the lid. Feeling dizzy, you snapped the lid shut and shoved it back where it was.

[stillebesat]

Hello Darkness (My Old ... Friend?) -part 1

December Drabbles Day 22 Sanders Sides: Roman, Virgil  Blurb: Is it possible to search for something...for someone...when you don’t even remember that they’re missing?  Inspiration: What if Virgil ducked out and made sure no one remembered him? Fic Type: Mindscape!AU, Hurt/Comfort Overall Fic Warnings: Sword, Talk about Fighting Monsters, Injury mention, Trouble Sleeping, Memory Loss Taglist in Reblog. 

He shouldn’t be awake. Roman knew that. He shouldn’t be awake. He ran a hand through his already mussed hair, glancing at Patton’s and Logan’s darkened rooms as he passed by them. He quickly reached the end of the hallway and turned on his heel to head right back to the stairs to repeat the loop. 

Pacing. Because he couldn’t sit still. Pacing. Because his mind wouldn’t shut up. Pacing. And he didn’t know why.  

Thomas had gone to bed hours ago after a long day of difficult filming, drifting off so quickly that Roman hadn’t been needed to jumpstart a dream for him to fall asleep to. 

Truthfully, Roman hadn’t needed to stay up later than eleven to help Thomas fall asleep in forever. The last time they’d been up past midnight had been at last year’s New Year's Eve party, and even then, Thomas had struggled to stay awake. 

Tonight though, Roman had been unable to drift off. Cinderella’s hour had come and gone long ago, yet he continued to pace like a caged tiger up and down the hallway. Anxious. Though he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. Why couldn’t he fall asleep?! 

He knew it would be easier if he were actually laying down in bed with his eyes closed, but after an hour of tossing and turning, unable to find a comfortable spot, Roman had given up on that particular venture. 

He turned, once more passing Patton’s and Logan’s rooms, mind racing. Was it stress from earlier in the day? Filming had, after all, not gone quite to Logan’s scheduled plan. First, there had been a miscommunication on the time everyone had planned to meet up, then when they’d finally gotten together the weather had ended up far windier than expected making hearing everyone’s lines near impossible. And finally...they’d ended up having to make three emergency trips to the local electronics store when well...he was sure the first camera could be salvaged from the lake...maybe...probably not. At least the memory card had survived the unfortunate dunking unlike the second camera or the now broken tripod.  

None of that was new though. There were always setbacks in filming. Unforeseen problems that didn’t arise until they were on location ready to work on the next video. Logan had even planned the schedule to make room for those potential problems so they wouldn’t fall behind! 

Roman bared his teeth, glaring at the end of the hallway as he stalked towards it. They technically weren’t behind. Not yet. There was no reason to stress over today. Filming, once they’d switched to their backup location, adjusted their mics, and finally got started, had gone flawlessly. 

Roman shook his head. No. That wasn’t right. Flawlessly wasn’t the right word. 

He had felt it. It was expected as Creativity to realize that something was...lacking. 

How though? Everyone had been doing so well! They had the character beats down. Their pacing just right. The flow of the scene uninterrupted. Even with the change in location they’d barely needed to alter the script because everything sounded--- 

He paused at the top of the stairs, drawing in a slow breath as he stared down into the darkened living room below. 

Something had been missing. He knew. There was a part of the script that wasn’t flowing right no matter how many times they filmed the scene. A missing piece. 

He clicked his tongue, nodding to himself as he flicked his eyes to their original filming spots. The curtains, the TV, the side of the stairs, the stairs themse--Roman blinked shaking his head. No, Logan hadn’t stood on the stairs in ages. After the first couple of videos he’d moved to the side to give everyone better sight lines to each other. So why had he included the stairs? 

All these emotions and thoughts and complete turmoil? How could I not show up at this party?

Roman groaned, scrubbing at his eyes. “Unbelievable.”  He turned away. One night of staying up late and he was already losing his ability to think clearly. “I need sleep.” he mumbled as he stalked past his doorway once more. But how could he sleep if he couldn’t pinpoint the problem that was keeping him up?! Was it the script? It had to be something in the script. A line said by the wrong person. A stage direction that wasn’t quite right. But to Crofters if he knew just WHAT they were missing! 

Roman glanced at Patton’s door as he once again passed it. Maybe it wasn’t packing enough of an emotional punch? Were their lines falling flat? He frowned, racking his memory. 

Gah. Pat would know best. He could sense exactly what needed to be done to convey the right message to their viewers--he hadn’t said anything earlier though about it not feeling right...of course he usually spoke up more during the editing part. But it wasn’t like Roman could exactly go ask him right now if he felt that the script needed ‘more’ to it. 

No, not when it was the middle of the bloody night! The others shouldn’t lose their precious sleep because of him. 

He glared at the blank wall at the end of the hallway before turning to head back to the stairs. No, If Roman was ever going to find his own measure of sleep tonight, he needed to find the answer to this problem. NOW. 

A chill ran down his spine as a faint creaking reached his ears. He whirled, sword flashing into existence in his hands at the unexpected sound. “Who’s there?” He demanded in a loud whisper, searching the darkness at the end of the hallway.

Silence met him. 

Roman frowned. If it weren’t for the fact that Logan’s and Patton’s rooms had been nowhere near the noise...he would have thought one of the others had woken up.

Their doors remained firmly closed though. 

Tightening his grip on the sword he edged forward back to the end of the hallway. “Who’s there?” He demanded again, a little louder. He really didn’t need to deal with an intruder in the middle of the night along with his inability to sleep.

His vision fuzzed as he took another step. 

The bigger message is to just run away from your problems.

Roman hesitated, but shook his head, working to clear his sight. If it weren’t for the fact that he wasn’t in his room he’d think this a trick of the Dragon Witch. “Sometimes the best solution is to get out of a bad situation,” he muttered, pushing down the wave of deja vu that hit him. 

Had he said that before? 

“Whatever you’re doing.” Roman declared, lifting his chin, the creaking of old wood once again reaching his ears. “I’m not running!” Not from a sound. He was no coward. He gritted his teeth, moving forward despite his blurry vision, sword at the ready.

You tried. You failed. Just go to sleep.

If he could sleep he wouldn’t have been standing here in the first place. “I am not afraid of you.” He was the Prince! A Knight, thank you very much. He didn’t run from strange noises in the middle of the night. “Come out!” 

A Prince doesn’t yelp. 

And Roman definitely didn’t make such a noise when a door slammed into existence with a loud bang right in front of him as his vision suddenly cleared. He definitely didn’t jump backwards, slashing wildly at said door as it swung closed in front of him. No, no a Prince did not do that. Not even a sleep deprived one. 

Roman lowered his sword, still on guard, heart hammering away in his chest like the frantic beat of a humming bird’s wings. 

That was...well...he gave a grim smile, a flutter of anticipation curling in his stomach. That had been unexpected. It had been a long long time since anything had got his blood racing like that. Not since they’d finally filmed the final battle between him and the Manti-Core Chimera. One injured man against a multi-headed venomous beast. It had been the battle of the ages. 

Something he only realized now, now that this--this---door had appeared, that he’d dearly missed. The anticipation of danger. The thrill of facing the unknown. 

Was this--he stalked forward on silent feet to the blackened doorway that looked like it had been there for years despite it only appearing a bare minute earlier. Right when he needed--

Oh. 

Needed.  

“Is that what you are?” He mumbled, tilting his head as he studied the faded silver scrollwork around the edges, his fingers hovering over the faint lightning bolt design on the handle. “Some kind of Room of Requirement?”

To Be Continued. 

[wickedgamesoyaoya]

⇺ ⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂ ⇻

↣ Masterpost

↣ inspired by @haik-choo’s post

↣ wc: 1.7k 

↣ warnings: some self inflicted pain (nothing major!), cheating mentions, serious heartbreak. 

↣  song recommendation:  tolerate it - taylor swift 

↣  preamble (as written by haik-choo):  akaashi keiji doesn’t get that not everyone can understand how someone feels with one look. he puts an extra sugar in his coffee and expects you to know that he wants to go out to a bakery, he clicks his red pens a few extra times and expects you to know that he needs refills – he says he has a lot of work tonight and expects you to make him midnight snacks. to him, that stuff is easy. why can’t you understand him? he does it for you – he shouldn’t have to say it out loud. you should already know what he’s thinking. if you don’t, maybe you don’t love him as much as he thought you did.

The complexity of love has never been accurately represented in the media. Films present reality through the lens of a fractured mirror to provide viewers a sense of emotion they cannot find elsewhere. Fairy tales are perhaps the worst form of media to exist. They are created to be consumed by young impressionable children who develop unrealistic expectations that are later thrust upon the unfortunate souls that become their partners. You were one of those children who bought the falsities sold to you. Love was something magical, the intertwining of two hearts.

You were sixteen when you fell in love for the first time. Enthralled by how one emotion could paint new colours in the horizons, you allowed yourself to fall… it was perfect, until you found yourself crying on the bathroom floor, wondering why the fairy tales lied to you.

You were seventeen when you first experienced heart break. Even now, you can remember the shame that drenched your soul when you learned that the one you loved, had slept with someone else. Each inch of your skin was tainted by your “prince charming.”

That night, your mother had to drag you out of the bath. The pads of your toes and fingers had shriveled up, while your arms and legs burned a bright crimson from the incessant scrubbing. Yet the tingling of your skin was merely a scratch in comparison to the laceration inside of your heart, and there was no band aid that you could apply there.

That was December 3rd 2014 – the date you abandoned your foolish ideals.

You met Akaashi Keiji exactly six months later.

If you were ever asked to describe the mystery that is Keiji, where would you begin? Were there truly any words that could accurately capture the very essence of his kind soul? Or the depth of this mesmerizing eyes? How would you possibly begin to explain how a single caress by his calloused fingertips had melted away the imaginary grime that had coated your skin? If anyone was prince charming, it was him.

But little did you know that sometimes he doubted whether you were his Cinderella. His happily ever after…

The first indication of his veiled concerns occurred in your last year of high school. With the departure of his third-year friends, Akaashi was titled captain of the boy’s volleyball team. While he enjoyed volleyball, he was never obsessed with the sport like his best friend. Volleyball was his hobby, nothing more and nothing less. He was more concerned with maintaining his high academic record than securing a ticket to nationals. Last year balancing the various fragments of his life was simple. But the absence of his friends weighed on him, each day the anxiety increased until he could barely sit without jitters swarming his limbs. As his girlfriend, you should have known the stress he was battling… Sure, he was pushing you away, but you should have known why.

Yet, when you attempted to thwart his efforts to establish distance, you were chastised for your lack of understanding.

“Y/n. I am busy. Please do not disturb me during practice.” Not the slightest bit of respect was allocated to you, despite your status as his girlfriend. And while his pointed response was undoubtedly directed towards to you, his attention was on the practice commencing inside of the gym. “Listen, I need to go back. If you want to talk, consider picking a more appropriate time in the future.” Rolling the towel within his grasp, he refused to acknowledge you beyond sharing these words.

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” To even utter an apology stole the limited resolve you had to address the situation. How much did you have to degrade yourself to fix a relationship he evidently did not want?

But the following day at lunch period, a dozen roses were delivered to you with an apology note attached to the stems. It was only natural for you to grant him the forgiveness he sought. Dismissing his actions was simple once you rationalized it as a normal reaction to an abundance of pressure. Diamonds may be created under pressure, but he was no diamond, and neither were you.

The second indication of his concealed doubts did not emerge from a set of actions, nor did it include the exchange of harsh words. Rather, it was his silence that nurtured your insecurities and provided you confirmation that while he was your happily-ever-after, you may not be his.

To celebrate Keiji’s 19th birthday, his mother had offered to host a gathering at his childhood home. When the details of the party were conveyed to you, excitement had fluttered to life inside of your stomach. It was the perfect opportunity to develop your relationship with the woman who had raised your wonderful boyfriend. Yet, not even the purest of intentions would save you from the humiliation that awaited you that night.

At one point of the evening, Keiji had vanished for a considerable amount of time. Naturally, you searched the house for your boyfriend. When you peaked inside of the kitchen, you found him engaging in a conversation with his mother. You almost called out to him instinctively, except your vocal cords denied you access when you caught the end of their conversation.  

“Has she been tending to your needs yet? Or has she remained as useless as before?” The older woman clutched the stem of her wine glass, with a scoff clawing at her throat. It seemed that the liquor coating her tongue had turned the muscular organ into a knife.

Keiji stood with his back pressed against the kitchen island, listening without a reaction. The nonchalance emanating from his demeanour indicated that this was not the first occurrence. No, this had happened before, otherwise he would have had some form of a reaction. A flinch – a twitch – anything. But he stood still, emotionless, distant. The targeting comments were equivalent to a whisper in the wind – not deserving of a response, nor a stir.

“Keiji, you are aware that you are wasting your time and yet you stay with her?” The sigh falling from her stained lips was extended to emphasize her distress, and the gentle sound was enough to weaken your knees.

No longer able to support your own weight, you leaned against the wall, allowing your eyelids to flutter shut. Your fingers tangled with the fabric of your shirt as you waited for his response.

Say something – anything. Just tell her she’s wrong.

Yet the denial never came.  

The first two indications were shoved aside, dismissed with excuses that would serve as a band-aid on your decaying relationship. But then came the third.

The third indication of his doubt occurred on an average college night when you were in the process of selecting your outfit for the night. Bokuto had arranged an unofficial Fukurodani reunion for the boy’s volleyball team. As Keiji’s girlfriend, the invite was naturally extended to you. Usually your boyfriend would be in higher spirits knowing that he would soon be in the company of his high school friends. But tonight, a frown remained etched into his features, not wavering for even a single moment.

“Which one? I don’t want to be underdressed. But on the other hand, Kou is always dressed really weird. So, I don’t know.” Two outfits were presented towards the male, a scarlet cocktail dress and a navy pantsuit with a low cut.

“Does it matter, y/n?” The sharp remark was blown out with a heavy sigh. It was as though he could not muster the energy to care for your feelings. Or perhaps, he simply chose to display his inner conflict, with no concern of the consequences of his decision.

The noise was startling enough to strip you of the excitement that once animated your movements.

“I guess not, but is it wrong that I want to look good for my boyfriend?” The counter question was voiced barely above a whisper, with each word sounding fainter than the last.

“Maybe if you knew me well enough you wouldn’t have to ask.” His eyes did not meet yours, rather they stayed fixed on the writing utensil within his grasp. “It’s not that hard, y/n. You just don’t care enough to put in the effort.”

The verbal assaults implanted daggers into your chest, but the pain would only become worse – since he was not done just yet.

“If you refuse to love me with your entire heart, what is the point? Let me go.”

“Keiji!” Pain cut along the inside of your throat from the shriek erupting from your chest. Had you ever screamed his name in quite a harsh manner? Liquid blurred your vision, and with your air-filled organs wheezing in distress, your words were stated between staggered breaths.

“I am not a fucking mind reader.” The fog of desperation encompassing you was comprised of poison, one that soon threaded throughout your system. The properties of the poison enflamed your lungs, burning the organs and halting the flow of air. Instinctively your hands were sent to your skin, clawing at the flesh as if you could simply rip out the emotions suffocating you. “Just because I don’t love you the way you think I should, doesn’t mean I don’t.” Whether the words spilling from your lips were responsible for the bitter taste in your mouth, or the tears now gracefully parading down your cheeks was unknown. Either way, the release of the steaming liquid eased the burning sensation in your lungs.

“I’m done, Keiji. I’m done.” Slowly claiming your insides was a thin layer of ice. By now, you had run out of excuses for his behaviour. There were no longer any band-aids you could use to tend to the wounds. The question of whether your boyfriend considered you “the one” was answered.

Despite the ache weaving into your muscles, your feet dragged you to the front door. A piece of you desired to catch one final glimpse of him – as your heart knew this would be the final time you would see him. But afraid you would lose your resolve to leave, you pressed the car keys against your palm, and remained fixed on the exit.

Behind you, the brunette voiced a weak apology – you were unable to catch the exact words, as they were muffled by the fabric of his sleeves. But not even the sweetest words could remedy the situation. Since, now you had accepted the truth.

Love was never a fairy-tale, and Akaashi Keiji was not a prince. Love would never be what you wanted it to be, and it would always hurt.

Love would always hurt.

A/N: I ended up finishing this today because I got into a bad mood and so I needed to channel it into something lol 

Taglist: @sayakaaaaaa @sanitisegermsfree @haikyuufairy @newfriendjen @lvoejimin @moonlightaangel @gyozaaaaa @byun-nies @thevillagehiddenintheinternet @amberalisa @graykageyama @yourstarvic @chaichai-the-weeb @chibishae34 @haikyuusimp91 @volleybloop  @rajablast @idiot-juice-enthusiast @melonmayhere @cuddlesslut  @athenarosaline @memes-and-money @coconut-dreamz  @mismatched-loves @elianetsantana @tsumume @tsukkismamagucci @the-golden-jhope @camcam1617 @prettyforpapiiwa @swoonhui​ @neobakas​ @azumane-kun @elephantloser​ @dreamstormings​ @anejuuuuoy​   

~ message me to be removed from the general taglist + bolded means I can’t tag ya 

[wiypt-writes]

Riding High

Ch11: I’m Thankful for Chicken Nuggets

Chapter Summary: It’s Thanksgiving and Mary’s eating chicken nuggets.

Chapter Warnings: Bad Language words. SMUT (NSFW, no under 18s thanks!)

Chapter Pairings:  Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher

A/N: Yeah yeah I know it’s the wrong time of year but hell, we’re all on lock down so the days and months don’t actually exist anyway at the moment… The Boat Company used here IS an actual company in South Pas, but I got no idea who runs it so this is completely made up- roll with me here.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Fliss Gallagher and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Riding High Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 10

 “Good morning, Handsom.” Fliss smiled as she held her phone between her shoulder and her ear as she continued to fork up the bedding in the stable.

“Morning sweetheart.” His soft voice hit her ear.

“Happy Thanksgiving!”

“Back at ya.” He chuckled softly “You at the yard?” “Yeah, been here a few hours now.”

“Do you need a hand with anything or…” “That’s really sweet but there’s not much left to do.” she replied, honestly “They’re all out for the day and are staying there until tomorrow morning so I’ve just a couple of stables and then some paper work to sort out before I pop back this evening to do a check.” “Ok so, once you’re done for the morning you’re free for a while?” “Yeah, why?”

“Mary had an idea.” “I did not!” Fliss heard the seven year old scoff  “It was your…” “Ok, WE had an idea,” Frank conceded and there was some scuffling and Fliss could imagine he was holding Mary at arm’s length as she made a grab for the phone, “that maybe you might wanna come join us for dinner if you have time.”

“You mean your Thanksgiving dinner of chicken nuggets?” Fliss grinned “How could I turn that down?”

“Cool, just head over when you’re done.” “I might need to head home and shower.” She looked down at herself. “I’m filthy and probably don’t smell great either to be honest.” “You can change here if you want.”

Fliss paused, she had a spare change of clothes in her car. Well, a pair of sweats and a different polo shirt. She normally kept them there just in case of a downpour.

“Erm, sure, if you don’t mind…” “No of course not.”

“Alright, then, I’ll see you in about two hours or so?” Fliss smiled.

“Great.” Frank replied “See you soon.” ******

Fliss didn’t bother knocking. She opened the door to the apartment and was immediately barrelled into by a flurry of blonde hair.

“Hey!” she chuckled, dropping her bag. “Wanna let me get inside first Stack?”

Mary stepped back and Fliss straightened up and smiled as Frank walked into the kitchen.

“Hey, Beautiful.” he smiled, dropping a kiss to her lips. Mary sidled off into the main room, a smirk on her face.

“I stink.” Fliss warned “I mucked out twelve stables today.”

“Yeah, you’ve smelt better!” Frank laughed as she snorted. “You know where the bathroom is. Fresh towels in there. You need anything out of this or…” He gestured to her bag, as he went to pick it up.

“It’s just my clothes so…”

“I’ll put it in my room.” He smiled, giving her another kiss. “I would offer to come scrub your back but…” he inclined his head to the main room and Fliss gave a snort.

“Calm down, Sailor” she teased “Plenty of time for that later.”

“Promises, promises.” He grinned, picking her bag up and heading through to his room. He dropped her bag onto his bed, glancing round. He’d attempted to tidy a little bit after the realisation she’d actually never been in his room before. After their night together the previous week they hadn’t managed another night alone, Fliss being a little ‘uncomfortable’ at being together like that when Mary was literally outside the door and to be honest, it wasn’t something Frank was particularly happy about either. It had never bothered him before, because Mary was never there when he brought a girl home but this was different. That said, he knew he was going to have to find somewhere bigger soon, Greg had warned him it would likely be a condition of him being awarded Guardianship. He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t concerning him a bit, living pay-check to pay-check didn’t leave him a huge housing budge but he’d work something out, he always did.

Pushing the worry from his mind, he closed the bedroom door and headed back into the room. Mary was sat on the rug looking at the instructions to the new lego kit he had bought her for Thanksgiving.

“Sussed it out yet Stack?” He asked and she gave him a withering look. He bit back the laugh that was bubbling in his throat and sat next to her, taking from her, trying to figure the instructions out to make the Storm Trooper helmet, Star Wars being her latest obsession.

“That’s upside down…” She rolled her eyes, taking it from him to turn it the right way up.

“My bad.” He shrugged, looking at it again. “Ok, so…this piece…and we need one of these…” Together they began to pull together the elements they needed for the first section and the next time Frank looked up was when Fliss walked into the living area, a little shyly, wrapped in a towel. Her long, auburn hair was piled up on top of her head and her shoulders were speckled with water. She smiled as she padded past to his bedroom, Mary not even looking up as Frank watched her with his eyes as she closed the door behind her, giving him another smile. There was something so simple, so domestic about the situation, Frank couldn’t help but feel a warmth in his chest.

Roberta was right, he definitely had it bad.

“When we gonna give Fliss her present?” Mary asked, looking up at Frank.

“After dinner.” He said “Which reminds me, best turn the oven on.”

“Would be a start.” Mary agreed.

Frank rolled his eyes and stood up, heading into the kitchen. Shoving the stuff in the oven, he returned and found Fliss was now sat with Mary who was showing her the instructions.

“I LOVE Star Wars.” Fliss grinned, “So does my Dad. He has a Cinema Room in the house upstairs and a poster from every single Star Wars film on the wall. I’ll show you later tonight.” “A Cinema Room?” Mary asked. “Like, with a huge screen?” “Yeah. It’s pretty cool. When I finally get round to buying a house I’m gonna build one too.” “Do you think I could watch something in there tonight?”

“Mary,” Frank started to warn her but Fliss smiled.

“Frank it’s okay.” she said. “And yeah, course you can. If you have a favourite DVD we can take that or you can pick. We have loads on the hard-drive and Sky.”

It wasn’t long before they were sat round the small kitchen table which had been pulled into the living room to allow them more room. Frank and Mary both showed Fliss their favourite thing to eat in the world- Chicken Nugget Sandwiches. After a sceptical look, Fliss leaned over to take a bite of Frank’s as he offered it and gave a small laugh announcing that it was actually pretty good. After a large slice of Chocolate cake each that had been made for them by Roberta, they collapsed onto the sofa, Mary once more on the rug, Fliss groaning about the “food baby” she was growing, rubbing her hand over her stomach.

“Hey Frank?” Mary looked at him. “Is it time now?”

It took Frank a moment and then he realised what Mary was talking about. “Oh, yeah, hang on…”

He hopped off the sofa and headed into his bedroom, pulling the small gift bag from his dresser. He walked back into the living room and sat back down, shyly handing it to her.

“You got me a gift?” Fliss’ eyes went wide.

“Yeah.” Frank shrugged.

“You really shouldn’t have…” Fliss looked at him. “I didn’t get you two anything…” “That’s not the point of giving a gift.”  Mary looked at her sternly. “You don’t give to receive, right Frank?”

“Right.” Frank nodded, leaning back on the sofa, looking at Fliss “And I wanted to…” he gestured between him and Mary where she was sat, Fred crawling into her lap, “…we wanted to, say thank you for everything over the last few months.” Fliss smiled at him and then Frank saw a childish excitement cross her face “Can I open it now?” He nodded, glad she was going to as he wanted to see her face when she did.

With delicate fingers she gently undid the ribbon that the woman at the store had wrapped it with and her mouth dropped open when she saw the white box which was emblazoned with the Pandora name and logo

“Frank,” she looked at him, before she opened the box and stared at the contents. She blinked before her hand gently covered her mouth as she saw the silver charm bracelet that was inside.

“I thought it was time you started a new one, for new memories.” He said gently as she reached into the box and took out the bracelet which held a single charm in the shape of a boat.

Fliss swallowed, and her eyes filled with tears. “I…” She took a deep breath and Frank frowned as he saw her struggling for composure.

“Hey,” he said, turning sideways on the sofa. His hand gently rubbed up her arm and she fell into him, pressing her face to his chest as he wrapped his arms round her.

“You made Fliss cry. On Thanksgiving.” Mary deadpanned, throwing a ping pong ball for Fred.

“Why don’t you go do that outside?” Frank asked. “Stay on the step.” Mary shrugged and stood up, doing as she was told.

“You ok?” He asked Fliss softly as his hands rubbed at her back. He placed a kiss to the top of her head and she nodded taking a deep breath.

“Sorry, that was…” she sat back, wiping her eyes. “Absolutely fucking ridiculous…”

“You do like it right?” he asked, suddenly feeling a little nervous.

“Baby, I love it.” She smiled at him, and he felt his chest swell not only at the fact she liked the gift, but that was the first time she’d used that particular pet name, and he kinda liked it. “I just, well, I can’t believe you remembered about my bracelets.”

He shrugged as she reached out to gently cup his cheek.

“Thank you.” she smiled softly, leaning over to kiss him. He happily leaned into the kiss, his tongue snaking into her mouth, sliding against hers as she met him movement for movement before there was a light cough and Frank groaned, resting his forehead against Fliss’ as he turned to look at Mary.

“What?”

“Need another ping pong ball. The last one flew under Roberta’s BBQ and I aint going under there…spiders and stuff.” She headed to the box at the back of the room, dug in and retrieved a net of ping pong balls, digging one out.

“Wanna go outside?” Frank asked and Fliss nodded. He stood up and held out his hand, pulling her up with him and they headed out after Mary.

A little while later, after a game of tag on the lawn which resulted in both the girls tackling Frank to the floor in a huge tickle fight, Fliss noting that he was ridiculously ticklish and filing it for future reference, they headed back inside, grabbed their things and after an almost tantrum from Mary who wanted to bring Fred and Frank refusing, they headed off in Fliss’ jeep for the yard to do the final checks for the evening. They were just about to head up to the field to make sure all the horses were settled and the waters were topped up when Bill walked onto the yard.

“Shouldn’t you be with mum getting stuff ready for the party?” Fliss frowned at her Dad, surprised to see him.

“Are you joking!” Bill scoffed “You know what she’s like.” He coughed and then put on a light, airey voice “Bill, those champagne flutes are grouped in threes, not fours. No, those plates don’t go there, they go there. What are you doing with that cheeseboard, the grapes go in the middle…”

Frank felt his eyebrow raise slightly as Fliss laughed. Champagne, cheeseboards? This was not the type of party he was used to, at all.

“Oh don’t worry.” Fliss clocked his face. “It descends into debauchery and chaos after about an hour, mum just likes to play the part of hostess with the mostess…”

“I like cheese.” Mary piped up.

“Good, we got plenty of it.” Bill said. “But, anyway, I dropped by for a reason. I picked something up earlier this afternoon that I think you might like.”

“Me?” Fliss frowned, but before she could say anything else Frank’s attention was taken by a man who was walking down the side of the barn. He slightly taller than Frank, quite stocky and had a shock of dark brown hair and looked ridiculously like Bill. Fliss gave a little shriek and ran towards the man, throwing herself into his arms as he laughed, twirling her round slightly before he dropped her to the floor.

“That’s her brother.” Mary supplied and Frank gave her a look.

“Yeah I kinda figured that.” He rolled his eyes. “How do you know anyway?”

“Saw a photo of him.” Mary shrugged.

Frank turned his attention back to the two siblings and Fliss was now looking between her father and her brother, confusion on her face. “What, I mean, how, why are you here?”

“In New York for a stag do on Saturday.” Steve replied “Thought I’d take the chance and pop down here for a day or so.”

“Does Mum know you’re here?” she asked.

“Yeah, she does now.” he laughed “There were a few tears when I rocked up.” “Frank made Fliss cry before.” Mary said, and all attention turned to Frank who hung his head and let out an audible groan.

“Seriously?” He looked at her as Fliss burst out laughing.

“Because I was happy.” She said, shaking her head “He bought me a new Pandora.” Frank didn’t miss the exchange of looks between father and son, both wearing identical expressions of surprise which morphed into soft smiles as Fliss moved and slid under Frank’s arm.

“Frankie, this is my brother Steve.” she smiled, as Steve stepped forward, holding his hand out. “Or Steeb, Steeby…whatever you want to call him.” “Nice to meet you.” Frank smiled as Steve shook his hand, his grip firm.

“Likewise.” Steve smiled “Heard a lot about you.” He then turned to his left and looked down “And you must be Mary.” “Yup,” She smiled, looking at him “Did you bring your kids?”

“Mary.” Frank warned gently as he looked at her, shaking his head.

“What?” She asked, “I was just asking a question. I wanted to meet them.” “No, not this time.” Steve smiled “Just a flying visit. But they’re coming over for Christmas so I’ve no doubt you’ll get to see them then.” He straightened up and smiled at Fliss. “Where’s that grumpy ginger Nag?” Fliss narrowed her eyes “Don’t you talk about Heidi like that. She’s in the top field.”

“I thought he was talking about V.”  Bill mumbled to Frank who gave a snort, and then looked at the man, the pair of them bursting into laughter. By the time they had composed themselves, Steve and Fliss were stood, watching the pair of them, hands on their hips in almost identical poses.

“They do this all the time.” Fliss shook her head. “Come on, I’ll take you to see H. I was on my way up to check them all anyway. You coming Stack?” she looked at Mary. Mary grinned and ran forward, linking her hand into Fliss’.

Frank miss the eyebrow raised on Steve’s face, before the man smiled softly, dropping an arm round Fliss’ shoulder, pressing a kiss to the side of her head.

*****

Fliss changed quickly when they were home into a pair of jeans, a strappy top and a pair of sandals before the three of them walked over to the house after another near argument about getting Mary to leave the bucket of lego she had brought with her in the annex, which Fliss cleverly managed to avoid with the mention of the Cinema Room.

The house was busy, not packed but busy, and there was no way Frank was going to remember everyone’s names. But he smiled and shook hands as Bill introduced him to people, and he was surprised to find he felt at ease. Most of the people were older than him and Fliss, bar her brother of course, and it was a different circle and class of people he would normally mix with but he certainly didn’t feel like any of them were looking down at him, a stark contrast to how he used to feel at his Mother’s parties.

Well, they weren’t really parties, more like a gathering which rich snobs used to brag to other rich snobs about how much money they had.

“And this is Mike, Martin and Keith.” Bill said, nodding to the final three men, one of whom was giving Fliss a hug.

“You look great!” She beamed at him “How much weight have you lost now?” “40lb.” the man called Keith nodded and Fliss grinned.

“That’s awesome.”

“All down to the golf.” He smiled, gesturing to Mike, Martin and Bill “These guys drag me up there regularly enough.” “Frank hates golf.” Mary said. “Says it ruins a good walk.”

There was a pause as Frank groaned, wanting the ground to open and swallow him. He glared at Mary who looked at him, frowning.

“What?” She asked as Bill suddenly began to roar with laughter, the other men joining in.

Frank shook his head and looked round. “It’s just not my thing…”he said, by means of an explanation. “I prefer playing basket ball or baseball.”

“Each to their own.” The man called Martin beamed. “To be honest when I was your age I hated it too. Was far more into drinking and women.” “Frank likes that too.” Mary said, and Frank then really did give her a look.

“Shut up.” He said, but of course she didn’t as the men continued to laugh.

“Although I’m glad he finally got together with Fliss, because she’s my favourite. Miss Stevenson would not have been a good choice.” Frank groaned again and he felt Fliss beginning to chuckle besides him.

“Miss Stevenson?” Bill asked.

“We don’t need to hear about that…” Frank said, his neck growing hot.

“She’s my teacher.” Mary nodded “She stayed at our house one night. I wasn’t supposed to be there but I saw her coming out of the bathroom wearing Frank’s sheets and…” “Ok, Mary, why don’t we go and see the Cinema Room.” Fliss hastily cut her off as the three men were now all howling with laughter.

“Oh, okay.” she shrugged, before she pondered something “Why was she in your sheets Frank, and not in a towel like Lissy was before?”

At that Bill arched an eyebrow and Fliss felt her cheeks grow warm “I had a shower, I’d mucked twelve stabled out.” There was a pause before she recovered and steered Mary out of the room.

Frank grimaced and looked back round as Bill patted him on the shoulder, wiping tears of mirth out of his eyes. “I bloody love that kid.”

“She’s yours if you want her.” Frank said. “I could gift-wrap her for you. Just say goodbye to your private life being private.”

Thankfully the Cinema Room kept Mary out of the way, especially when she had a stash of popcorn, sweets and soda to keep her occupied. For the next few hours Frank stuck mostly by Fliss’ side, talking to people, chatting to her brother a bit about his job and the business he had taken over from Bill, his kids, but Frank got the impression the man was being a little guarded with him. He was polite enough, and wasn’t being rude but he wasn’t overly warm either. But he supposed that was understandable. She was Fliss’ big brother after all.

Mary came down a few hours later and tugged on Fliss’ hand. Fliss went with her and Frank headed into the kitchen to grab himself another beer after being told by Verity to “stop asking and just go get”. He turned round, flipping the lid off, almost bumping into Bill.

“Sorry.” He apologised to the man who smiled at him as he held the fridge door open.

“There’s someone who just arrived that I want you to meet.” Bill said, gesturing for Frank to follow him. With a slight puzzled frown, he did as he was told and wandered through to the large lounge where a number of people were congregated. 

“Frank, this is Alan Maxwell.” Bill introduced a short, stocky white haired man who was wearing a pair of modern thin-rimmed glasses and a cream blazer over a dark polo necked shirt and dark jeans. Frank took him in, noting his outfit probably cost more than Frank’s entire wardrobe.

“Hi.” Frank smiled, shaking his hand “Frank Adler”

“The boat mechanic?” Alan asked.

“Yeah.” Frank looked at him then to Bill, frowning a little.

“Alan’s in the Repair and Retail business.” Bill offered and Frank gave a nod of understanding.

“I own MarineMax in St Pete’s” Alan smiled.

“Oh on Gulfport?” Frank looked at him and Alan nodded.

“You know it?”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Frank scratch at the back of his neck “I errr, I applied for a job once but I didn’t have the relevant experience so…” Alan looked at Frank for a moment, “How long you been a mechanic now?”

“Over six and a half years.”

“And you’re freelancing?” Frank nodded.

“Good success rate?”

“Over ninety-eight percent.” Frank said. “I mean, I only do one boat at a time because I’ve been juggling my hours around Mary for the last 7 years but…” he shrugged “I have regulars who come back so I must be doing something right.” “Could you get references?”

“Yeah.” Frank nodded “Pretty sure I could.”

“Hmmmm.” Alan looked at Bill who inclined his head towards Frank with a smile.

“I told you, I’ll vouch for him.” he shrugged “He’s sleeping with my daughter after all.”

“Jesus Bill.” Frank groaned as the two men laughed.

“It’s a compliment” Bill smiled “If I didn’t trust you I wouldn’t let you within three foot of her”

“Thanks, I think.” Frank looked at him taking a drink of his beer.

“Come see me next week.” Alan looked at Frank, pulling a card from his wallet and handing it over “I may have a position you’d be interested in.”

“I errr…” Frank was temporarily sideswiped by the suggestion “I…that would be…”

“I know it will be different to freelance but it’s a full time job, full package of benefits and a negotiable wage plus bonus scheme.” Alan said, “I’m not a huge outfit, but I pay my guys well.” Frank nodded, placing the card in his pocket “I’ll stop by.” “Just give me a call the day before and I’ll make sure I’m around.”

“I will.” Frank nodded. “Thank you.”

Frank made his excuses, realising he hadn’t seen Fliss for a while and headed off looking for her. He moved from room to room, realising there was no sign of her or Mary. He headed into the kitchen and then poked his head out of the large bi-folding doors which led onto the large raised decking area which spanned the length of the house.

“Hey.” Frank spotted Fliss’ brother leaning on the railing, lit cigarette in one hand, beer in the other. “You seen Lissy?”

“She was in the living room last time I saw her.” Steve said chuckling slightly, shaking his head.

Frank frowned at the man’s demeanour and Steve noticed, and smiled. “Sorry, just seems strange. Hearing someone else call her Liss or Lissy other than the family.”

“Yeah, well, I kinda picked it up from Bill and it stuck.” Frank smiled.

“Yeah she doesn’t suit Felicity.” Steve shook his head “Although that’s all he ever fucking called her. Apparently nicknames were deemed too common.” “Yeah well, he’s a dick.” Frank shrugged

“No arguments here.” Steve looked at Frank. Frank watched as the man studied him for a second, clearly thinking about something before he returned to leaning on the rail of the decking, looking down over the huge garden area as he took a final drag from the cigarette, before stubbing it out in the fire bucket to his right.

“Okay,” Frank stepped outside, “let’s have it.” “Have what?” Steve asked, looking at him.

“The big brother lecture. The one where you threaten to rip my head off if I hurt your sister.” Frank said as Steve gave a huff of a laugh.

“Well, rest assured I will.” Steve looked at Frank as he too leaned on the railings. “But Dad says you’re a good bloke so, that’ll do for me.” Frank nodded and took a pull of his beer. “I have no intention of hurting her, in anyway.” he said, his voice loaded with meaning and Steve sighed.

“I know.” he said gently “I just, well, I worry.” “Understandable.” Frank nodded, and it was. He got it, he really did.

“I hated that fucker.” Steve shook his head, “right from the start. Smarmy assed, stuck up Yank. Sorry, no offence.” Frank laughed “Non-taken.” he waved Steve’s apology away.

“I know she’s only actually my step-sister but well she was only two when I met her and…”

“Blood doesn’t make you family.” Frank nodded. “If you ever meet my mother you’ll realise that.” “Yeah, Fliss wasn’t very complementary of her.” Steve snorted.

“She called her a cold hearted bitch to her face.” Frank raised an eyebrow as Steve laughed.

“I shouldn’t be pleased at that.” Steve smiled. “But not long ago she wouldn’t have been brave enough to be that outgoing.” “Oh she certainly isn’t backwards in coming forwards.” Frank shook his head

“Something he managed to suck out of her.” Steve sighed.

“You know, I’d love to get that fucker alone in a room” Frank glowered. “Five minutes, that’s all I’d need.” “Get in line.” Steve shrugged, “Behind me and dad.” “Yeah, Fliss said something about there being a queue.”

“The day she said she was moving to Boston to be with him full time, it was the worst day of my life. And Mum and Dad’s” Steve took another drink. “But we knew if we tried to stop her it would give him the perfect excuse to turn her against us. So what could we do but support it?” He hung his head slightly and Frank’s brow furrowed at the man’s open display of vulnerability

“I wish we’d done more, you know, anything, but we didn’t know how bad things had got. Not that he was hurting her, not like that.” “None of it was your fault.” Frank looked at him. “Or your parent’s. Or Fliss’”

“No, I know that but it doesn’t stop any of us feeling guilty.” Steve sighed. “But, anyway, it’s in the past now. That is until he goes for parole, which he will.” Frank shrugged “We’ll greet that when it happens.”

“Yeah?” Steve looked at him. “You ready for all that? Because I guarantee what she’s told you, well it won’t even scratch the surface, Frank.”

“Are you asking me if I’m gonna bail when the going gets tough?”

“Suppose I am, yeah.” Steve looked at him.

Frank took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose, quelling the frustration that was brewing at the man’s questioning, reminding himself that he had a right to worry, a right to be concerned. He’d feel the same if it was Diane in this position.

“Look, Steve, I know she hasn’t told me everything. And I’m not gonna push her to either. It isn’t important to me to know every sordid little detail of what that cunt did to her. What is important is that she’s happy with me, and that she feels safe and knows that I’d never hurt her like that and I sure as hell won’t abandon her when the road gets a little bumpy. She was there for me through a very bad time recently and, well…” Frank shrugged, “even if we decide that what we have isn’t working I’d still be by her side.”

Steve’s face remained passive for a second before it split into a grin “I don’t think there’s any worry about that, Frank. From what I’ve seen this afternoon and this evening, Lissy’s besotted. In fact, I’ve never seen her like this before.” Frank felt his cheeks flush a little and he looked down “Yeah, well, the feeling’s mutual.”

Steve opened his mouth to say something else but they were interrupted.

“My ears burning?” Fliss asked, eyeing the two men up.

“I was just making sure his intentions are honourable.” Fliss rolled her eyes with a snort “his intentions are honourable? What are you, like ninety?”

Steve shrugged “No, but I’m three years older than you and still your big brother Titch.” “Whatever, Steeby.” She moved over to where Frank was stood and slid under his arm. “Quit with the 3rd degree or I’ll tell Mum you’ve been smoking.”

“You wouldn’t!” he said in mock horror as she raised an eyebrow. Steve turned to Frank and raised his eyebrow, jerking his head towards his sister “Sure you know what you’re letting yourself in for?”

Frank laughed “her bark is worse than her bite…owww!” he said, as she nipped his arm.

“Sure it is.” Steve winked as h pushed himself off the railing and headed inside.

“Was he being an ass hole?” Fliss watched him go before she turned to Frank and he chuckled, pulling her closer.

“No,not at all.” he said, dropping a kiss to her lips “Where’s Mary?”

“With Dad in the living room with the guys from the golf club.” she said, shrugging.

“No doubt revealing more of my dark secrets.” Frank groaned.

Fliss laughed “Nah, she’s got her lego. Bill and her will have some kind of building contest going on no doubt.”

“I told her to leave those in the annex.” Frank shook his head. “She did. I took her to get them.” Fliss shrugged

“Seriously?” Frank looked at her, rolling his eyes.

“What? She was bored and wanted something to do.”

“You’re a pain in my ass.” he said, his arms circling her and she grinned as he dropped a kiss to her lips.

“Hush, Sailor, you love it.” she smirked against his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah I do.” he muttered, pulling her closer for a deeper kiss.

******

It was about midnight when the party started filtering out. Mary was crashed out on one of the sofas so Frank suggested they call it a night and Fliss, feeling the effects of a fair amount of alcohol, agreed. They made their goodbyes and Frank easily scooped Mary up and the three of them made their way, a little slower than usual, to the annex.

Once they’d roused Mary and she’d changed for bed Frank tucked her in, in the bed in the spare room and she was flat out before he even closed the door. He headed into Fliss’ room and laughed as she was led on the bed with her legs over the edge, feet flat on the floor. She was wearing just her bra and jeans, and her arm was bent over her eyes.

“My jeans are too tight.” she said.

“What?” Frank laughed.

“I can’t be bothered to take them off.” She leant up on her elbows and ginned at him “Wanna help me out Sailor?”

“Happily.” he grinned, and moved towards her but she stopped him.

“Ah ah.” she pointed to his polo-shirt. “Off.” With an arch of his eyebrow he reached back and grabbed a fist full of his shirt, pulling it over his head. “Better?”

“Yup.” she nodded as he moved towards her, gently dropping down and undoing her jeans. With a tug he pulled them down over her thighs, his hands softly tracing up her skin as she sighed, before his lips met hers.

“You were a hit in there.” she smiled gently, her fingers tracing the muscles on his arms as he propped himself up over her.

“Yeah?” he asked, gently shifting so that she moved with him, laying further up the bed.

She nodded. “Charmed the pants off all the posh bastards you did, Adler.” “There’s only one person I’m interested in charming the pants off.” He quipped and she laughed, shaking her head.

“Smooth.” “Is it working?”

She glanced down. “Nope, they’re still on.”

“Guess I’ll have to use my hands then.” He said, and with a quick move down he slid them over her ankles and gently pressed his lips to her knee, trailing soft kisses up the inside of her leg, nipping at the inside of her thigh. Fliss gave a soft sigh as he moved, his short beard scratching at her skin as he moved, her hands fisting in the sheets. When he reached his target he gently placed a long lick up her entrance. Instinctively, one of her hands fisted in his hair before she hastily moved it and Frank paused, reaching up, and placing it back where it had been.

“I like it.” He peeked up at her, a cheeky look on his face before he dropped his head back down and Fliss’s head fell back against her pillow as she gave a shaky moan.

She couldn’t remember the last time a man had gone down on her. John had certainly never done it, making it clear from the start he found it disgusting, but still happy to shove his dick in her mouth when he wanted a blow. But Frank ate her out like a man starved, moving his mouth as he paid attention to how her body reacted and when he found her spot, she gave a cry, her back arching off the bed, and she felt him double his efforts, his lips and tongue teasing her, in a delectable way. Pleasure lanced through her entire body, the heat rising from her very toes and as she felt her orgasm rising her fingers tightened on his hair and he gave a low moan at her touch, which vibrated through his mouth right against her clit and that was it. Her hips bucked upwards as she came, hard, her knees tightened slightly around his head, her arm flying to her mouth to stifle her loud moan.

Working her through her release, Frank moved back, stripping off the remainder of his clothes before he crawled up her body again, kissing his way up from her naval to her chest. She arched her back and he reached around to unhook her bra before he set his attention to her breasts. Fuck, he could listen to the noises and whimpers she was making all day but after a week he was aching for her.

“You got any…” he started to ask softly and she nodded, her hand gesturing to her bedside table. He paused and pulled open the drawer, and had to smirk as he saw the new, full packet of condoms in there. Pulling one out he opened it, whilst Fliss gently gave his dick a stroke causing him to hiss slightly, his fingers fumbling on the foil and she grinned.

“Something distracting you, Sailor?” “You know damned well what’s distracting me.” His voice was almost a growl as her hand moved over his whilst he rolled the latex down.

Her giggle turned to a moan as he buried himself inside her, his entire body feeling coiled like a spring, and his thrusts began slow, and deep before soon she was begging for more and he picked up the pace, each movement rolling against her spot, causing her to breathlessly whisper his name as he buried his face into her neck, nipping and biting at that spot that drove her wild. At some point she moved, gently pushing on his shoulders, and he understood, rolling onto his back. She straddled him, pulling her long hair over one shoulder as she leaned down to draw him into a deep, sultry kiss before she sank down onto him, taking him in.

“Fuck, Lissy,” he said, his hands gently gripping her hips as she began to move, rolling her pelvis, “God you feel so good.” She preened at his praise, yup, she definitely had a praise kink, and her pace quickened as she leaned forward again to kiss him, a moan falling from her mouth as he raised his hips to meet hers, his fingers tightening on her hips. Frank looked up at her, her mouth slack, lips plump, freckles still visible in the soft light from the outside lights, breasts bouncing softly as she moved.

“So beautiful.” He whispered, sitting up and she cried out at the change of depth as he pulled her close, thrusting up into her.

“Frankie, I’m…” and with a low whine her head tipped back as her release washed over her for the second time that night, a slow, deep burn which left her slack in his arms, as she collapsed forward. After a few more desperate thrusts he was right behind her, clinging to her, his face buried into her shoulder, his own groans stifled in her skin.

They stayed like that for a little while, both recovering, hands softly dancing over skin before he leaned up to give her a soft kiss.

“Thank you.” She whispered and he pulled back, frowning a little.

“What for?”

“For making me feel good. For making me feel wanted.” She swallowed, tears filling her eyes and Frank let out a sigh, his arms curling round her, pulling her close, his own chest tightening at her words as he understood instantly that it was clearly something she wasn’t used to.

“You deserve it.” He spoke softly, , “Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”

She moved back, her hands cupping his cheeks as she gave him another deep kiss, her lips curling into a smile and Frank smiled back, before he kissed her again.  

***** Frank woke the next morning and, as he blinked, he realised he was alone. Sitting up he rubbed his eyes, and could hear soft voices from elsewhere in the annex. Grabbing his phone he looked down and with a start realised it was past ten.  Running a hand over his face, he climbed out of bed, grabbed his bag and retrieved a clean pair of boxers and a t-shirt before retrieving his jeans which were now folded and placed over the back of the chair by Fliss’ vanity unit. After sorting himself in the bathroom he made his way downstairs and found Fliss and Mary sat outside in the small yard, an array of breakfast items on the table. Fliss long hair was pulled into a messy pony tail and she was wearing an oversized shirt and a pair of denim jeans. Even like that she looked effortlessly gorgeous.

“Morning.” He greeted, stepping out onto the decking and Fliss smiled at him.

“Hey.” She smiled, accepting the kiss he dropped onto her cheek before he sat down next to her. “Sleep well.”

“Hmmm I was tired for some reason.” He quipped, causing her to grin.

“Fliss says I can go ride Monty today.” Mary looked at Frank. “Is that ok?”

“It’s not your week for a lesson.” Frank spoke.“And it’s Friday.”

“It’s ok.” Fliss smiled. “The riding school is shut. Joanne’s done the morning shift so we can just go up this afternoon. I need to work Cap and Bronson but she can ride if she wants.” “Please.” Mary looked at Frank who sighed.

“I’ve gotta nip to the boat yard.” he looked at her. “Got some guy who needs a motor looking at and I said I’d meet him today.” “I don’t wanna go to the boat yard.”  Mary pouted.

“It’s okay, she can come with me.” Fliss offered “I don’t mind, honestly.”

Frank hesitated, he didn’t want Fliss to think she was obliged to take Mary. He knew that the pair of them came as a package but still.

“You sure?” Frank asked. “Roberta would normally take her but she’s not back until tomorrow.”

“Yeah, its fine.” Fliss nodded “She can help me and Joanne.”

“Okay then, yeah, you can go.”

Mary grinned and turned her attention back to her book.

“You want breakfast?” Fliss asked, moving to stand.

“I’ll get it. You stay there.” Frank offered, but Mary suddenly jumped up.

“No it’s okay, we made you something special…” With that she shot into the kitchen.

“Special?” Frank looked at Fliss, and she grinned as his lips met hers.

“Yeah.” she nodded to Mary who emerged from the kitchen, giggling. Frank gave a snort of a laugh and shook his head as she thrust the box of Special K into his hands.

“Thanks…” he deadpanned, rolling his eyes.

**** Chapter 12

[boasamishipper]

Robisanya + "Are you trying to tell me something?" too please 💕

Dani was on edge. He'd been on edge since they'd visited Grace and Ben and Richie at the start of the month, through the first snowfall of the season and Christmas dinner at the Higgins' and their Boxing Day match and Coach Lasso and Ms. Welton's engagement party on New Year's Eve, but refused to elaborate whenever Sam asked. Sam was worried, but let Dani have his space; if it was serious, Dani would have told him, and even if it wasn't, Dani would tell him eventually. He just had to wait it out.

The hammer fell the first weekend of the New Year, which found them in the living room in their pajamas, eating Nando's out of the takeaway containers while Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban played on the television and their border collie, Padfoot, slept at their feet. Sam was so engrossed in the Hogsmeade scene that he didn't notice when Dani placed his half-empty container on the coffee table, but he definitely noticed when Dani kissed him, instantly and effectively diverting Sam's attention from the film.

After a while, he had to break away - if only to ask if Dani wanted to take things further. He was kissing Sam like he wanted to slow down time, like each kiss contained a thousand words that he didn't know how to say. “Are you trying to tell me something?” Sam teased, breathless, and then breathless twice over when Dani kissed him again.

“I just wanted a little courage to do what I am about to do.”

“Not in front of the dog, Dani Rojas. He is young and impressionable.”

“I would never, my love.” As if knowing he was being talked about, Padfoot snuffled in his sleep, his legs twitching. Sam smiled, and Dani bent down to stroke Padfoot’s back. His voice was strangely uneven when he spoke, which only increased Sam’s concern. “Will you close your eyes?”

“Dani, why - ”

“Sam. Please.”

Sam closed his eyes at once. He heard Dani get up off the couch, heard the creak of the floorboards beneath the rug, followed by a shaky breath and a heavy, almost interminable period of silence. He cleared his throat. “Can I open my eyes?”

The word was barely a croak. “Yes.”

When Sam did, Dani was kneeling in front of him, holding out a ring.

“Dani.” Sam could barely breathe, let alone speak around how hard his heart was pounding. There were tears in his eyes already. “God, Dani.”

Dani’s smile was watery. “Surprise.”

Sam pressed his fist to his mouth to hide how his lips were trembling. He had a hundred questions, each more pressing than the last - each one paling in importance to the answer he desperately wanted to give, as soon as Dani said what was on his mind.

“I know,” Dani said, before he cut himself off and he started again. “I know we said we would talk about this again when we both retired." Sam nodded, and Dani nodded as well. "But when Coach was buying a ring for Ms. Welton, and Coach Beard asked us to go with him for support…I saw this on one of the trays.” He lifted the ring between his thumb and index finger a little higher, so the gold of the wedding band glinted in the light. “And I could not think of anyone it suited better than you.” His voice was very thick. “The love of my life.”

Sam’s laugh came out like a sob. He managed to keep his voice steady long enough to say, “I think you are missing a question, Dani.”

“Give me a moment,” Dani protested, smiling even as a few tears trickled down his cheeks. He scrubbed his free hand down his face before running it through his hair, exhaling. “Sam.”

Sam’s smile was starting to hurt his face. “Go on.”

“Sam,” Dani said, but when their eyes met, they both burst into laughter. Dani moved closer and buried his face into Sam’s knees, and Sam leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Dani’s head. He sounded so petulant when he spoke that it made Sam dissolve into laughter again. “You are not making this easy for me.”

“When have I ever made anything easy for you?”

He felt rather than saw Dani’s nod. “Very true.”

“Hey.” Sam struggled to get himself back under control. He tapped Dani on the head, and when Dani drew back, he cupped Dani’s face with a trembling hand. “Ask me, Dani. Please.”

Dani nodded, and Sam watched as he moved backwards again, lifted the ring once more. “Samuel Adedayo Obisanya,” he said solemnly. “Light of my life, treasure of my heart. Bane of my existence.” He winked, and Sam bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling like a lovestruck teenager. “Will you marry me upon our retirement, mi vida?”

“Yes.”

Dani's smile nearly split his face in two, and Sam got off the couch and kissed him. Padfoot barked and wriggled his way between them, licking their faces, and a laughing Dani nearly fumbled the ring in his haste to scratch Padfoot behind the ears. “Let me,” he said, and Sam held out his left hand. Dani took it and slid the ring onto Sam's finger with enough careful precision to make Sam's heart soar, and for several seconds all they could do was smile stupidly at each other. “I was right. It suits you.”

“Yes,” Sam said, with another wet laugh. He took Dani's left hand in his own and kissed his knuckles, right where the matching ring would rest as soon as he got to the jewellery store. “I think so too.”

[bitchloveskcbaseball]

You Left My Heart on the Floor

Pairing: Bryce x MC

Warnings: A bit of language. Character Death. I don’t think I put anything that outright mentions the attack, but this is taking place when M/C is quarantined in the room during the aftermath.

A/N #1: Sooooo... This is a follow up to Bar Trouble that is set during the book 2 attack with an unfortunate alternate ending. And it is not a happy one. Also this isn’t heavily edited, so please excuse any mistakes.

A/N #2: Name for this comes from Carly Pearce's Every Little Thing

A/N #3: I didn’t want to forcibly subject anyone to this, so I’m not tagging anyone on this.

Bryce barely took the time required to scrub out of surgery before rushing off through the corridors. He never even really saw any of the staff he passed or heard any of the comments that were floating about as he ran past. The only thing he could focus on was getting to Casey before it was too late. He had to get there before it was too late.

He didn’t even remember flying over the flights of stairs that took him to the cordoned-off floor. Barely registered brushing past all of the various personnel that were trying to keep him from entering. His first cognizant thought after handing Kyra’s surgery over to Tanaka didn’t come until he was standing in front of the window, staring into a room that looked like it had come straight out of some psycho-horror film. The entire room was covered in plastic, an extra cot was set up but had yet to be touched, all while countless figures were milling about just outside of a decontamination chamber in hazmat suits. But, despite all the commotion, the only thing that Bryce saw was her. Her face was paler than he’d ever seen before, a marked contrast to the deep, dark circles under her eyes. Her lips were almost ashen and even from across the room, he could see the way her body was trembling. Her normally bright, green eyes were so dull they were almost completely devoid of color. Yet through it all, he could tell, without even hearing her words, that she was doing everything she could to make sure that Rafael was comfortable. Every single thing about the scene chiseled pieces of his heart away.

Then, suddenly, Casey was looking up directly into his eyes. For the first time in months. And it literally stole his breath away. But there was no relief for either of them. Her expression had quickly morphed into disbelief and Bryce was hit with the full force of everything that had happened between them.

“What are you doing here?” Even through the hostility in her tone, he could hear the weakness of her voice.

“You… I heard you were in trouble.”

“So?”

Bryce stumbled back with the force of the word as if he’s been physically struck. “I needed to see you. To check on you.”

“Shouldn’t you still be in surgery?”

“Inez called Tanaka and he took over for me. Kyra’s in the next best possible hands.”

Casey let out a harsh scoff. “Seriously, Bryce? I’ve asked you for only one goddamn thing in the past six fucking months. To get Kyra through this surgery. And you couldn’t even do that?”

“Casey – “

“Forget it. You’ve seen me. Now you can go. I’m sure your girlfriend is probably worried about you by now. You shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

Bryce sucked in a sharp breath. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected when he’d come running, but this sure wasn’t it. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed the way her eyes followed him whenever they were in the same room. The glares she’d shoot in his direction when Amber was with him.

He liked Amber well enough, but, as terrible as it sounds, he only kept her around to make Casey jealous. To help distract him until Casey finally figured out what the hell it was that she wanted. Until Casey figured out that she was meant to be with him. But here they were months later and nothing had changed.

Except everything had changed. Because she could very well be dying. And he’d wasted so much time trying to play head games with her. Trying to get back at her for how she’d made him feel when she’d pushed him away.

Now, he realized, as he saw the flash of emotions through her eyes, he had done too good of a job at convincing her that he had moved on. Casey was never going to believe anything that he had to say, anything he desperately needed to say. Not that he could blame her. Why would she believe that he still loved her when he’d done everything possible to make sure she’d seen him all wrapped up with Amber any chance he got?

Dropping his head to stare at his shoes, he muttered, “I, uh… I won’t be far. Just in case you, uh, you need something. Okay?”

“Whatever.”

Without looking up, he turned on his heel and found his way into one of the evacuated rooms down the hall. Settling himself into corner of the room that butted up against the hallway so that he wouldn’t be seen through the crack in the door, he sank down until his face was buried against his knees. He’d never felt so helpless in his entire life. The one person who meant anything to him in this entire world was stuck in a room with some mystery substance threatening to take her away for good. He wanted nothing more than to be there for her, supporting her in every way possible, but she didn’t want that from him.

He couldn’t stand to be any further away from her than he currently was, though, so he hid out in the room throughout the night. He gradually inched closer to the door, in order to pick up on the pieces of conversation taking place in the hallway. Knowing that Ramsey and the diagnostics team were on the case had helped to ease some of his fears. That was, until he heard them telling her what had been in the can. Until he heard the words he’d been dreading for hours. “There is no cure.”

His entire world stopped. He couldn’t drag air into his lungs. He couldn’t see the light shining through the door opening. He couldn’t even smell the thick odor of disinfectant that permeated the air.

I’m going to lose her. No. Stop that, Bryce. They are going to figure this out. The brightest medical minds in the world are working on her case. They will fix this.

Still, he couldn’t shake the iron grip of fear around his heart. It took far longer than it should have for him to push himself to his feet. Even longer to actually figure out how to move them towards her room. This time, he was painfully aware of all the gazes falling on him as he trekked towards his destination. He couldn’t miss the pitiful, knowing looks he was receiving.

When he was once again standing in front of her window, he realized that she was now all alone in the room and his heart squeezed even harder. She was wobbling precariously as she seemed to be attempting to pace across the room. It took every ounce of self-control he’d ever possessed to not run into the room and haul her into his arms.

“Casey?”

Her movements were incredibly disjointed as she swiveled around to face him and her face was knotted up in confusion.

“Bryce?”

“Yeah. It’s me.”

“What ar – “ a violent coughing fit overtook her and very nearly brought her to her knees.

“Hey. Why, uh, why don’t you go sit on the bed for a minute, Case?”

“Can’t. Have to keep moving. Can’t solve this if I fall asleep.”

“You don’t have to solve this at all. You’ve got the best team of doctors ever working on this. Your only job is to preserve your strength.”

“Don’t… don’t tell me what to do, Bryce.”

“I’m just – “

“Well don’t. I’ve been doing just – “ Casey blanched, stumbling over to a waste bin next to her cot just before the retching started.

Bryce’s fingers itched to hold her, to pull her hair back out of her way, to hold a cool washcloth to her face. Anything to bring her some semblance of comfort. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted an extra hazmat suit, and a glimmer of hope bloomed within his chest.

“Hey, Case. There’s an extra suit out here. If you want, I can put it on and come keep you company.”

“No.” The strength behind the word was reassuring even as it cut straight to his heart.

“What?”

“You moved on. You have your … girlfriend and I’m sure she wouldn’t be pleased to find out you’d entered a contamination zone for your ex. And I … I don’t want you here. I’m just fine on my own.”

“But – “

“I said no. Now just… go home, Bryce. Just go home.”

Shocked and heartbroken, he stared at her back for several long moments before he finally was able to tear himself away from the window. He retreated back to his hiding place, unable to argue with her wishes but also unable to leave her completely. He needed to be near in case she needed something. In case she needed him.

What could have been an hour later or maybe five, he honestly didn’t know, Bryce was broken out of his contemplative misery by a commotion in the hall. He listened intently for any sort of hope or happiness amongst the chaos, but instead only heard words that had his blood running cold.

“She’s coding!”

He didn’t even remember moving, but suddenly found himself standing outside her window yet again. His face was pressed up to it as tightly as was possible, fingernails scratching at the glass. Please save her. Please don’t let her die. Whether it was a plea or a prayer, he honestly didn’t know, but he kept repeating it in his mind over and over as he watched the team of doctors trying to restore her heart rhythm as time ceased to exist.

Seemingly without warning, everyone stopped and a silence punctuated only by the harsh, flat tone of the heart monitor settled over the room.

[neocity-sarai]

Heartstrings

❂ reader x mark lee (soulmate au, inspired by the film “Weathering With You”)

❂ alerts: fluff, angst, self-blame, mentions of death, drinking, making out, mentions of the dreamies, happy belated birthday to the greatest rapper, laugher, and watermelon-eating fiend ever! this was 40 pages- i’m so sorry

❂ song rec: raining in london by lana condor and anthony de la torre

Soulmates. Weather. Uncontrollable and unpredictable- yet they control your mood and your fate. It’s been this way ever since you’ve been born, even since the beginning of your parents’ time. Your mother and father called it a force of nature- a phenomenon when you’re connected to someone like an invisible string, a syncopation of voices, thoughts, and feelings. Luckily for them, they fell in love when they were just college students and miraculously became soulmates. You always thought it was lucky that they met and were destined to be together from that moment, forming a family by having you in the future. It made you think of the what ifs. What if they didn’t meet or if your mother had someone else when your father was around? What if they loved each other but weren’t soulmates? What if you ceased to exist? It makes you shiver when you think about it. 

During middle school, you vividly remember a collection of memories. Happy ones and unfortunately, not so good ones. Your father had died when you were 14, a drunk driver had recklessly crashed into the family van on the highway when your father was driving to work. Even 4 years after, your mom became extremely frail at heart from the grief. She always had a wine glass in her hand, sobbing every night when she’d enter every room of your family’s home. You were just a kid when she told you she saw your father on every wall and every photograph. She missed him. She told you that she wasn’t able to heal so quickly. Understanding, you rubbed her back on the floor of their bathroom, dumping the remaining liquid out of her smeary glass. She just sobbed into your arms, shakes rupturing her entire body. It made you feel broken and somber seeing your own mother like this. Still, you had to be strong for her. 

The weather outside was cold and dark. Rain crashed down on the window pane like a series of dashes and lines. The clouds seemed angry, lightning flashing like shooting stars and thunder roaring like a legion of lions. It was extreme and powerful, water flooding the streets and your front yard. You were sure the peonies that you had planted with your father were now washed away in broken stems. It seemed like you had an ocean of water outside and inside your mother’s bathroom. The feeling of hopelessness did not stop. That’s when you heard a pin drop. It was a subtle but also a loud sound, something possible to ignore- it was the sound of a realization: your father always loved the rain. No matter how chilly it was, he always enticed you to dance in the rain as he held his arms out, a grin plastered on his face. His smile always stretched from ear to ear. It’s something you never forgot. 

You wiped your mom’s tears with your thumbs, “Mom?”

Your mother coughed, her eyes red and puffy, “Yes, honey?”

“Can I show you something?”

“What is it?”

“Just trust me.”

You took her by the hand, leading her through your dark and empty house. You made way to your backyard door, opening up to your water-logged lawn and a cloudy sky. Everything was a dull grey but was touched with splotches of periwinkle blues, it can’t be all that bad. Letting go of your mother’s hand, you begin to advance into the middle of the grass, spinning and twirling as hard as you can. You spread your arms out before sticking your tongue out to the rain above, droplets cold and fresh. You screamed out to the sky, “I love you dad!”

Your mother watched you with her lips pressed into a thin line, leaning on the pillar of your roof. You motioned to her, “Come on, mom- maybe dad’s up there watching.”

She pauses for a moment, reluctant of what might happen if she indulges in the thought. She decides that there’s nothing to lose. There’s nothing to do but own it anyway. She flies into your arms, your figure supporting her weight. You hear her sigh out when she feels the soft patter on her cheeks. Small water droplets litter her eyelashes, the cold soothing the puffiness of her face. She shuts her eyes for a bit, relishing in the icy, chilling feeling. Both of your shoes are flooded and covered in mud but it doesn’t matter. For the next several hours, you both laugh as loud as you can, running around your backyard. You both lay side by side on the wet grass, the green tufts under your fingers. Your mom turns her head towards you, smiling, “We will be okay.”

You nod, nuzzling your nose into your mom’s shoulder, “I won’t let anything happen to us.”

You hate the world. You hate how unfair it is. You wish you kept your word. That night, your mother had fallen asleep on the couch. Even though you had insisted on running a bath, your mother refused out of exhaustion. That one second has landed you and your mother in the hospital. The doctor had told you that your mother had come down with a severe case of pneumonia- it’s already scarred the lining of her lungs. The damage is irreversible. He’s also told you that your mother isn’t likely to survive due to her past conditions of frail health. You sit in your mother’s hospital room, clutching her hand as she sleeps. You think to yourself: Hasn’t the world taken so much from you already? Haven’t you experienced too many sacrifices? Your mind shifts into shadows. If you hadn’t suggested going out in the rain, would your mother be better? If your mother dies, isn’t it your fault? Soulmates? Do they even exist? You hate the idea of waiting for someone, pining for somebody that might never show up. The world is silly. You cry into her hand until you can’t breath. You let go of it, making your way to the bathroom down the hall. Every doctor and patient that stares at you looks like a blur in your vision and your heart feels like it’s going to explode from it all. You can't stop rewinding your life like a broken movie reel, visions of your mother and you and your dad. 

“Whoa there, slow down-”

A pair of arms catches you and an unfamiliar voice makes you bite your tongue on accident. When you look up, you’re met with the view of a boy- a cute one at that. You’re not in the mood to compliment him, to say anything. Still, through your blurry tears, you are wary of him. He seems like a boy that you could get to know but one that could wear the face of an innocent but actually be the devil in disguise. He’s too pretty to be average. His black locks are the color of ash, his eyes are dark and sparkly with innocence. Oh yes, he has sharp features too. His jaw and his cheeks are carved like seared gems, his eyebrows thin lines below his bangs. He wears a pair of denim jeans and a striped sweater. You take note of the annoyingly polished tag pinned on his sweater: “Mark Lee” it reads.

“Are you alright?” the boy asks again. 

You just stare up at him, tears running down your cheeks like foggy waterfalls. You can’t smell, see, or feel. All you can do is lightly shake your head. Weirdly, he seems like he understands, “Can I help you find someone or a room? I’m a volunteer at this hospital.”

You shake your head again, a little too violently. You sniffle, your voice sounds small, “I just want somewhere that’s away from people.”

Apologetically, Mark nods. “I may be able to help. I just need to change first, yeah?”

“No, I- it’s alright. I don’t-t need help.”

Mark waves his hands around, “It’ll only take a few seconds, I promise.”

Why should you trust a stranger? Your mom always reminded you that your father was a stranger to her at first. Sometimes, you never know where it leads. You check the time on your phone before turning to see the direction of where your mom’s room is. 

“Only a few minutes.”

You let Mark lead you to the bathrooms. He turns to you, frantic and he seems a little nervous, “Give me a few seconds. Don’t leave, okay?”

“Okay.”

When Mark comes out, he’s dressed in scrubs. He wears a grey shirt and matching pants, his tag now on the pocket of it. He looks like one of those hot nurses that helps the pregnant woman who’s screaming her lungs out in Grey’s Anatomy. You don’t say that to him though. He walks with you, “Follow me- uh.. what’s your name?”

“I-It’s y/n.” After passing a series of corridors, Mark unlocks some obscure door that’s a little ways down, shoving his ring of keys into the lock, “I come up here to think, maybe it could help you.”

“Is this even legal? Couldn’t you get fired for letting me up here?”

Mark rubs the back of his neck, his eyes on you, “Well yes, but I think you’re worth it.”

You make a face at him,“Why? I’m a stranger?”

“Not to be all sappy but my supervisor told me that in the medical business, you always have to take chances- this me taking a chance.”

You scoff, “Thank you for your charity, I’ll be going up now.”

Mark’s eyes widen at your brazen attitude, “I’ll wait down here. Just knock on the door when you’re ready to come down.”

When Mark opens the door, all there is a concrete staircase. But when you emerge to the top of the staircase, it’s everything in one place. Your breath hitches in your throat when you see it. It’s a rooftop. The sun sets on the city’s horizon, silver clouds rolling in to threaten waves of rain. Lightning flashes in it again, thunder booming just like that day. You walk around the rooftop, watching how high up you are and how the skyscrapers touch the vastness of the sky. When you turn around, you see something peculiar. A japanese-like shrine stands in your view, decorated with hanging lines of colorful lanterns and photos. Making your way to it, you recognize that the photos must be of victims that have died at the hospital. Flowers and bells hang from the red-painted posts. Under the arch, sits a small fountain that’s been collecting rain. It looks so old, covered in moss and grime. Though, if you peer hard enough, there are names inscribed into the stone. You step forward under the arch of the shrine, the bells ringing in the wind. But, when you do, it doesn't feel normal. It almost feels like all of your emotions and senses have been amplified. Somehow, you can’t hear anything. You can’t hear the twinkle of the bells or any wind. When you stare down at the fountain, you don’t believe it when you see water droplets floating upwards. You use your finger to touch the droplets, the small spheres floating into the sky in a stream. Gravity doesn’t work like this, does it? You try to grab the water droplets, they still continue to slip out of your hands and into the air above. How is this possible?

You dip your finger into the rain water that sits in the stone bowl, ripples forming. Something shocks your veins like electricity, it makes you clutch your heart through your chest. What was that? You run out from under the archway, suspicious of it all. Is it some sort of prank machine? Either way, you want to get back to your mother. You run out from under the archway, one prayer couldn’t hurt. It's silly, you don’t go to church much. Still, you clasp your hand together and you pray as hard as you can. You pray you can walk in the sun with your mom again, that your father is happy, and for everything you’ve ever known.

Opening your eyes, you run back down to the staircase before swinging the door open. You spot Mark tripping, his legs are a tangled mess, “Whoa- what the-”

You eye him suspiciously, “Why’d you lean against the door? I was clearly going to open it..”

“I thought you were going to knock! You just caught me off-guard is all.”

Despite having just met, Mark nudges you, “So, how was it?”

You eye him again, wary of him, “I’ll give you credit for the view- it was beautiful. I wanted to ask though, what was that shrine up there?”

Mark stops walking, cocking his eyebrow up, “What? There was a shrine?”

You stop walking as well, “The big red archway, fountain in the center? Colorful lanterns and photos? Can’t miss it unless you’re blind?”

Mark laughs nervously, his nose scrunching in mock-pain, “My eye-sight isn’t the greatest so..”

“There’s no way you could have missed it, I literally saw it the moment I got up there.”

“Maybe it’s new- I was just there last week and didn’t see anything like that. Maybe you need to check your eyes?”

“I have 20/20 vision, thank you very much.”

Mark raises his hands up in mock-surrender, “Yes sir- I mean, mam’’”

By the time you make it back to the hallway where you had run into Mark, you turn to him, “Well, this has been interesting. Goodbye, stranger.”

Mark giggles, “You know my name though- I know yours. Are we really strangers still?”

“Yes. We met like 10 minutes ago.”

You notice the pink blush that creeps onto Mark’s cheeks, his words coming out it a stuttering ramble, “I-I’d really l-like to ask-”

Before Mark can ask you his question, probably for your number, you're interrupted by your mother’s nurse running out to you both, “Y/n! I’ve been looking for you, it’s your mother. You need to come now.” Her facial expression does not look good.

You nod, “Bye Mark, thanks for uh- your time.”

Mark opens his mouth, “Y-yeah, no problem, uh- y/n, yeah- I’ll see you around?”

You follow the nurse, “Maybe.”

Later that night, your mom had passed away. And two years later, you had blamed yourself for it every single day. Not only did your prayer not work, your mind was absent of the boy who helped you onto the roof. You couldn’t didn’t want to even remember his name or why you had run into him.

2 years later 

>I wonder if it’s raining in London

I wonder if the moon looks the same where you are

Still think about the sound of you humming

Singing to nothing in your car

Ever since your mom passed away, everything changed. You started to live with your aunt in her cottage home that was little ways out of the city. She had a rose garden out front, white and red bushes overgrown on the picket fence. Your aunt promised to invest in your parents’ property but thought it’d be good for you to spend the summer at the cottage. You could classify it as a time of healing, though most nights were spent thinking about your parents. You would spend the summer helping your aunt cook meals, plant flowers, and play with her beagle named Mosby in the wheat fields. At least, you weren’t entirely alone.

Eventually, it was time for you to apply for universities- a possibility that wasn’t even your orbit at all. Even so, strange things kept happening. Even when it was raining, no matter where you stepped- the weather changed in an almost too quick of an instant. If you wanted it to be sunny, the moment you stepped outside, the rays would emerge out of the obsidian clouds. If you wanted snow to play in with Mosby, it would snow even in the late June summers. It was odd, like the weather gods were at your beckon and call. This phenomenon only happened after that day you touched the fountain’s water, only after you walked under the archway of the shrine. You decided that there was no use fighting it. Of course, you were bewildered with your newfound power- though after a while, there was nothing to do but embrace it. There was something that your mother and father taught you since you were a child: help those who could be helped. Going around the city for errands, you observed people. For instance, a woman was telling her friend in the grocery store how disappointing that it would be raining during her baby’s 1st birthday. After collecting your items, you walked outside, clasping your hands together. You said in your mind, “Let us have sunshine for today.”

And of course, the weather forecast had announced that there would suddenly be no chance of rain. You could imagine the woman’s joy. You saw a young girl- about the same age as you running past you on the street as she tripped over her heels and fumbled in her tight office outfit, grumbling at how hard the rain was coming down. You wished for sunshine for her too. It was like the gods gave you a gift and it was your duty to use it for good- it’s what your parents would have wanted. Towards the end of the 2nd year, you told yourself that you wanted a change in scenery. It was time to do something worthwhile for yourself. Luckily, you got into the university of your choice and were on your way to moving to campus. There’s this erratic beating in your chest. Is it excitement? Anxiety? Fear? Probably a mix of all 3. As every coming of age movie, it’s all the same. Your aunt had helped you move into your dorm room, reassuring that you could come home or to the cottage whenever you wished. Thanking her, you press a kiss to her cheek before rearranging your boxes of belongings. Perhaps, this was the start of a new chapter. 

First day of class

First period is english 101. The university looks nice, it’s very castle-like with high-rising towers and turrets made of carved stone. Students sit in the courtyards in their friend circles, coffees in their hands as they sit under the large juniper trees. Though it is a sunny day, the forecast shows that heavy rains will stir into a monsoon. You keep note of that. Walking into the lecture hall, you take a seat towards the middle row- not too close to be picked on but not too far where you can’t hear. The professor is some old guy who’s been studying philosophy for 3000 years and you hope that you don't fall asleep before he’s done. You rest your chin in your hand, twirling your pencil on top of the desk surface. Suddenly, the entrance door bursts open with a loud noise, causing the hundreds of the students in the room to turn their heads. A boy stands there, he drops his books recklessly. The professor pauses his lecture to lower his glasses, “Mr. Lee? You’re tardy, son.”

The boy scratches the back of his neck, doe eyes pointed at the man, “Sorry Professor Norman, the rain held me up.”

“Go take a seat.”

You hear the girls behind you giggle from the sight. All you knew was that he looked oddly familiar to you. The boy climbs the stairs, standing on his tiptoes to look for an empty seat. When he spots one, a grin is plastered on his face as he makes his way nearer and nearer to you. You realize that there’s an empty seat right next to you. It’s painfully embarrassing as you watch the boy fumble his way behind other students, murmuring I’m sorrys and pardon mes. One of his notebooks falls out of his worn down jansport backpack, a girl batting her eyelashes when she hands it back to him. Smiling charming at her, he whispers, “Thanks for that.”

Finally, after 4 years, the boy manages to make it next to you. You scoff when he accidentally swings his backpack into the side of your arm, “Oh god, I’m so sorry- “

You nod curtly, “You’re fine.”

Now that you can get a closer look at him, you feel sweat bead up on your back when you realize where you’ve seen him. It’s that boy- the one the night your mom died. He reaches his hand out, “Hi there, my name’s Mark. Mark Lee.”

You stare at him for a bit before reluctantly taking his hand, “Y/n.”

As much as you don’t want to admit, Mark looks as endearing as ever. His black  locks are still the same, eyes shining from the dim lighting. He smells of the sweet rain, water droplets wetting his hair and his shoulders. 

>I wonder if you look any different

And would I see the years that have passed on your eyes?

There’s still a little part of me missing

I no longer recognize

Mark turns to you, his eyebrow quirked when he says your name on his tongue, “Have we met before? You seem familiar?”

You shake your head, “I don’t know anyone by the name of Mark so, I guess you’re the first?” Why did you lie to him?

Mark nods, “Ah, I see.”

Mark ruffles the water out of his hair, opening his soaked notebook, “Ah shit, the rain got in my backpack.”

You can’t help but chuckle a little, “I can lend you some of mine?”

Mark’s eyes widen at you, you swear you can see a faint blush creeping on his cheeks, “R-really? I swear I’ll pay you back.”

“No need, here.” You proceed to tear some sheets out for Mark. His presence is kind of comforting- like some childhood friend. Wait, what? No- you barely know him. 

You and Mark listen to the rest of the lecture in silence. When it’s time to go, he zips up his backpack before turning to you. He’s extremely red now. He bites his bottom lip, “Hey, I um, I was wondering if we could exchange numbers? I still want to pay you back for the paper and you’re new right? If you’re not, don’t worry about it but I don’t know, I just in case you needed me-ah, never mi-”

Before Mark can turn away, you look at him, “I’d like that. I could use a friend- being a newbie and everything.”

With that, Mark lights up, “Wait, really?”

“Sure.” You hand your phone to him, “Pick a good emoji.”

Mark’s fingers fumble with your phone, catching it in time before almost dropping it. He chuckles nervously, “Don’t worry, I got it-”

You smile, you’re sure your cheeks hurt from it. 

“There you go Mark, you have my number now.”

“Cool. Good. Yeah.”

With that you wave him a curt goodbye, “See you around?”

Mark smiles back at you, teeth gleaming white in between his lips, “Yeah y/n, see you around.”

With that, you go home to your dorm room. When you look out the window before sleeping, you count how many droplets sit on the windowpane. The stormy skies angrily from swirls of obsidian and murky lavenders. You hope that Mark won’t be caught in the rain again tomorrow.

In class the next day, your professor assigns group projects during lecture. Because you happened to sit next to Mark, you were paired up together. You both didn’t mind though. Mark pulls out his notebook and fountain pen, yanking the cap off with his teeth, “So, I wanted to ask if you wanted to go over the project during lunch?” 

You nod at him, “That works for me.”

When class is over, you follow Mark to the university’s cafeteria. It’s teeming with students and professors, lunch hour is always chaotic. Mark points at an empty table by the window, “How about over there?”

Before you can answer him, many voices call Mark’s name. He swivels around to see a group of boys motioning him over to their table. He glances at them before waving them off in refusal. You nudge him slightly, “We can go say hi if you want, I don’t mind.”

Mark runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up in some parts, “Are you sure? I don’t want to take too much of your time?”

“Let’s go, your friends seem nice.”

Mark scoffs, “Please, they’re hardly my friends.”

When you both make your way to your table, you’re greeted by a series of hoots and hollers. Mark introduces each of them. He points at a taller boy, brunette, and as handsome as hollywood’s greatest movie stars, “This is Jeno.”

Jeno smiles at you, his eyes crinkling into crescent moons. You’re sure your heart made flips at that. The loudest boy is named Haechan, jostling Mark by squeezing his thigh jokingly, “Is this your girlfriend?” he asks. You and Mark simultaneously shake your heads, refusing Haechan’s teasing. The next is Renjun, he seems more stoic than the rest. Similar to him, a girl whose hair is the color of burgundy plums sits beside him. Freckles dot her face, contrasted to the blueness of her eyes- you have to admit, she’s very pretty. Still, Mark introduces her as Lana and when you introduce yourself, it’s like daggers are being shot through her eyes. You suspect it has to do with Mark being next to another girl. When you’re finished introducing yourself to everyone, Haechan lets out a burst of laughter, “Y/n’s so sweet, if you don’t take her then I will!” as he slaps Jeno’s shoulder, Jeno rolls his eyes at the boy. Mark stares him down, grabbing your hand, “Y/n and I have a project to work on, we’ll be going now.”

You shout out a quick nice to meet you back to them, your eyes shifting to Mark’s fingers around your wrist. You don’t say anything as you let him drag you to the library- your hand becoming a little clammy. You hope he doesn’t notice it.

Sitting at some empty table near the shelves, he turns back to you, “Sorry about that back there. They’re rambunctious. They must’ve made you uncomfortable right?”

You smile at him, shaking your head, “Not at all really, they seem fun. You’re very lucky.”

Mark’s mouth makes an ‘o’ shape, his eyes widening. You gesture to his fingers, “Mark, you’re still holding me?”

In a flash, Mark drops your hand, his palm flying to his mouth, “Oh god- I’m sorry, I didn’t even realize-”

You place your hands on his shoulders, “Mark. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

He nods slowly, trying to fight the blush that creeps up his neck and his cheeks. He shakes it off, you realize how endearing he is. He sits down, opening up his philosophy books, “So, what should we do for the project?”

You twirl your pen in your hand, “Well, Professor’s prompt was we have to discover the secret of life right? What does that even mean?”

Mark knits his brows together, pouting his lips, “Good question. I think that’s what the assignment is- discovering it for ourselves?”

“How do we do that?”

“Let’s start making a bullet list. I do that when I’m weighing options.”

Mark starts to scribble on his notebook. “What does life mean to you?”

You look at him, your eyes instantly catching his. You have to look away. Life. Weather. Soulmates. Aspects of your world that you can’t fully understand. Your mouth feels dry. You think back to your parents, moments that you play in the dark by yourself, the things that you would do and experience but can’t. The words kind of tumble out from your lips, “Mark, do you believe in soulmates?”

Mark freezes. He sits in silence for a few seconds. He bites his lower lip, “It’s difficult to say. I mean, my parents are soulmates so I’ve just grown up thinking that I’ll have my own one day? But no, I don’t have anyone.”

You nod. You kind of mumble, “Yeah, I don’t have anyone either. I almost don’t want to believe in them.”

“Is there a reason why?”

“Not really, I just don’t get how two people can randomly become synched.” No, it’s because you’re afraid of love. You’re afraid of what will happen if you love someone so hard and they leave. 

“Ah, I see.”

You clear your throat, “Anyways, back to the prompt. What does life mean to you?”

“I think it could be a variety of things, my family, my friends, school? But I’m assuming that Professor doesn’t want generic answers. He said the creative category weighs the most points.”

And then it clicks in your head. Your gift- it’s what ties you back to your mom and your dad, seeing people happy when you are able to bend the weather to your will. You’ve never told anyone before. You thought people would look at you weird if you told them. Should you tell Mark?

Mark scrolls through his phone, long eyelashes accentuating the hood of his eyes. His lips pursed when he presses his fingers to the screen, “Hey- sorry, this is off-topic but what do you think is going on with the weather? Like one day it’s a hurricane and then sunny the next. Everyone’s talking about it on Twitter.”

“Mark, can I show you something?”

Mark snaps his head up, “Is everything okay?”

You smile, “Just trust me.”

You hand him his belongings as he messily shoves them into his backpack, “Where are we going?”

“Just don’t freak out.”

Mark makes a face at you, “When you say that it makes me freak out.”

You lead Mark to the roof terrace of the university, climbing the stairs in the pouring rain. People below run under the canopies as they use their books to avoid the rain. Mark gulps, “You know, I’m not the best with heights-”

You plant your feet on the ground, clasping your hands together. In your head, you repeat the words like a mantra, “I want sunshine today, let the heavens be sunny upon us.”

And like instant magic, glowing white rays start to sear the blackened clouds, the rain starting to cease. In the middle of the dark ocean above, patches of deep blue begin to emerge. Mark runs to the terrace railing, “Holy shit- are you doing that?”

When the rain is completely dissipated, you glance at Mark who’s staring at you with utter awe in his eyes, “I’m going crazy right? Is this some weird trip or something?” Mark’s voice cracks, his fingers clenching the base of his throat. 

You shake your head, “No, this is my gift. You’re the only person who knows about it.”

“You have the power to make it stop raining?”

“Not only that, but all weather forms. Whenever I pray.”

Mark clasps his hands together too, closing his eyes as he murmurs types of weather, “How come it’s not working for me? I go to church all the time with my family.”

You sock his arm, “No silly, it’s not normal for everyone. Just me.”

Mark lets out an elongated whoa, “How long have you had this gift?”

Suddenly, your throat turns hoarse, “Since my mom died.”

He stammers, his words coming out in a  trail of apologies, “I’m so sorry, I didn't know- I-”

“It was a long time ago. Still, I think I was given this gift to carry on my parents’ legacy, their connection of being soulmates even.”

Mark nods quietly. “That’s so cool. I’ve never met a weather girl before.”

You laugh at his nickname, “Weather girl huh? Has a nice ring to it.”

“I’ll change that to your contact name, you can bet on that.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“So, what do you do with your gift? How do you know when to change weather patterns?”

“That’s the thing. I don’t. When I walk around and I see or hear that someone need’s weather for a specific day, I try to help them out. I thought I’d try to do something good.”

Mark runs his fingers over his hair, “That’s amazing. That’s so admirable of you to do that.”

“It’s what my parents would have wanted. I do it for them too.”

Mark stands up straight, his finger pointing at you. It looks as if a light bulb is going off, “Say- I have an idea for our project. What if we started a business?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Hear me out- we can call it Weather Girl Service. We can talk about money management and leadership skills in life, because that’s what adults do right? Pay taxes and bills?”

You laugh at his silly idea, “But why Weather Girl Service?”

Mark hops excitedly up and down, “We can make job postings in the city and have people pay us by the hour if you change the weather to fit their occasion! We’d be rich by the end of it! But wait- only if you agree, I don’t want to make you do something like that if you don’t want to.”

Shrugging your shoulders, you smile at him, “I’m up for it if you are. I don’t mind.”

“Really?! Are you sure?!” Mark looks like an overly-excited school boy, his backpack jumbled because of how fast he’s jumping. He scrunches his nose, fistpumping the air, “We’re so getting an A on this.”

“Yes, I sure hope so!”

With that, you and Mark plan to meet at your dorm room the next day to get started on the project. He texts you later that night, “3 pm sharp right?”

“Yes sir, 3p m- my room.”

“Alrighty, see you tomorrow!”

When 3 pm comes, Mark stands at your door, his hands full with a box of materials and supplies. 

You giggle, “You sure got reinforcements.”

“I have to be prepared!”

For the next several hours, you and Mark spend time designing different posters and infographics to upload online and staple to bulletin boards. Mark’s got a mark cap in his mouth, brows knit in concentration as he writes on his notebook.

Mark snaps his fingers together, “How about this: Weather girl at your service, you call and we’ll be there to help you get the memories that you want- birthdays, grad parties, work events, you name it! Submit your info to this number here!”

You flash him a thumbs up, “It’s perfect. I love it.”

All day you and Mark run around the city- posting your posters and fliers from anywhere you can find. You post them on benches, town hall bulletin boards, and the street lamps that line the sidewalk. And the whole time, you never take your eyes off Mark’s wide smile and sparkling eyes. You don’t catch that whenever you’re turned away, Mark glances at you to admire your features, your hair, and everything in between. Around 6pm, you walk beside Mark on one of the bridges that extends over the river. The sun sets in the horizon, colors of sharp marigolds and blush pinks paint the sky above. There was no way that you and Mark were going to run around the city in rain. Sighing out, you watch the sun cast a faint glow on Mark’s cheeks and the slender of his nose, making him out to be a painting that belongs in the museum. It’s almost like if you took a paintbrush that you could paint him yourself just to memorize it.

Mark fists the air in victory, “We had a very productive day today, don’t you think?”

You nod, “Of course. I don’t think anyone can resist our offer.” 

“Thanks for doing this with me.”

You’re suddenly caught off guard by Mark’s gratitude, though it is not too out of character. “I had fun today with you.”

Mark smiles at the ground, twirling when he walks like he’s skipping to the beat of his favorite song. You hear him mumble a cute, “Me too.”

For the rest of the way, Mark walks you back home to your dorm room. Even though you told him you were fine, he still insisted. 

“Well, this is me.” you say.

Mark scratches his nape, readjusting the strap of his backpack, “I’ll see you tomorrow then. The grand opening.”

You nod, “Yes, bright and early.”

You turn away from him as he watches you enter your building. You instantly wish that you could’ve placed a hasty peck to his cheek. It seemed irresistible in the moment. Though, you remind yourself to not get too comfortable. Little did you know that Mark spent the whole night thinking about you.

>But if I had met you today

Would I have loved you the same?

And if I had known it would take

Ten years and twenty-two days to stop loving you

Stop loving you, no

First day of business

“Mark, is this yours?”

Mark sits in the driver’s seat of his sunny yellow van- the kind that you’d make deliveries in. It looks bright under the gloomy, rainy skies.  He honks his horn obnoxiously once and twice as he scrunches his eyes together before saying, “Get in loser, we’re going shopping!”

Laughing, you launch yourself into the seat before Mark takes off with a faster speed. You shout, “If I die in a car accident today, half of the money we make goes to my aunt okay?”

Mark playfully rolls his eyes, “Stop it y/n, I’m the best driver in town!”

“Yeah, right-”

The first stop happens to be one of Mark’s dad’s friends. He requested that he was going to surprise his wife with an anniversary dinner and needed sunshine for that specific hour: Saturday, 6pm. When you arrived at the pretty farm home, the man greeted Mark instantly when you got out of the van. He shook your hand, eyes anticipating, “Is it true? You can really change the weather?”

You smile at him, “You need to see it to believe it and I’m here to deliver.”

The man puts his hand on Mark’s shoulder, “Here’s the compensation for your work today. I have to ask one favor of you.”

Mark quirks his eyebrow up, handing the wad of cash to you, “What’s that?”

“My wife and I want some private time, we’ve paid you extra so that you can watch our daughter?”

Mark’s jaw drops, “Watch your daughter? As in baby sit?”

“Yes, that’s right. We will give as much as you need.”

Mark runs a hand through his hair, his eyes widened, “I don’t think-”

Before Mark can answer, you cut in, “We’d love to. What time does she need to be back?”

“8 pm.”

“Deal.”

Mark stands next to you, his face utterly flabbergasted from your confidence of the deal. You can tell that he’s freaking out inside. He’s panicking and it shows on his face. 

“Mari, please come out! One second-”

Through the front door, the man guides his 7 year old daughter to you both. And you’re sure that your heart does flips when you see her. She’s dressed in a princess dress, her eyes fluttering from sleep. She’s the spitting image of her father. She drags a blue blanket in one hand, rubbing her green eyes, “Daddy?”

Her dad motions to you and Mark, “You’ll be hanging out with Mark and y/n today. Mommy and I will be back in a few hours.”

“Okay..”

The man tells you about everything you need to know, when Mari needs to go to the bathroom, what she likes to eat, and every little thing she likes to do. 

��I think we’re all set now, any questions?”

You shake your head, “No sir, we’ll have her back by 8.”

He nods at you, “Good, see you both later.”

With that, Mari is left in yours and Mark’s hands. You crouch down to her level, waving at her lightly, “Hi Mari, my name’s y/n. Me and Mark will take you out today okay?”

The girl slowly blinks, clutching her blue blanket even tighter, “Are you my mommy for today?”

How have you not exploded from her adorableness yet? “Yes, just for a little bit until your real mommy comes back.”

She reaches up to cling to Mark’s pant leg, plopping down to sit on his shoe, “And you’re my daddy today?”

Mark glances down at her and back to you. He squeezes his eyes in mock pain, running his hand over his hair, “Sure, I’m your daddy.”

You nudge him, whispering, “She’s a kid, try to be nice.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

When you hop back in the van, you have Mari sit in your lap as you place the seatbelt over her body, making sure she is secure. Mark revs up the engine, driving slowly to the next location of requests. It doesn’t take long for Mari to fall asleep on your chest, you coo at her peaceful face. 

“I’m not good with kids- what did we get ourselves into?”

“Don’t be such a worry-wart! She’s so cute, look at her!”

“Can’t, I’m driving.”

“Don’t be grumpy Mark, you’ll have a family with your soulmate one day.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in soulmates.”

“Agh- you know what I mean.”

“Will she be okay when we’re working? We have 2 more requests to do.”

“She’ll be fine, relax.”

The next destination you arrive at is a farmer’s market at the heart of downtown. When Mark parks the car, you wake Mari, “Mari? Mark and I have to work so you just stick with me okay?”

Mari mumbles a disoriented reply, her cheek still resting on your shoulder. You arrive at a fruit stand where an older woman approaches you, “Mark and y/n?”

Mark smiles at her, “That’s us- you called the Weather Girl Delivery Service?”

“Yes. The other farmers didn’t want to believe me but I swear, I wanted to take a chance with this. As you can see, we can’t have our market with all this constant flooding and rain. It’s like the weather’s been on steroids.”

Mark flashes her with a thumbs up, “That’s why we’re here, we’ll get to work right away.”

“Y/n?”

You step forward to Mark, “You’ll have to hold her.”

Mark’s eyes widen with surprise, “Uh, okay.”

He cradles sleeping Mari so awkwardly, you have to guide his hands to support her bottom, “Mark, you have to hold her up or she’ll slip.”

Mark fumbles with his hands before adjusting her so her chin is on his shoulder, “I got her, don’t worry.”

You nod before making your way to the center of the market. Clasping your hands together once more, you pray that the sunshine will blow away the cyclone of the shadows and falling rains. Miraculously, it does. When you turn around, the woman stands next to Mark in awe spreading her arms out in glee, “It works! Haha! Take that you old goons!”

The rest of the farmers stand under the shade of the fruit stand, grumbling at the woman’s victory. You give her a hug once she sends you off with a wad of cash and three freshly squeezed juices for all three of you. When you settle back into the car, Mari still stays rested on your lap.

“See, that wasn’t so bad.”

Mark rolls his eyes, a smirk plastered on his lips, “Okay, you win this time.”

“By the way, is this your first time holding a child?”

Mark laughs, “Don’t even patronize me right now.”

The third destination is a bit more serene. You arrive at an elderly woman’s home, her home similar to that of your aunt’s cottage. It’s decorated with wood and bamboo shoots, bells and windchimes hang from the roof shingles. Knocking on the door, the woman greets you. She’s an elderly Japanese woman, hair tied into a loose bun as she motions you to come inside with her cane, “Come in, come in.”

You both slip off your shoes, Mari awake as if sleep was a distant memory. The woman leads you to her dining room, pots of orchids and perilla leaves grow all over the counters and sink. There’s colorful painted murals of people and sceneries on the walls, smeared from the passing of time. History moves within the walls in a series of blurred colors. 

“Something to drink, kids?”

You and Mark decline, prompting Mari to mumble, “I’m thirsty.”

You hear the rumbling noise from Mari’s stomach, it is around lunch time. You ask for the woman for a glass of water but she waves you off with a smile. Instead, she cuts a slice of peach pie for Mari, the crust smells of cinnamon and nutmeg. She passes a pitcher of lemonade to you and Mark, sucking on lemon slices as she works.

Mark sits next to you on the bench by the dining table, “Thank you for the hospitality mam’, there’s no need to pay us for your request.”

You smile at Mark’s words, not wanting to take from the elderly woman either. When she’s done putting away the pie, she meanders over to you slowly as she pats down Mari’s silky black hair, “You kids are awfully young to have a child.”

Mark chokes on his tea, sputtering the liquid into his glass. It sends him into a coughing fit, “S-she isn’t our child- we’re just watching her for the day.”

You jokingly hit Mark’s back to get him to stop choking, “Oh no, we’re not married either- we’re just friends.”

The woman raises her brow like she knows some unspoken secret, “Friends?”

You and Mark glance at each other before awkwardly averting eyes. Even Mari talks with her mouthful of pie, “They’re my mommy and daddy for today!”

Mark mutters, “I’m not your real dad..”

The elderly woman is amused, her smile creating creases on her cheeks and on her temples, “Are you two at least soulmates?”

This time, you answer her almost too hastily, “No! We’re only classmates- friends- that’s all.”

Mark looks at you, the sparkle in his eyes dimming a bit. Was that disappointment? Hurt? His shoulders are drooping and his lips are pressed into a thin line. Did you say something wrong? It was a fact though, you and Mark weren’t soulmates.

You try to brush it off. The woman leans on her cane, “I need you kids for your strength. I would do it myself but as you can see, I’m not as young as I used to be. Help me move the orchids out back.”

Mark makes his way to the kitchen sink, roots overgrown on the counter top. You move Mari off your lap before turning to the elderly woman, “Could you please watch her?”

The elderly woman chuckles, “Sure, I have enough pie to keep her distracted.”

You politely thank her, making your way over to where Mark is putting the orchids into glass vases. He doesn’t say a word. You nudge him with your elbow a bit, “Is everything okay?”

His eyes are trained on his busied hands, “Mhm.”

“Mark, you don’t seem okay.”

“Nope, everything’s good y/n. Are you alright?”

“Well yeah, but..”

Mark bites his lower lip, “Good.”

He grabs both vases in his hands before walking over to the sliding door, leaving you alone with your thoughts. He definitely wasn’t okay, you don’t want to push him any further. Instead, you pot the rest of the succulents and flowers in the kitchen.

“You know, that boy likes you.”

You turn around to see Mari snuggling up to the elderly woman, her dimples popping out from smiling. 

“Mark? No, we’re just partners for a school project.”

“That may be true but I’ve lived a long time, I know what love looks like. After all, I had a soulmate too.”

You lean against the edge of the counter, picking off the stray leaves off stems, “Let me guess- they left?”

“To the afterlife if that’s what you’re referring to.”

You stay silent. You’re not sure what to say. 

“Child, have you been hurt in the past?”

You snap your head up at her, setting the flowers down, “Why do you ask that?”

She clicks her tongue, “Being ignorant to feelings doesn’t count as being oblivious. Don’t let your past rip you of your opportunities.”

Your eyes shift to Mark standing outside, he sticks his hand out in the rain, water droplets crashing against his palm. 

“With all due respect, you don’t know what I’ve been through.”

“Shoot it at me. Guilt? Sadness? Grief? You forget I’m old. I’ve seen things.”

Mari pokes her arm, playing with the ribbon on the woman’s sleeve, “Can I have more pie?”

The woman frowns down at her, “You’ll be sick if you eat so much pie, wait for dinner.”

Mari huffs in response, brows furrowed in annoyance. 

“My point is, y/n, you have to learn to accept outcomes and heal. Don’t be stuck on your mistakes and your missed trials. Learn and grow from them. Ask yourself of purpose. Why are you doing this project? Why with that boy?”

Before you can answer her, you’re about to say it’s for the grade, maybe for the extra money. Deep down, you know that it isn’t that. You turn to look at Mark outside. He’s standing in the middle of the woman’s Japanese garden, eyes shut under the falling rain. And you swear, you’ve never seen anyone who’s any more beautiful. He looks so peaceful standing there, hair becoming wet from it. It reminds you of that day. 

She continues, “In my time, I’d normally enjoy the rain. But, my flowers are dying so I need you to bring the sun for today. I haven’t felt that ever since the city’s been raining non-stop.”

You nod, you know what you must do. You stroll over to the sliding door, opening it up to the garden. You approach Mark in the middle of the grass, watching him as he sticks his tongue out. When he opens his eyes, he jumps from being startled by you, “Whoa, how long have you been standing there?”

“Not long, I just wanted you to enjoy the rain about longer before I- you know.”

“Oh, right, go ahead.”

You do what you do best.The old woman steps onto her porch, Mari flying past her to catch up with you and Mark. You savor the coldness, the breeze, and the scents of drenched flowers. You want to try something new, something that you can see and feel all in one moment. In our head, you visualize a million colors. You think about the walls of the elderly woman’s home and the sunset glow on Mark’s face, your mother’s familiar smile. You think about Mari’s laugh and all the people you’ve made happy today. It paints tangerine oranges and lavender streaks, explosions of electric blues and sparkling greens. Clasping your hands together, you wish on the stars to send your vision into the sky. When you open your eyes, Mark’s holding Mari in his arms as her mouth falls open from the view. It worked. The sky above your heads has become an ocean of color strokes, clouds and stars swirling together. It’s the best configuration you’ve ever made. It looks like a real-life kaleidoscope. 

“Holy shi-”

Mark stops his words when he feels Mari’s small finger poking his cheek, “Look at what y/n made!”

You smile, pressing your hand to Mari’s head, “I made it for you! Do you like it?”

Mari squeals, “ Yes! Yes! Daddy, lift me higher!”

Your eyes fall on Mark’s. He gives you a knowing smile, eyes soft with adoration and glittering under the shooting stars. He lifts Mari onto his shoulders, “Hang on tight!”

She yelps, placing her hands on his head, “I want to catch the stars!”

Mark begins to spin around lightly, making airplane noises from his mouth. You laugh at the sight, turning to look back at the elderly woman. She winks at you, leaning on the pillar of her makeshift watering station for her succulents. After playing around under the cosmos, you finally greet the elderly woman goodbye, thanking her for her advice. Though you and Mark refuse, she shoves her cash into your hands, telling Mark to treat you- she says you're both welcome to her home anytime. Afterwards, you and Mark drop Mari at home as promised. You feel your heart swell when Mari starts to cry, Mark pressing a kiss to her cheek before setting her into her father’s arms. He assures her that you and Mark will come to visit sometime, inviting you both to dinner in the future. Of course you agree. 

Mark drives you back to campus, walking you to your doorstep as always. He pulls out the money, splitting it evenly in half before handing it to you, “Your share as promised of course.”

You nod, taking the cash from him, “You know, doing this job- money is a bonus but I’m not doing it for that.”

Mark chuckles, his hands in his denim pockets, “I’m glad we can make people happy.”

A silent beat. “You know, uh, about earlier- I didn’t mean to come off weird. I think I was just in my head about something, I’m not sure.”

You’re not usually someone who makes the first move. The first leap. Mark doesn’t even have the slightest clue about what he’s doing to you, how he makes you feel. Do you like him? You’re almost certain of the feelings. You step forward, your nose almost brushed against his chest. Gingerly and slowly, your fingers find Mark’s hand, it makes him gulp from the sudden contact. His eyes are widened in confusion and you think he’s forgotten how to breathe. Looking up at him, you say, “It’s fun doing this with you- I’d rather not do it with anyone else.”

Mark nods but doesn’t say anything. His hands are shaking. You can hear the erratic beating in his chest and it takes every bone in his body not to grab your face and kiss you right on the spot. When he doesn’t say anything, maybe you think that you’ve scared him. Maybe he doesn’t feel the same way. You step back a bit, the air becoming less tense, “I’ll see you tomorrow okay?”

“Okay, yeah.”

Mark opens his mouth to say something more but you’ve already shut the door. In Mark’s head, he’s let out a string of curses. Why didn’t he do something? Why didn’t he say something? Why is he such a coward? He asks himself. Is it the right time? What if you don’t feel the same way?”

All night, he beats himself up for it, tossing and turning in his bed. 

The next couple months in your university fly by. Ever since that night, you and Mark continued as if nothing ever happened. One thing that did change was a gloomy, ominous blanket over the city- it almost felt apocalyptic in a sense. Weather forecasters predicted that with such heavy and continuous rains- the flooding, the city would be underwater in the next coming year. There might be an evacuation.

Still, you took it upon yourself to savor the time you would have left in the city. One of the things on your list was you wanted to get to know Mark’s world better. You know that he can’t eat dairy, he absolutely hates the texture of yogurt and he’s able to eat watermelon flavoring by the shot. It’s gross but it sounds like him. You and Mark eat at all your favorite lunch spots, watch comedies in the theaters, and hang out in each other's rooms. The business is going well, more and more people submit their requests for sunny days and sunsets, sometimes purposeful rain to play in. Mark drives in his sunny yellow van, sticking your hand out the window as your favorite songs blare from the speakers. You even have dinner at Mari's house. Her parents are shocked to hear that you and Mark aren’t together yet. The blush on your cheeks are the shade of ripe cherries. At the school, you sit with Mark’s friends practically for every meal. Everyone is fond of you, except Lana. Every time Mark tells stories about wacky customers or talks about how excited he is because you both received an A in philosophy class, Lana gives you a look. Vice versa, Mark glares at Haechan whenever he gets too close to you, he doesn’t say anything.

 You and Mark had started the business in the summer, the weather outside is more autumn-like now. You have to wear a scarf to class because of how chilly it is.  Leaves change to shades of burgundies and browns, falling off trees when they’re ready- it almost signifies the start of a new season- a new chapter of your life. 

Autumn

>Where did the time go?

You became someone I used to know

Where did the time go?

When you became someone I used to know

Used to know, used to know, used to know

Business Partner Mark Lee: “Y/n, the boys and I got tickets to the new amusement park. Wanna come?”

You text Mark back during your statistics class, “Of course, I’ll be there.”

Business Partner Mark Lee: “Meet us there at 6 pm. After that, can we talk? I need to ask you about something.”

“Okay.”

Going back to your dorm room, you walk with a pep in your step. You wonder about what Mark wants to talk to you about. Will he finally say something? Is it about the business? Does he think you’re too mean with your teasing? Anyway, you dress up in a cute outfit of your choice- nice shoes, a cotton knit sweater, and a corduroy skirt. You even tie your hair with ribbons that Mark gave you as a congratulation for 100 customers' gifts. You bought him a guitar pick then. 

By the time you reach the amusement park, you meet up with Haechan, Renjun, Jeno, and Jisung. Chenle had choir practice and Jaemin was on a date with some girl. Mark and Lana are nowhere to be found. 

“Hey, guys.”

Haechan sees you first, swinging his arm over your shoulders, “There she is- beautiful y/n.”

You attempt to push his weight off, “Haechan, you’re heavy- you’re going to break my shoulder bone.”

Jeno laughs, “I don’t think that’s actually possible.”

Renjun jumps in, “What should we do first? Ferris wheel? Laser tag? Mini-golf?”

“We’re not doing rollercoasters, not the upside down ones.” Jisung rolls his eyes, chewing his mint flavored gum.

Haechan smirks, “Jeez Jisung, you’re no fun- you can stay on the ground and video record us like a grandma.”

Renjun shoves Haechan, “I’m with Jisung on that one, unless you want puke all over your expensive jacket.”

“Fine, me and y/n will be up there.” Haechan leans down to whisper in your ear, “If you get scared, you can hang on to me.”

You awkwardly pat Haechan’s chest, “I don’t think that’ll be necessary, thank you.” Haechan raises his eyebrows, his lips upturned in a smirk, “Whatever you say, y/n.”

You know that Haechan has a crush on you. Jeno and Jisung had told you so out of curiosity but doubted it from the start- they knew you had your eyes on Mark the entire time. Haechan could never compete. 

“Where’s Mark and Lana?”

Renjun snaps his fingers, his eyes lighting up, “Oh yeah- Mark told me he was picking up Lana. I think they were hanging out before this.”

Haechan responds, “I’m not surprised. I think Mark will ask her out today, their families have known each other since birth.”

Your heart sinks. Oh, so there was someone else. It’s probably why Mark brushed you off that day. Probably why he’s never said anything since. You feel a bit sick in your stomach and you haven’t gone any roller coaster yet. You had spent this whole time pining for someone who’s not going to like you even as close as you like them. It’s been one-sided.

You’re interrupted from your thoughts when Jisung waves excitedly at Mark and Lana, both of them side by side. You feel weird about it. Renjun straight up, his finger pointing to the air, “Let’s do laser tag first, I call dibs being team captain.”

Jeno laughs, his eyes crinkling when he does, “Then I’m the other team captain.”

“Hey, y/n.” Mark comes up from behind you.

“Hey Mark. Hey Lana.”

 Lana says a barely audible, “Hey.”

Once you’re all split into teams, it goes like this: Jeno’s the captain of your team, you, Haechan and Lana are on team red. Team blue consists of Renjun as captain, Mark and Jisung. To compensate for the lack of team members, team blue gets a head start in hiding. When the game begins, you just try to have your best to have fun. You dodge around the glow in the dark pillars, aiming your gun at Renjun as he angrily fists the air from running out of ammo. Haechan and Jisung fight off to the death, freezing each other out. By the time the hour is done, it’s down to you, Lana and Mark. You try to devise a plan with her but she doesn’t seem to engage with you. All she tells you is, “I’ll get Mark out.”

Was that a warning? A phrase of double meaning? Maybe you’re just overthinking it because of envy. Down to the last three seconds, Lana and Mark face off in the middle of the playground. Before Lana shoots him, Mark fires first- the obnoxiously blaring alarm sounding off team blue’s victory. Jeno throws his gun down in frustration, you pat his back in comfort as you watch Mark laugh with Lana and Renjun. Who were you kidding? 

Haechan shouts, “Let’s go on the dragon ball coaster next!”

When you’re all in line for the coaster, Haechan whispers a joke about the man who’s dressed as a clown a few feet away, enticing park-goers into the circus tent. You laugh at the joke. To Mark, he’s burning with jealousy. He watches when Haechan, his friend’s lips almost touch your ear, your giggle from Haechan’s flirting. Mark tightens his fist, averting his eyes from a scene. He has yet to tell you but he’s waiting for the right moment. He doesn’t want to come off as the overly-jealous boyfriend when you aren’t his. He snaps out of it when Lana tugs his arm, “Can we go in the tunnel? I’m not good with coasters.”

Before Mark can answer, Renjun jokingly gags, “The tunnel of love? You guys are bound to moochie mooch in there huh?”

When Renjuns says such a thing, you don’t hear any of Haechan’s jokes anymore. You don’t hear the sound of Jeno jostling Jisung and Jisung whining about it. You just wait for Mark’s response. He stares back at you in silence, Haechan even stops talking to look at Mark looking at you. Your eyes trail down to see Lana’s clutch on Mark’s arm, tightening when she makes eye contact with you, “Mark?”

You can’t hold it in. It just falls out from your lips, “You two should go, there’s limited seats in the coaster cars anyway since we have an odd number.”

It’s like someone’s fed you bitter medicine. You grimace at your words, almost regretting them instantly. Jeno and Jisung give you a knowing look, they know. Haechan laughs, “Very true point y/n, you guys can head along.”

Mark ducks under the cue line, Lana scrambling to follow after him. Everytime she tries to cling on to him, Mark removes her hands politely, declining. It makes you feel even worse. Jisung and Jeno carry on with their conversation. Haechan looks at the pair, “They make a good couple don’t they?”

You just nod. Maybe they do. After the roller coaster ride, you don’t feel any better. Jeno and Haechan are screaming to go again and Renjun and Jisung opt to go get snacks at the candy shop by the merry go round. Haechan nudges you, “Let’s go again?”

You smile at them, “Actually, I think I’m going to go home. I don’t feel well- I think I ate something that expired this morning.”

Jeno frowns, “Are you sure? We can take you home if you want.”

Waving your hands in refusal, “No, no, you guys have fun- I’ll see you in class on Monday.”

You begin to walk away from them, a rising feeling in your stomach. You dig your fingernails into the skin of your hands. Do not cry right now. Mark’s just one person. But you know that it hurts too much to forget about him. You almost don’t hear it when Haechan is shouting at you to wait up, grabbing your wrist.

“Y/n? Can we talk? Oh-”

It’s too late. The dam is broken, your tears are starting to blur your vision. Not right now, not in front of Haechan. 

“Y/n.. what’s wrong?”

You sniffle, swiping at your eyes, “Nothing. I’m okay, I’m just tired and stressed about the business.”

Haechan’s face softens, he’s fiddling with the zipper on his expensive suede jacket, “I know this isn’t a good time but if I don’t say it now, I don’t think I can. I really, I mean really, like-”

You cut him off, “You like me. Right?”

Haechan becomes still. He freezes, slow blinking, “How did you know?”

“Any girl who can’t see it is more than oblivious. And, I appreciate it. I love you but not in the romantic way. I love you because you’re kind to me, you’re witty, and you make everyone in this group so happy. But I-I just I can’t- ”

“It’s Mark right? Jeno and Jisung told me.”

An awkward beat. You two don’t say a word. It’s just silence between you two, tears falling from your face and onto the pavement. Your nose is running and you’re sure that the other park-goers who pass by are staring at you two like some spectacle. 

“I’m sorry, Haechan. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Hacehan sighs, looking up at the blush pink sky that’s being consumed by inky storm clouds, thunder beckoning rain in the distance. He thinks to himself, I knew it was Mark all along. Why did he even bother? At the time, he thought it was worth the shot. Now, he looks at your crying face, the way your long hair falls over your ears. He takes it upon himself to put one strand behind your ear, wiping your tears with the pad of his thumb, “How could you hurt me? We’re friends and I’ll always care about you. I’ll be okay.”

You stare back at him, it makes the crack in your heart widen. The world is so unfair. It’s unfair to you and to Haechan, to your family. At least, Haechan has a chance of finding a soulmate who isn’t as broken as you. He’ll find some nice girl to laugh at his jokes, tease him when he whines, and buys him video games every holiday. You stand on your tippy toes because of how tall he is, pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek. You whisper, “You’re going to find a soulmate who will love you for eternity- I’m sure of it.”

>I think we must’ve known how it ended

When we wrote it on a napkin with tears and a pen

A couple of kids who pretended

Until it felt real in our heads

Haechan stares at the ground, not saying a word. You take off running, tears running down your face like it matches the hard beating in your chest. It always ends up like this. It’s like the world can’t give you one piece of happiness. You decide to walk home. Call it melancholy or stupid because you can catch a cold, but you’re not in the mood to ask anyone for a ride. You walk on the streets alone, rain coming hard on you. Your hair, your outfit, all of it soaked. And you’re sure that you’ve lost one of your hair ribbons from running. You don’t have strength in you to wish for sunshine. Concerned mothers ask if they can buy you an umbrella and you just decline politely. It hurts, the smell of the rain and mixing of your tears. Your feet are blistered and drenched. In your pocket, your phone vibrates continuously. Mark’s asking where you are and you don’t have it in you to see his stupidly dumb, dorky, adorable face. 

Dragging your feet along the pavement, the rain only comes down harder. There’s barely anyone on the streets and cars zip by, splashing puddles onto the cement. Your lungs are choked up from your sobs. That’s when you hear it, a voice calling out to you from a distance. You don’t want to turn around but you can’t stop yourself from doing so. You can’t resist it.

>I guess I don't really know who you are now

I guess that we met with our heads in the clouds

So I look for your name and I say it out loud

Maybe that makes you real

I don’t know how to feel

I guess I don’t really know who you are now

I guess that we met with our heads in the clouds

So I look for your name and I say it out loud

Maybe that makes you real

I don't know how to feel

“Wait! y/n!”

You freeze in your tracks, your back faced to the boy who’s ran all this way to catch up to you. He’s got his hands on his knees, coughing from how fast he had to move. You still don’t turn around, you just feel it. “Let’s talk Monday, I’m not in the mood.” You speak slowly so he can’t recognize the cracks in your voice. 

You feel Mark step closer to you, “Why’d you leave? I was going to talk to you, remember?”

You can’t hold it in anymore. You turn around, your tears blurring the vision of a rain-soaked Mark in front of you, “I can’t do this with you anymore!”

Mark freezes, his eyes trained on you. He doesn’t even blink. He stands a few feet away, a crushed and now wet gift box in his hand. “Y/n, just tell me what’s wrong.”

You sigh, trying to breathe air into your lungs, “All this time, I don’t know what I feel. I’m so confused about all of it. You’re confusing me!”

“What are you talking about?”

“God, I’m so stupid!” You wipe your tears, the thunder roaring above your heads. The water doesn’t cease at all. The weather matches the burn in your heart. You heave, continuing, “I have to go. See you in class,  Mark.”

Before you can walk away, you feel a firm hand on your wrist. 

“Y/n. Look at me.”

You whimper, “I can’t,”

“I said look at me.”

Reluctantly, you face Mark, he’s still holding your wrist. You gaze up at him. His hair is matted against his forehead, cold droplets on his cheeks and trailing down to his chin. His jacket looks heavy and now, there’s barely space in between you. It all happens so fast, he drops the white gift box to the ground, clasping both of his hands on both sides of your face. He’s so close. You can feel the warmth of his breath, see every detail that makes him himself, every little memory and trait. 

You search for some sort of sign, trying to calculate his next move, “What are you-”

He cuts you off by smashing his lips onto yours, powerfully and desperately. You melt and your mind’s being clouded by foggy thoughts, his arms supporting you by holding your body up. You’re surprised your knees haven’t given up yet. Mark molds his lips to yours, it’s a back and forth of wet, open-mouthed kisses under the crash of the rain. You both don’t mind. He continues to kiss you like that, eyes shut, pressing his lips harder and harder until you can’t breathe. Your fingers claw through his soaked hair, noses against cheeks, and you reel back to gain more access. His hands move to the make of your neck, his thumb swiping over your cheek. He groans when your tongue meets his, your bodies becoming hot despite the icy crystals falling down on you. You part from him, Mark chasing your lips in response, “Let’s go home and then we’ll talk.”

He swipes the remainder of your tears away, you nod. The whole time you walk home, Mark doesn’t let go of your hand. In fact, he holds your body close to his. You decide to go to Mark’s room tonight. He shuts his door, handing you a towel, “You shower first. I’ll go after.”

You protest, “I’m okay- I don’t really have anything to wear anyway.”

Mark throws one of his t-shirts and a pair of basketball shorts at you, “Wear these, I don’t want you to get sick.”

You smile, “Thanks.”

After a nice long, hot shower- the rain seems more peaceful outside of Mark’s dorm room window. The only light source he has is a lamp that sits on his desk, the print on the lampshade covered with lions. He must’ve had that when he was little. When Mark’s down showering, he wears a grey hoodie and sweatpants and you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want to kiss Mark again. He sits on his bed next to you, moving his guitar out of the way, “So, what happened?”

You sigh, “When I saw you with Lara, I couldn’t, I don’t know, see you with someone else.” Mark chuckles, “Were you jealous?”

You look at him in the dark, punching his arm slightly, “No- don’t even dream of it.”

“What if I told you I was jealous of Haechan?”

You narrow your eyes at him, “You were?”

Mark rolls his eyes, “Are you kidding? He was practically whispering in your ear and being so close, you know he likes your right? He told me and I told him to go for it but I messed up, I shouldn’t have.”

You play with the frayed thread on Mark’s t-shirt, “He told me, I turned him down.”

“Why?”

“Ugh, you know why.”

Mark presses his finger to his eyes, covering his nose in embarrassment, “I like you y/n.”

You don’t even register when he says it. 

You were still talking about something but you pause when Mark’s words echo in your head, “After that kiss? I was hoping that’s what you were going to say.”

You and Mark erupt into a giggling fit, shoving each other. Then Mark pulls out something from behind him, it’s the squashed white gift box. He bites his lip, causing it to glow pink, “I was planning on telling you today and giving you this but someone took off.”

“Sorry about that.”

Mark shakes his head, grinning. He pulls out a tiny, gold necklace that’s in the shape of a sun. Even in the dark, it glimmers. You touch it tenderly, afraid it’ll break in your fingertips, “You got this for me?”

Mark nods, “Can I put it on?”

You turn your back to him, holding up your hair in a ponytail for his nimble fingers to clasp the necklace onto your neck. The cold metal of it soothes your skin. 

You touch it, running your fingers over the charm, “It��s beautiful, thank you. For the record, I like you too Mark.”

But in the back of your mind, there’s that shadow that always remains. It takes the form of fear, uncertainty- telling you that you do not deserve happiness or you do not deserve to love anyone. Still, it doesn’t stop Mark from leaning over to you and kissing you once again. He uses his fingers to trace your hair and the hollow of your neck, the side of your arm. It makes you shiver, it makes goosebumps rise in hills. You grasp his black locks, lips once again moving in a syncopated wave. Mark mumbles several hums, addicted to the taste of the way your lips feel. You want Mark. You want him so badly it kills you. You’re afraid to fall and it makes you want it even more. Pulling his hoodie, you fold your legs over his lap, straddling him. It makes him heated, blush spotting his cheeks and his neck. He runs his soft hands over the skin of your thighs and traces the waistband of your shorts. You’re trying your best not to lose self-control. It goes out the window when he removes his hoodie, his skin glowing under the lamp light. 

You run your thumb across his collarbone and the curves of his abdomen and chest like you’re connecting constellations. You press your swollen lips to the base of his collarbone, rubbing your hand on the warm skin of his shoulder, “Have I ever told you that you’re gorgeous?

”Mark doesn’t answer, he’s busy tipping his head back, shutting his eyes from the feel of your lips on his skin. He opens his eyes before leaning over to move your hair behind your ear once again, nibbling on your earlobe. You accidentally moan when he moves to the juncture of your neck, it turns Mark on even more. He swipes his tongue by the base of your neck, “I.” A kiss. Don’t know if.” A kiss. “You remember this.” A kiss. Mark parts away to finish his sentence, “I remember you from that night at the hospital. Do you remember me?”

That’s when you snap out of it. You gaze back at him, replaying everything in your head. Your mom. The shrine. The gift. The sun and the rain. You slide off his lap, touching the area of your shoulder. The shadow in your mind, the voice in your mind telling you not to give in.

“Y/n? Is everything okay?”

You nod, “Yes, I remember you. When we first met, I said that we didn’t because everything that day was so blurry that I cut it out of my memories. But for what it is, I remember you.”

Mark looks sad, immediately regretting he even brought it up. You mold your hand to his cheek, “Hey, it’s okay. I’m glad I met you back then, that will never change.”

Mark opens his mouth to say something but closes it when he finds a spot pinging, a tiny glow appearing on his hand. When you look down too, a glow appears on the same spot of your hand. After a couple seconds, the glow forms into the shape of a sun, Mark’s name glowing above it. Mark’s glow forms into the shape of a raindrop, your name glowing on his hand in cursive letters.

You both look at each other and back to your hands, “Does this mean-”

He lets out a breath he’s been holding, “You’re my soulmate?”

While Mark’s ecstatic, you feel a weight just drop in your stomach. No. Not right now. Mark realizes you’re staring at your hand, you look as if you had just seen a ghost. You almost wished you had.

“Is everything alright? Did I-?”

Instantly, you grab Mark’s hands, “I need you to listen to me carefully okay?”

Your hands are shaking now and you feel like you’re going to burst into tears again. This is the worst thing that you can do to someone, this is why you were reluctant to have Mark in the first place. You love him so much you can’t bear to hurt him like this. 

“Y/n… what’s happening?”

Slowly and delicately, you lift off Mark’s t-shirt over your head. Mark’s expression is utterly, painfully blank. He stares at you, unmoving.

“What is that?”

Though you’re in the dark, it shines brightly clear. The skin of your shoulder is completely coated with this invisible matter, tiny bubbles floating through it. It resembles the rain. The thing is consuming your shoulder and gaps of your chest are missing. No person could tell if they didn’t see your naked body. 

Mark leans forward, running his hand over your shoulder, his fingers go right through your body like it isn’t there. 

“Please tell me this isn’t real. This is just a joke right?”

You place your head in Mark chest, your arms hugging his bare waist, “I found out my gift comes with a price. My body is becoming a part of the weather, a part of the sky above. Ever since that day I stepped into the shrine on top of the hospital, I saw water floating upwards- this is the consequence for toying around with nature.”

Mark doesn’t say anything. He thinks for a moment. He grips the comforter you both sit on top of. Then, he speaks, “Can’t I fix this?! There has to be a way- maybe if I go to the shrine and figure something out-”

You release him, putting your hands on both sides of his face, “You can’t. I’ve tried everything. I even went to a priest, a shaman, anyone I could find. You heard about the forecasters talking about the floods right? As long as I’m here, this city will be underwater. I’m a glitch in the system. I’m the virus in the code, blocking the world from being natural.”

>I guess I don't really know who you are now

I guess that we met with our heads in the clouds

So I look for your name and I say it out loud

Maybe that makes you real

I don’t know how to feel

I guess I don’t really know who you are now

I guess that we met with our heads in the clouds

So I look for your name and I say it out loud

Maybe that makes you real

I don't know how to feel

Mark begins to cry. Tears fall from his eyes, dropping onto the skin of your hand. All you can do is hug him as tight as you can, fearful that if you let go- you can’t have him back, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m hurting you. I’m so so sorry.”

Mark sobs into your shoulder for the next hour or so. When he’s tuckered out from crying, you put him to bed, standing up to walk towards Mark’s desk. You decide to write letters to your aunt, Mari, and your friends. You even leave one for Lana. When you’re finished, you slip under the covers next to Mark. You use your fingers to touch his eyelids and his nose, his cheeks and the ruffle of his hair because you know it will be the last time. Pressing a kiss to his nose, you settle against Mark’s chest, knowing the sky will claim you in the morning. 

In the morning

The next morning, Mark wakes up from what he thinks is a nightmare. He sweats profusely, he feels dehydrated,and his throat feels like it’s being ripped open. The worst part is when his heart begins to settle, he sees his own hoodie and basketball shorts where you had lay next to him. Though he wasn't awake, he remembers it all. He remembers you sitting at his desk, you kissing his nose. He remembers your warmth. This can’t be the end. Mark takes the first morning train to the hospital. He calls his friends, Jeno, Renjun, and Haechan to the hospital. Over the phone, he tells them he’ll explain later, he just tells them that you need them. They drive there as soon as the train departs. From arriving at the hospital, everything is like a blur. The hospital staff doesn't want to let some random teenage boy up onto the room, warily suspicious of the request.  

That's when Haechan, Jeno, and Renjun risk it all for you and Mark, tackling and holding back the employees even if they’re radioing security at that very moment. Mark races up the stairs after grabbing the keys to the door, he remembers when those were his keys. He talks to himself. Please. Please. I have to see her. I have to see her one last time. He even prays to whoever’s up there about it. To his dismay, when he gets up there- he doesn’t see a shrine like you had described. He kicks the metal railing out of anger, screaming into the air as he calls out your name. He demands the sky to give you back. No one answers and it kills him.

From up there, you wake up in an unfamiliar scenery. You sit up, groggy from sleep. Looking down at your hands, you don’t believe it. Water takes the form of you, replacing your skin with invisible liquid. You’re sitting on what seems to be like a cloud, fish made out of rain droplets flying all around you in schools. When you look above you, it’s another world. A whale made of thunder clouds lets out a bellow, voices of children laughing when lighting strikes. There’s a castle floating in the distance, each level of the castle painted with different hues of color. It’s all eerily beautiful. Despite its beauty, no one’s around. You’re all alone. 

You touch your shoulder, only feeling nothing but water. Your body isn't real. It means the sky has completely and entirely claimed you. That’s when you feel a cold metal thing hanging around your neck. Mark. Mark’s still down on earth. You begin to hold onto it, the chain slipping out of your fingers and through the cloud that you sit on, you scream Mark’s name as loud as you can. You cry and you scream, sobs wracking your entire body. That was the last piece you had connected to Mark, your soulmate. This is your consequence. What good are soulmates if there’s only one half to the whole? What is the point? Even so, you love Mark so much. You miss him.

Mark screams at the sky, tears lining his eyes. He sees something shine above him, dropping onto the pavement by his foot. When he crouches down for a better look, it’s the sun pendant that he gave you last night. He squeezes it in his hand, screaming for you. There is no answer. 

In front of him, some shape materializes from a blurry image. When it focuses, it morphs into a red archway just as you had told him in the library. He runs up to it, desperate for any sign of you. He asks your name. Still, there’s no answer. He takes it upon himself to do the unthinkable. Maybe he’s crazy, maybe people will think he’s insane. He doesn’t care, all he wants is to see you. He steps under the red archway. He feels it within his body. The bells that hang by strings chime, the water from inside the stone fountain begins to flow upwards like slow motion evaporation. Then all of a sudden, he’s falling.

Winds rip his clothes and rip through his hair, he’s screaming. Everything is a blur of white clouds and flying animals made of water. He hears the thunder and sees the lightning too, it’s all consuming and real. He knows he’s not on earth anymore. That’s when the clouds begin to part, he sees you sitting there. You’re crouched up on a cloud, head buried in your knees. He screams for you, causing you to snap your head up at the voice. It can’t be. It can’t be Mark. But it is, the boy who is your soulmate is falling out of the sky above, emerging from the clouds and reaching out for you.

 The wind gusts him away from the cloud you’re sitting on, “MARK!’

“Y/N!”

You don’t care at this point. You jump off your cloud, the wind current carrying you to Mark before you’re free falling with him. You outstretch your hand to him, your voice can’t be heard in the screaming wind. He reaches to you, straining his face while doing so. When he manages to grab hold of you, he’s surprised to know it feels like he’s holding a person given your body. You fall together, hands enclasped in hands. You yell, “What are you doing here?! You shouldn’t be here!”

Mark holds on so tight, “I had to see you! I’m not letting you go, I don’t care! Aren’t you my soulmate? You have to stay with me!”

“Mark, if I go back down there, we all have to pay the price. Just let me go!”

“I’m not doing it y/n! I won’t do it! I don’t care! I choose you over the weather! I choose you over the sky! I just need you.”

You smile at him. Oh, Mark. Then, something else happens. Mark’s teardrop starts to glow golden, the light enveloping the entirety of his arm and spreading to his body. Even though your hand is made of water now, your sun starts to ping in syncopation with Mark’s mark. Golden light shimmers, rays exploding like sunshine as Mark holds you close. He’s there and he’s real, you can smell his scent of body soap that he uses, he’s so warm. The world blurs together in a series of colors and emotions, blues and yellows and silvers. It’s layers of rain and layers of snow, it’s as if you’re falling out of the cosmos and it’s endless.The sensation of falling ends. You open your eyes slowly, you find yourself cradled in Mark’s chest on the hospital’s rooftop. Your head aches and it throbs like hell, but still, you jump back when you realize that your body isn’t liquid anymore. Mark pulls your shirt down to check your shoulder, it’s nothing but human flesh and bone. You gaze back at Mark, “You saved me. You pulled me back down.”

It doesn’t take any time for Mark to kiss you the hardest he’s ever kissed you. You both sit there for a while, cradled in each other’s arms. Mark digs his nose into your neck, “I can’t live without you. You’re my soulmate, there’s no one else.”

You nod as you run your fingers through his hair, “You and me against it all then.”

1 year later

>Where did the time go?

Where did the time go?

When did you become someone I used to know?

Where did the time go?

After the day that Mark pulled you down from the sky, you thought that you’d spend every second with each other after. Instead, it was the opposite. Because you were on earth, the rains and the flooding never stopped. You weren’t able to control the weather anymore and the outcome that the forecasters had predicted became true. Almost 50 percent of the city was already underwater and still sinking, many people died trying to escape the floods or had to quickly evacuate. It disrupted everyone’s lives but at the time, Mark thought it was worth it for you. After that day, you told him you decided on something. You told him that you loved him and that you’d always find your way back to him, no matter what. After all, soulmates become linked. During your last semester of university, you wanted to spend time with your family and to travel the world with your aunt- in case the sky were to claim you once again. In case you were told that the world would end tomorrow, you wanted memories that lasted and time to tell all the people in your life that you loved them. You wanted to heal from your past, trying to find ways to connect to your parents like meeting their relatives or reading your father’s journal. 

Somehow, Mark took it well. Though he was sad for several days, as were your friends that you were leaving (yes, you explained to them the entire situation, they still have a hard time believing it). You knew that things would change. You’d pick up small updates here and there, graduation was approaching and Mark had chosen to participate in a training program to become a singer. Haechan found his soulmate at his work, the other boys doing their own thing. You hadn’t seen Mark in almost an entire year. Now, today was the day that you and your aunt would be coming back from a backpacking trip in Europe. You knew Mark would also be coming home the same day. On the plane, you thought: Did he forget you? Would he have found someone else? Does he remember it all? 

The moment you landed, you changed at home- walking over to the coffee shop where you and Mark had planned business meetings frequently back then. Walking through your city felt nostalgic to you, the way your younger self ran through the streets, praying for tomorrow’s sunshine or the way you and Mark would hang out together most weekends. Even the memories of hanging out with your friends before class, walking Mosby with your aunt during the autumn season, and pasting photographs on your dorm room wall felt like long ago. Upon entering the establishment, you closed your umbrella before taking a seat at an empty table. A barista took your order, who happened to be one of your other classmates from university. Even seeing them after a year, which isn’t too long- still felt surreal. 

The bell on the cafe’s door chimes, the barista at the counter greeting the stranger. That’s when a familiar voice makes you snap your head up. There he is, standing in the flesh in front of you. Mark sports black dress pants and a button up, his figure taller, leaner- more muscular, has he been working out? Mark’s hair is gelled back, different from how he looked before. It looks good on him. His familiar smile spread across his face, a teardrop glowing golden on his hand, “You seem familiar. Have we met before?”

You nod, running into his welcoming arms. 

@czennienet​ @neowritingsnet​ @dreamwritersnet​

[passivenovember]

If Snow Loves the Trees and Fields.

Billy's job at Willowbrook Elementary is the only reason he puts up with this weather at all.

His hatred for winter, a season which hardly existed when he taught in the Valley, morphs and becomes something violent on the first Monday after Christmas break.

He wakes up feeling like his toes have gone missing, frozen black and blue with the cold, and after his phone tells him it's below zero outside, with wind-chill, his heart stops beating.

Hawkins is -10 degrees, to be precise.

And it leaves him feeling like that's gotta be illegal, or. He could for sure call all the scientists on Earth and have a law passed that clarifies: those born and raised in a Southern climate get a free pass on days when Hell is actively freezing over.

But it's not snowing today. And all the ice on the street has been scraped into terrible, disgusting drifts that block his driveway, and Hopper would immediately call bullshit. All, gonna have to suck it up if you wanna live here, buttercup.

So Billy decides to be an adult, or whatever. He spends another five minutes on his phone definitely not stalking his ex Instagram before rolling out of bed to get dressed.

And, like.

Even his underwear drawer is stiff from the cold so Billy decides to bundle the fuck up--a trick he learned from Max last fall, during the coldest year Indiana had ever seen. He manages to stack five layers in total; one pretty pink thermal set just brushing his his skin and a button down shirt to stave off the goosebumps. A sweater and jeans for professionalism. One Grateful Dead hoodie, because it makes him feel like he's not a total sell out, and a thick winter coat, sent special from the snow capped mountains of California this Christmas.

It still smells like his mom's pikake lei perfume.

Billy tries not to think about that, of home, on a day when he'd give his left nut for a ray of sunshine.

Instead, he spends ten minutes filling his thermos with coffee. Boiling the rice milk more than once so it'll stay warm on the ride across town. He sticks his pinky under the lip after his third go, and fuck that shit is so hot it will burn his mouth tomorrow, before checking the weather app again for closures.

Hoping against hope that something has changed in the last five minutes.

Of course, nothing has.

The superintendent believes that everyone in Hawkins is somehow used to temperatures that makes their eyelids freeze shut in the thirty second walk to the car in the morning. Billy jams a knit cap on his head and seriously considers calling in.

A last ditch effort to quell the rising fury in his veins, that like.

He's gonna have to scrape his windows, and freeze his dick off, and deal with the neighbor.

The one who looks like he doesn't mind the cold so much because he carries the sun with him, fucking asshole.

People shouldn't be wandering the streets when their eyelids could freeze shut, right?

Billy checks his phone one more time, frowning at a text from Joyce to pick up some coffee on your way in, and tosses his bag over his shoulder before he can change his mind.

--

It's so much worse than expected.

Billy's lungs seize up on his second intake of fresh air because no one should be huffing sulfur or gaseous ice or whatever the fuck this shit is first thing in the morning. On a Monday. The first one after Christmas break, and.

"God damn, holy shit, holy shit,"  Billy bounces the whole way to the Camaro, breath coming in short, comical bursts of steam that make his nose run. He swipes dramatically at his face, struggling to get his keys into the lock while balancing his thermos on one arm and his messenger bag on the other.

Billy's in the middle of forcing the door open, its hinges are frozen solid with ice goddammit, when Steve fucking Harrington appears like a cloud on the wind.

"Howdy neighbor," Steve says. Like they're cowboys in a shitty film from the 1970s. The wind kicks a lock of brown hair into Harrington's face and he shivers. "Wow, it's really blowing out here, huh?"

Midwesterner's love doing that.

Pointing out the obvious.

Billy grumbles a response, flinging his car door open and jamming the keys into the ignition.

Steve's saying something.

Talking like always, about his cat or maybe the beer they keep saying they'll have together, and generally Billy puts up with it but not today. He isn't going to freeze to death for a pair of legs.

The Camaro roars to life, clearly pissed at having to work on such a disgusting day, and. Alright. Letting your car "warm up," is something so Midwestern Billy can't even talk about it.

It takes him all of two minutes to scrape his windows, electing to carve holes in each wall of ice rather than clear the whole thing. The metal handle of the scraper Max got him feels like the ninth circle of hell against the peachy skin of his fingers.

He should've bought some mittens.

Joyce is always saying he needs mittens, he should've asked for some--

Billy tosses the scraper into his back seat and climbs in, slamming the door shut behind him and cranking the heat up to high. Steve's watching from next to the fence in a fucking pea coat, and a scarf with care bears on it and.

Nothing else.

Fucking asshole.

Steve waves at him, like; hey I'm talking to you. Frantically, like the mouse Mr. Bane caught last week is important.

But Billy's too busy trying to back out of the driveway with five layers of shit restricting his movement. He cranks the music up and cautiously pulls onto the street. Nice and smooth like he's seen Steve do effortlessly, even with three inches of ice on the ground. Fucking asshole.

Billy makes it halfway before he hits something.

The wind kicks hair into his face as he assesses the damage.

"You should've scraped your driveway last night." Steve says helpfully.

He's got a cigarette hanging from his lips, stark in contrast to the weird home made scarf he's got folded around his neck. Billy tries not to think about Steve's lips as he makes his way to the back of the Camaro to see that, yup.

Of course.

His baby is stuck in the snow. Billy kicks the tire. Like that'll fix anything.

"That's not gonna fix anything." Steve says, leaning against the fence.

"Jesus, fuck. I know, Steve." Billy scrubs a hand across his face, gesturing to the Care Bear scarf. "Why the hell are you wearing that thing, you look like a fruit."

"I am a fruit."

"Well you look like the whole goddamn bowl, pretty boy." Billy digs around for a cigarette. "My kindergarteners don't even fuck with the Care Bears enough to own scarves." Billy squints, assessing Steve from head to toe, delighting in the awkward squirm of his limbs. He clicks his tongue, disappointed. "Couldn't look any fruiter if you tried."

Steve shrugs his shoulders, like. Don't yell at me, this isn't my fault.

And okay.

He's cute.

Billy gets struck by that every time he sees the guy, all over again, like. His profile is perfect. Sharp nose, pretty eyes. Thick lips.

Steve holds out a cigarette.

Billy takes it.

"One of my residents made it for me. He's learning how to flat pattern." Harrington says shyly. "Well, he made it for his grand daughter, but. It turned out worse than he expected so I offered to take it."

Billy squints. "The fuck does that mean?"

"Just means I was trying to be nice--"

"No, the." Billy grins in spite of himself. "The flat patterning, what's that?"

Steve shrugs again. "I'm not sure, I think it's like. A sewing term. Or something." A pretty blush the color of Steve's scarf spreads across the bridge of his nose. It looks like strawberry ice cream and Billy.

Has to look away.

"My mom sews," Billy says gruffy. "I've never heard her say that."

"Well, maybe she drapes?"

Billy squints again. "What?"

"Draping. That's another thing people do--"

Billy stamps the cigarette out and kicks his tire again. Steve jolts, like. Billy tried to kick him or something, which just makes the situation worse.

"God, they should've cancelled classes." Billy states. Well, screams, to no one in particular. "Who wants to go to work in the snow, who fucking. Likes this white bullshit?"

Steve leans against the fence and looks thoughtful. "I love the snow."

"You're not helping."

"You asked."

"No, I didn't." Billy shoots back. He digs his cellphone out and shakes his head. "Why are you still here, Harrington? Don't you have old people to take care of?"

Steve chuckles again. Light, like Christmas bells. "Don't you have screaming brats to teach?"

"My car's kinda stuck in the snow, you fucking dick." Billy's so focused on trying to order a lyft that he doesn't waste time on pleasantries. He expects that to be the end of it, when the wind picks up and he swears again, but. Steve just moves closer.

"Let me drive you." Steve says.

And.

The moment sort of hangs there.

In the two years that Billy's lived next to the guy, they've never hung out. Never house sat for each other, never spoken outside the occasional could you make sure your idiot friends don't block my driveway, and empty promises to grab a beer sometime.

So the offer catches him off guard.

Billy glances up from his phone, confused, to find Steve looking everywhere but at him. Harrington's shifting his weight, like. He's fucking nervous, or something.

Or maybe hoping Billy will say no because he's just being polite.

Billy glares.

Of course he's just being neighborly. Charitable. That's what Midwestern assholes do.

Billy waves his phone in the air, like, "I'm ordering a lyft." And it comes out sharper. More aggressive than he means it too, but Steve doesn't seem to notice.

"Just ride with me, it's on the way."

Billy points at the screen. "Jason will be here in ten minutes."

"What's Jason got that I don't have?" Harington quips, and.

Billy just wants shit to go back to normal. He shakes his head again, "Nah, 's okay, pretty boy. Thanks anyway." Before turning back to his phone like he's got important shit to worry about.

Steve stands.

Stares.

Waits, for longer than is necessary, before clearing his throat. "Okay, well. Happy first day back." He says.

And if Billy didn’t know any better he'd say Steve sounds almost.

Disappointed.

--

When Billy gets off of work that night the snow is gone from his driveway.

--

Billy still has bad days.

They always start before dawn. With the claws of his nightmare leaving scratches down the lining of his throat. It's like Billy's carrying an anchor around his neck, or his veins are filled with playdough the color of the sun on those afternoons. He feels lazy and sluggish and like if someone looks at him for too long he'll break. Snap and crackle, like an open flame against fresh skin.

Billy still has bad days but they don't come unless he's been slipping for a while. Like forgetting to take his medication, or not writing his letter every night before bed.

The one to Neil, that his therapist says will help him work through the last of the road blocks that stand in the way of, "ultimate healing."

Billy used to think it was horseshit.

But Neil. Everything that happened, everything that still happens--when Billy goes home for Christmas, or when Susan calls and he can hear the slur of hate on the other end of the line--is standing in the way of something.

There are so many letters.

So much he wants to say.

Written on anything Billy can find, like. Napkins and the backs of take out menus--old drawings that the kids send home with him after Art class on Fridays.

The pages are kept in a binder.

His therapist says it's important to decorate the binder with, like. Stuff that makes him feel good. Words and phrases, stickers, pictures of the people he loves and drawings of all his favorite things. The folder is supposed to act as a visual reminder of the blanket of love that surrounds him, or something.

Melvalds only had brown folders when he went to pick his up, so.

The folder is brown. Disgusting.

And so far the only decorations he's been able to stomach are one of those fancy stickers from Redbubble that depicts his favorite episode of Daria, and a picture of him and Maxine with underwear on their heads.

Billy thinks it could be sad to some people.

That a poor, little abused boy only has two things in life that protect him from the shadow which falls with the setting sun, but it's the truth. Life is hard and fucked up. Billy has trouble letting people close, letting people in, so he sticks with the basics. The tried and true.

Maxine and his gravity bong.

Billy Hargrove is a simple man.

--

So it's two weeks after Steve shovels his driveway and Billy tells his therapist, like. "This fucking guy just. Did something nice for me."

And she clearly wonders what's wrong with him. "Did you say thank you?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because," Billy tries not to get defensive about shit these days, because. It's only a hop-skip-and a jump from defensiveness to downright aggression and Megan, his well meaning shrink, doesn't deserve that even on her most annoying days.

His leg bounces under the table, thwacking against its mahogany edge loud enough that Megan can hear it over the fucking phone, so she says, "Billy. Stop."

Because they have a deal about nervous ticks.

Billy is supposed to say his safe word when he starts to feel anxious, but.

He fucking hates that shit. Hates being babied. Hates feeling like he's a goddamn basket case that needs to be rooted in reality when his trauma rears its ugly head. Billy smiles, the whole thing falling flat against his face. "I'm stopping."

Megan sighs. "Why haven't you thanked Steve for his act of kindness?"

"Because, like." Billy's shaking his leg again. Softer this time; it's a secret. "How do I know he isn't trying to, fucking. Get information out of me. Or out me to the community, or. Make fun of the way I'm a grown man who can't shovel his own driveway after a snowstorm--"

"I think you're internalizing your fears, Billy."

"Yeah, no shit." He snaps. Billy feels bad for half a second but then she's giggling, like she always does, which makes him feel less like the big bad wolf and more like one of the three little pigs. The guy with the straw, maybe?

Billy sighs, scrubbing at his face. "What does that even mean?"

Megan makes a noise on the other end of the line, like. In the six months that Billy's been in therapy he should've learned this by now.

Dude's got a short attention span, sue him.

And, sure enough. "Twice a week we meet over the phone and you don't know that internalizing your fears means you're trying to write the ending to a story you haven't even read yet?"

"Like, uh," Billy says intelligently. "What's that shit you're always saying? About seeing a book on the shelf and--"

"Guessing the ending. Yup, that's right." Megan sounds pleased. Billy ignores the bloom of happiness in his chest, because like. He doesn't really deserve it. She doesn't give him time to dwell, though. "Steve did something nice for you. Maybe he has suspicious intent--"

Billy sucks in a breath, like.

Dramatic. Loud enough that Megan snorts and says, "Hold on, you're jumping to conclusions again."

Billy really fucking.

Hates how perceptive she can be.

Megan keeps talking and Billy listens, because he pays her after all. "If you're really worried that his intentions are cloudy, do something nice for him in return."

"Something nice," Billy repeats. Like he's never heard of such a concept. "Something nice, like. Buy him flowers?"

Megan snorts. "Do you want to buy him flowers?"

"No, why would you think that?"

"Because you--" His therapist sighs. Billy embraces the feeling it gives him, yanking her chain a little bit. "Listen. I don't know this Steve person, and I've never heard you talk about him beyond this beer you're supposed to have together, like. Never. But has he ever given you a reason to think he's out to hurt you?"

Billy thinks back over two years and a million one-dimensional interactions.

Steve never loses his temper.

Not when Billy calls to have the cars that block his driveway towed, not when Billy bitches about the daisy bushes shedding into his yard in the fall, and Steve always picks up Mr. Bane's cat shit from Billy's front porch when the Gremlin actually goes outside.

Always with a smile and a sweet little, I think Mr. B likes you.

And, like.

It was pretty nice of Steve to offer Billy a ride that morning.

And shovel his driveway after work, just because he knew Billy probably wouldn't do it.

The whole thing, it. Fills Billy with something he can't quite express, a warmth he only ever feels when Max calls a dozen times to remind him to eat dinner when he sends a few intense messages.

Megan takes his silence, as always, like a breakthrough.

"So," She says, clearly satisfied. "Same time next week?"

--

Billy spends three days waiting for Steve to make it easy for him.

Because Harrington's a home owner, and there's always something, right? A problem he needs help with, like. A leaky pipe that needs fixed, a cup of sugar for a recipe that he didn't account for, ghosts in the attic. Typical HOA bullshit.

Billy stares out his window at the lovely split level next door and decides he'll take anything, do anything, to get this fucking anchor of guilt off his back for the whole driveway situation. The opportunity never presents itself.

The ducks never fall in a row.

Steve just leaves the house every morning, same time as Billy, same as always, with a gentle Howdy neighbor. And a smile tugging at his pretty pink lips, hair perfect and windswept because he's a fucking asshole and it only takes two days.

Forty-eight hours before Billy's hatching a plan to pay Harrington back and inventing problems to solve, like some sort of demonic Bob the Builder.

He calls Max on Thursday and comes up with a list. Something tangible, like breaking Steve's garage window with a ski ball. Or trapping Mr. Bane in a sweater and pretending like he's gone missing so Steve will have to round up a search party, but.

Billy knows Megan would call that instigating, antagonizing, and causing trouble, which Billy's trying not to do anymore.

So he brings up flowers again, because.

Fuck it--maybe he's wanted to see Steve behind a bouquet of Lilies of the Valley for months now.

And Max goes all soft.

And quiet, too, before whispering, "I'm really proud of you, you know? For getting better."

Then suddenly Billy can't breathe because there's a lump in his throat.

Because he is trying to get better. To live honestly, to lead with love--whatever hippie-dippie bullshit Megan is always spoon feeding him, so.

With Max's blessing, Billy's about to, like. Knock on Steve's door with a plate of pot brownies and a shitty thanks for being a decent human card when Mr. Bane leaves a dead bird on Billy's porch, the third one in a month, and Billy hatches an idea.

--

Steve's front door is yellow.

Like. Sunshine yellow. Valley girl yellow.

Which Billy used to think was charming but now thinks is kind of annoying, when coupled with Steve's perpetually sunny disposition. And okay. Maybe it sort of pokes and prods at that piece of him that's always missing home.

Maybe it makes him a little bit sad, like. He'll never really feel at peace anywhere else.

But before Billy can dwell on it, or raise his fist to knock on the door, Steve's opening it and preparing to step through. He's using his foot to stop Mr. Bane from running out into the yard so he doesn't see Billy right away, which.

Also means he's going somewhere.

Which inherently means Billy's caught him at a bad time. Billy holds the paper bag closer to his chest and feels the words bubbling up before he can practice his breathing, or. Stop them. Because this is his third biggest fear after arguments and spiders.

"I've caught you at a bad time, I'm sorry, I'll just come back la--"

Steve breaks out into a grin so big. So bright, that it rivals anything Billy's ever seen before.

"Howdy, neighbor!" Steve says.

And Billy shifts nervously from one foot to the other, like. "Is this a bad time?"

"No, it's not a--"

"Because I can come back later." Billy nods, already turning on his heel to escape, and like. Fly into the sun. "Or not at all. I can just mail it to you, that's. Yeah, I'll just stick it in the post or something."

Steve grabs his elbow.

Billy looks at the hand on his elbow, and down at Steve’s feet. There aren’t any shoes or anything, so.

Billy's overreacting.

Fuck. He swallows, raising his eyes with caution to see Steve smiling again. Even wider than before, if that's possible.

Harrington licks his lips. "Whatcha got there?" He says, nodding to the bag, and Steve.

He's wearing glasses today.

Billy feels like someone hit him on the back of the head with a ski ball. Steve looks so soft, in white stripped overalls and a green sweater, that Billy doesn't know whether to fluff him like a pillow or fucking.

Punch him in the face.

Billy holds out the paper bag. "It's for you."

Steve looks at him strangely but he's still smiling, which.

Is good.

Billy thinks it's good but then he knows its good when Steve giggles. "I gathered that. What is it?"

"It's a, uh. You know." Billy tries. "You know one of those things? Where it's, like, a thing but you aren't supposed to know what it is?"

Steve blinks at him, cheeks turning pink like they always do. "A surprise?"

"That's the one." Billy snaps his fingers, like. Ah-ha. Except it isn't a surprise, it's just. "It's a way to say thanks. For the whole," Billy concludes, gesturing vaguely to their front lawns, to. "The driveway."

Steve blushes even harder. "You didn't have to get me a present--"

"It's not a present."

"That was just me trying to be nice." Steve leans against the door jam, eyes searching. "It doesn't call for a--"

"It's not a present." Billy says again. Steve doesn't look like he believes him, so Billy, like. Shoves the paper bag to his chest. "Look, open it now or don't. Fucking, throw it away for all I care, it's fine."

Billy turns on his heel because fuck this.

Fuck trying to pay back nice with nice and fuck Steve for starting this whole debacle to begin with. Billy makes it down one step and then Steve is laughing so hard he can't stand up straight.

Which just makes Billy feel worse, because.

"You're laughing." Billy gapes. "I bring you a present to say thanks for not being an asshole, and you're laughing."

Steve doesn't answer, he just.

Keeps on laughing, and okay.

This is Billy's third greatest fear. After abandonment and fighting. Fists covered in blood--his or someone else's, it doesn't matter. He frowns, turning to leave again when Steve straightens and coughs once into the palm of his hand.

"Thought it wasn't a present," Steve quips, and he's looking at Billy with, like. Sparkly eyes. He shrugs. "I'm not sure what it means."

Billy doesn't get it. "It doesn't have to mean anything--"

"No, like." Steve peers into the bag again, clearly holding back tears. "Why did you get me a bag of dead mice?"

"You can get them at the pet store." Billy says, because. You can, alright? He fiddles with the sleeves of his winter coat. "They're for Mr. Bane."

Steve just stares at him, eyes twinkling like two polished diamonds in his head.

And he's not saying anything, or. Laughing anymore, he's just. Watching Billy fall to pieces on his walkway as he tries to defend himself.

Billy focuses on the clouds that inch across the sky. "Mr. Bane, he's. He's always catching shit, like. Dead shit and leaving it on my porch. I just thought if he wants to eat dead things I can just. Buy him a pack or whatever. Like a normal person."

Steve grins. "You know they do that because they think you can't feed yourself."

Billy wrinkles his nose. "Well I fucking appreciate it, but I don't want to eat dead mice and birds and shit."

Steve chuckles once before staring again.

Like he's memorizing Billy's face, or like. They're having a competition that Billy doesn't know about.

Billy gestures to the bag again. "Would you just accept it, Steve? Please?"

Harrington looks down at the mice in his hands and nods slowly, like the decision is really requiring some thought.

Billy feels stupid.

This was so fucking stupid--

"Sure, Billy." Harrington says. Soft, and. Sweet. "No one's ever given me such a thoughtful gift before, so. Thank you."

And Billy feels like the tin man getting oil on his joints after a year of rusting in the forest, when Steve accepts his weird ass gesture. He nods, mouth lapsing into a thin, unamused line. "Okay, then. See ya 'round," Billy says.

And then he's turning, and.

Leaving.

Before Steve can say anything else.

The clouds inch like caterpillars across the bright winter sky and Steve's walkway seems so much longer on the journey home.

[thecl0wnwars]

Safe

(GN reader x Maul)

anxiety tw

grief/loss tw

brief self harm tw

slight blood tw

ptsd tw

pls read at your own risk, you’re responsible for what media you consume

-

In honour of my anxiety getting sososo much worse, I present to you: an angsty/fluffy imagine where the reader suffers from anxiety in the months after whilst trying to grapple with a close friends death and Maul comforts them to the best of his abilities, enjoy x

prompts: “you’re not alone. i’m here”, “take a deep breath”, “you don’t have to go through this alone”, “you’re safe”

“Everyone’s dismissed.” With a wave of his tattooed scarlet and black hand there’s the sound of chairs scraping against the tiled floor and mumbling voices lost on my ringing ears as a mixture of the Shadow Collective and Death Watch members begin to filter out of the meeting room after another long mission debrief. The last of them are rising from the table and as they grow out of earshot I see Maul slump over, façade beginning to slip. He exhales listlessly from his seat at the head of the slab of stone, head tilted in my direction. To his right, my usual seat is empty, and to his left, Savage leans down slightly to talk to him, whispered words not quite reaching my ears from my place at the opposite end of the table. Maul hums in recognition as his brother speaks, but he doesn’t seem to be paying much attention as I feel a pair eyes burning into the side of my face again, piercing me desperately.

I came in late to the meeting, ignoring the pitying looks from those around the table and the unflinching gold of my fiancé’s stare that had, on multiple occasions, broken away from the presentation and crossed the room to me and then to the empty seat on his right with a barely contained anxiety as he spoke throughout the conference, eyes unwavering in their attempt to gain my attention. My mind had been elsewhere though, stare pinned to the table before me as I worked myself through my racing thoughts. Physically, I was in Mandalore, mentally, I was back there.

I flinch at the awful memory, eyelids fluttering shut as scenes of my close friends death just a few months prior begin to play over in my head once more like a film stuck on replay. I should’ve been there, they’re dead because of me.

Inhaling sharply, I desperately try to push back the mental images of them lifeless, desperate to picture them any other way: smiling with their arm slung over my shoulder, sitting opposite me on the bed of their childhood home while we do our homework, laughing till they cried at a silly inside joke of ours, small pudgy fingers clinging to mine on our first day of school: determined to be together forever. So much for ’forever’ I think. It's no use, any memories I have of them are now brutalised. All I can picture is their face in my hands, slick with sweat, a dribble of ruby blood trickling from the corner of their mouth as they use the last of their strength to sputter out half-words I’m still unable to make sense of even now, almost a whole two months after the ordeal. I can still hear them though, crystal clear like they’re here with me now, voice raspy and broken and quickly beginning to blur out the sound of a chair harshly scraping against the marble floor and metal feet clambering against tile. I clench my now clammy hands into fists over the table, fingernails forming half-moon indents into the smooth skin of my palms as I screw my eyes shut and try to mask the memory of my hands covered in their blood - pressing against the gaping wounds in their torso - with the pain of my nails now breaking skin. It’s what I deserve, I think, I couldn’t even save them, couldn’t even hear their last words. My fault, my fault, my fault.

I’m acutely aware of the sound of my heartbeat stuck in my throat, thrumming at too fast a pace against my throbbing chest. I lift my bleeding hands to either side of my face, a gasp leaving my parted lips as I hunch over – curling into myself protectively, ”Not this again,” I whimper aloud. This is my third panic attack since this week, three out of the countless others I’ve endured these past few months. You’d think that would mean that by now I’d be used to it, that I’d be able to control them, but if anything, they’ve just gotten worse and worse.

“My fault, my fault, my fault.”

“Y/N!”

My eyes spring open at the sound my name being shouted, y/e/c orbs blinking to find the same stone expanse of the table staring back at me, and then a red hand slips into my field of vision, dipping to press against my sternum as it pushes me upright again. Maul.

I’m vaguely aware of my back softly hitting the splat of the chair behind me, eyelids blinking open and closed, and with each flutter releases a trickle a salty tears I hadn’t realised I’d been holding in until now. The conference room is empty, Savage nowhere to be seen, and my chair has been turned to face Maul as his lean figure hunches over in front of me protectively. I begin to relax into my seat once again at his presence, breathing in shaky bursts as I feel his hands slide from my front to my grasp at my still-clenched fists. Warm and steady fingers then begin to work apart my vice-like grip, unravelling my shaking appendages from my battered palms as his patiently flattens each hand and then interlaces them with his own. As he does this, I find myself angling into him, his familiar touch grounding me momentarily. Amongst the havoc of my mind he offers me a temporary calm, a safe haven. I never want him to stop touching me. Lately he’s the only thing keeping my steady when all I want to do is fall apart.

“‘M sorry,” I eventually mumble out, still breathless.

He audibly gulps and then crouches until our faces are level, resting the expanse of his forehead against the clammy skin of my own, humming at me as I shudder and our foreheads clatter together a moment. “Y/N, darling,” his voice is like honey, pleading as his lips press a gentle kiss to the tip my nose. “Take a deep breath,” he continues, his own fanning across my flushed face as he coos at me.

I nod, eyes sliding shut again as I attempt to zero in on his voice, squeezing his hands while I try to replace the feeling of blood and flesh and cavernous wounds I know I can’t mend with the familiar security of my lovers palms. Despite this, more tears begin to helplessly leak from the corners of my eyes, heavy and trailing down my cheeks now like streams of water as a broken sob finds its way up my throat and escapes my parted lips, “I-I can’t stop! I can’t stop seeing them, hearing them. I-” my next words lost as my breath hitches in my throat, aching as I begin to gasp for air that simply evades me once more. Panic sets in again, adrenaline pumping through my veins as the sound of my dead friends last whimpers fills my ears.

I’m brought back only by the sound of Maul’s voice breaking through once again, “I know, I know,” he murmurs down at me, tone pained as he lifts his lips to my forehead and presses an urgent kiss into my heated skin. “I am sorry, my starlight. You do not deserve this pain.”

I choke again, furiously shaking my head. He’s wrong. I do deserve this pain. My closest friend, the person I’ve known all my life, who knows me better than me, is dead. Gone. Forced out of existence. I could’ve stopped it, helped them. I should have. We were supposed to be there for each other. “It hurts.” I gasp, my body trembling as another broken wail leave my lips. I’m there again, my throat tightening as I begin to blur the lines between the sweat from my hands and the blood I spent hours scrubbing off after that mission on that ride back to Mandalore without them.

I barely register his fingers squeezing mine, still clinging to me as he pulls away slightly to look at me again, “Breathe, darling,” he urges, a note of panic in his voice. But it’s like I’ve forgotten how, the air robbed from my lungs for what feels like a eternity, for a moment I’m sure I’ll suffocate and die. Just like them. Dead. Gone. My fault, my fault, my fault-

“Y/N.” My eyes snap open again, chest still heaving as my fiancé’s saffron eyes abruptly replace the images of blood and death. He hadn’t yelled, barely even spoke loud enough to create an echo across the room, its his tone of voice that drags me back to reality again, agonised at the sight of me and full of distress. “I’m here,” he murmurs, “I am here. Let me help you, my love.”

I gulp, eyelids once again falling closed a moment as I work on steadying my rapid breathing, swallowing away the lump in my throat. My heart still thrums persistently in my chest but the pain of suffocation eases as I realise: I’m not dying. All the while, Maul peppers my face with lingering kisses, whispering loving, calming words into my feverish skin.

A long moment passes before I finally open my eyes again, lifting my gaze to see that he’s already watching me, intense stare scanning my face for anymore signs of hysteria and panic. “I’m OK,” I eventually speak, squeezing his fingers reassuringly as I then untangle my hands from his, wiping the sweat from my palms onto the legs of my pants. “I-I’m sorry,” I begin, only to be cut off as he brings his hands to cup either side of my face, calloused skin tenderly stroking away tears and angling my face so we’re eye to eye once more. We lock gazes, his laced with an ever-present concern, a juxtaposition to his calm and grounding expression. “You have nothing to apologise for, you did nothing wrong. It’s not your fault.”

In spite of his confident reassurance I sigh dejectedly, my stare beginning to trail away from him. They should still be here, would still be here, if I had only gotten to them sooner.

“It is not your fault,” he repeats as if reading my mind, this time with more force, calloused thumbs rubbing against my cheeks to regain my attention. “Not your fault. You did everything you could. And it’s hard, I know it’s hard, but you do not have to do this alone. I won’t let you.”

“They should still be here,” I utter at last, voice coarse and raspy with emotion. But they’re not. I exhale shakily, opening my mouth and closing again as words begin fail me. They’ve always been here, it’s always been me and them, and now it’s just me... and Maul. I flicker my gaze back up to him and sigh, melting to putty in his embrace. I’d be a mess without him.

Mumbling another apology that he brushes off, I lift my hands find the back of his neck and pull him into me. Our foreheads gently bump together, eyes slotting closed as my lips find his, my mouth pressing against his own with a feverish want. His kiss is a welcome distraction from the now faint ringing in my ears and my still racing thoughts. I sigh into it, putting all the words that I can’t bring myself to utter and all the feelings I can’t even begin to find the words for into our locked embrace, quickly going dizzy from the lack of oxygen.

He pulls away after a moment longer, both of us pausing to catch our breaths. As I shakily inhale, I lift my eyes to see his are still closed, forehead glued to mine as a temporary calm begins to set in, “I’m here,” he mumbles into the small gap between our lips. “I love you, and I’m here,” he continues his mantra, pulling me into him again. I’m carefully lifted from my spot, cradled into the security of his arms as he takes a seat on the chair I’d just occupied. “You’re safe,” the words flitter from his lips again like a promise, and as I bury my head into the crook of his neck, I think I believe him. For the first time in weeks I know: I don’t need to carry the burden of my loss on my own anymore, I’m safe.

_

please note that not everyone’s experiences with anxiety and ptsd are the same! the way that i’ve written this imagine is loosely based off of how i’ve experienced some of my panic attacks and ptsd so please refrain from making any shitty comments xxx

[aelaer]

iron man 1 and ant-man!

iron man 1 - what made you first get into fanfiction?

Into reading: Honestly can’t remember. It was the early summer of 2003, though. I probably heard of its existence on Neopets, which was my game/social platform at the time. It was one of the best communities and platforms out there for both kids and adults who liked those pet games from like 2000 to 2004/5 xD It has sunk so far RIP.

Into writing: I saw Pirates of the Caribbean also in the summer of 2003 and thought “wow, I love this film so much and I love these characters so much, I am going to write them in my favorite world of Middle-earth” and posted the first chapter on Sept 1 of that year. And fuck, that fic is still the longest of all my fics which I really would like to change one of these days. But I’ve come nowhere near reaching 200k again xD I’m just glad I finished that sucker (after like, 20 edits over the years).

ant-man - send a few headcanons of your favorite characters! 

Stephen:

Stephen selects the color blue for his custom robes because the blue reminds him of blue scrubs and the reason he went to Kamar-Taj in the first place.

Stephen was incredibly offended that it took the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame over a decade to finally put Rush into their lineup. Absolute travesty. (That one is in honor of my dad, the Rush fan.)

Stephen likes Tolkien (obligatory authorial interest insert)

Stephen had a dog growing up, but has a general affinity for all animals. He wanted to be a vet before human medicine grabbed his interest. But because he grew up on a farm, he has no issue eating meat, especially if the animal was raised for human consumption (i.e. animals bred for it, as opposed to wild venison). That said, he did have a stint of vegetarianism in college before giving up.

Stephen's knowledge in neuroscience makes him especially talented with mind-based magics, such as memory alterations and removal, mind-reading, and delving into memories. He avoids using these as much as he can, however, and only uses them as a last resort.

To earn a stipend while training and learning magic in Kamar-Taj, Stephen helped repair and bind books with magic stitching in the library under Wong's tutelage. This helped him regain some of the motor skills needed to make the gestures necessary for his spellwork, and served as much-needed PT as well.

Wong:

Wong is a big, big fan of trash TV.

Wong is his last name. He isn’t fond of his first name, and so doesn’t give it or use it.

Along with being the librarian, Wong is also the primary accountant and bookkeeper of Kamar-Taj and all of its expenses, and is basically the keeper of the keys to all things finance within their society. Some apprentices do some more menial tasks, but he’s the head honcho there, possibly making him the most powerful person in the Order of the Mystic Arts in terms of hierarchy with exception to the Sorcerer Supreme. And since the MCU is lacking one of those, that sort of makes him the de-facto deciding vote on any issues within the society, even if it’s not really stated by others.

Wong didn’t actually do a ton of field work compared to other sorcerers; he was busy with administrative tasks, even before he took over the role of librarian along with all the other things he does (and he took it because he figured he could just work in the library with little change in the amount of work he had to do, and had a much better ability to defend it). He went out on occasion to keep himself up to snuff. He took on more field work once Stephen became Master of the New York Sanctum as Stephen had lost his other mentors and the fledgling sorcerer really needed an eye. I like to consider he led a group effort in that first year.

Tony:

Tony’s favorite chain burger is In-n-Out. That bag in Iron Man 1 was an In-n-Out bag, not a Burger King bag. *This is the real canon*.

Despite copious amounts of drinking and partying throughout his life, Tony never developed a physical addiction for alcohol. While the mental addiction had the possibility of latching on, he ended up pouring a lot of his trauma and troubled times into instead throwing himself into his work to (also) unhealthy levels, but this did help him keep his obsessive tendencies on his work as opposed to drinking all his troubles away. Happy, Rhodey, and later Pepper were integral in helping keeping him as a social drinker rather than an alcoholic.

Tony is equally talented as a mechanical engineer, software engineer, and electrical engineer, but his favorite by far is mechanical engineering. It’s one reason he loves cars so much, and he enjoys tinkering with them.

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Put Me In a Movie

Keanu Reeves x Reader (A/n- Every time I tell myself I’ll post at 8:30, I get distracted *face palms*)

Summary Prologue  1   2   3

Chapter 4- Already Hurt

Y/n crossed her legs, looking away, her dark sunglasses blocking out the warm yellow rays. For probably the fifth time that hour, she used the joint of her thumb to push them further up the bridge of her nose. That was another one of her telling habits. It was, as it always was in Chicago, windy and from her seat on the cafe’s patio dining area, Y/n could hear the ever existent bustle of traffic; blaring horns in the distance and the hum of moving vehicles. Still, the noise wasn’t enough to drown her thoughts, or the words that she didn’t particularly want to hear.

It was her fault. She was wrong. She was the jerk, the asshole, whatever you wanted to call it.

It wasn’t something that Y/n didn’t already know and it wasn’t a difficult deduction either, but coming from her own father, it kind of stung. “Are you even listening to me?” His familiar baritone broke her thoughts and Y/n was forced to turn back to him, sitting across from her at the round wicker table. Her father, she hadn’t gotten much from him when it came to defining features, some people said they had the same nose, but she never saw it. Y/n had gotten other things though; fame and a name in the industry. Roger was a director, not a director like Jackson though, sure, Jackson was considered a genius in his genre, but Roger had excelled in several, accolades populated the shelves of his Los Angeles home and he was a favorite among the critics. He was a good man too, Y/n was lucky to have him as a father, even if he hadn’t been there for half her childhood.

“Of course I’m listening dad,” she sighed, trying to fully redirect her attention, picking at the sleeve of her disposable coffee cup. After Luke had left, she had called Roger, practically begging him to come to Chicago, craving his advice. He’d know what to do, he always did.

Well, most of the time. 

Always would imply that he’d never been wrong. And boy had he been wrong, one telling example; his marriage.  

“It doesn’t look like you’re listening,” Y/n could almost see the pointed look that he’d blocked out via his own shades. Taking a swing of his black coffee, Roger paused before he continued, “You wanted my advice, and that’s it.”

“Listen to my heart, was your advice dad,” needless to say, it wasn’t the fatherly wisdom that Y/n had been seeking when she called him on Saturday, “I want,” she gestured with her hands, not really knowing what words would be right, “I want you to tell me what to do.”

Roger chuckled quietly, shaking his head, “Kiddo, I’m sorry, but I can’t do that,” he sighed, his expression sobered once more and he leaned forward a little, planting an elbow on the table top, “Look, I love you, you know that, and I’ll always want the best for you, but this time around, you’re the only one who knows what that is. What I can tell you is that if you really loved Luke, then you wouldn’t have done what you did.”

“I never said that I loved Luke,” Y/n grumbled despondently.

“My point exactly,” at that, Y/n frowned, looking down at her lap. Truthfully, she understood what he meant, if she really was committed to Luke, then what happened with Keanu wouldn’t have been possible, what she felt for Keanu wouldn’t have existed either. But Y/n had stringed him along, and then broken his heart.

“I’m just like her, aren’t I?” Behind her shades, she blinked away tears, taking another sip from her cup, hoping to swallow her emotions. 

Roger sighed heavily, reaching across the table for Y/n’s hand, squeezing affectionately, “You’re mother’s a good woman,” he reminded her. Often, Y/n would wonder if he actually meant that when he said it. 

“A good woman that broke your heart,” dragging her lower lip through her teeth. The memories were ones that she easily recalled; her father leaving for months on end for work and her mother, Elaine,  bringing her fifth grade math teacher to their home, telling her that it was a secret that she’d have to keep from her father. At ten, Y/n didn’t really understand, but she’d kept her mouth shut. But, as all dark secrets do, it eventually came out. Roger had come home early to surprise Elaine for their anniversary, only to find them lounging in the pool, in the backyard of the house he’d built for them. The whole thing had turned into a loud verbal exchange; she blamed him for never being there, he accused her of not appreciating everything he’d done for their family. In the end, Roger had left, but even through their muddy divorce, Y/n had clung to his side, and as she grew into a woman, she’d started blaming her mother for his loneliness and hurt, promising herself that she’d never be like that. 

Shaking his head, Roger passed a hand over his short, graying hair, “This isn’t about me,” that was enough to tell Y/n that he didn’t want to get into the less than favorable memories and that he was ready to change the topic, “This about you, you and Luke and…..” Though she’d told him a lot about the last two weeks, Y/n had intentionally neglected Keanu’s name, it was bad enough that she’d cheated, she didn’t want to imagine what her father’s reaction would be when would be if he found out it was someone just over thirty years her senior. 

Patiently, Roger awaited Y/n’s response, hoping she’d at least drop a name, but instead she just dismissed it with a short wave, “Doesn’t matter, he doesn’t see me like that anyway,” audibly, Y/n exhaled, her thoughts running to Keanu, how much it really hurt knowing that he didn’t see her the way she’d started seeing him. Y/n was never expecting to feel like that, she’d thought that after Luke left, she’d miss him more, but in the days passed, she’d missed Keanu more. Sure, they’d tried to return to some semblance of what they shared before, but they had found that even without a third party involved, things just weren’t the same, there was something about seeing your friend naked that changed everything.

“I’m sorry sweetheart,” Roger didn’t need Y/n to say it to know how upsetting the whole situation was for her, he wasn’t willing to discount what she’d done, and even if he had never met Luke, from the stories he had heard, Roger knew he was a good man. But still, Y/n was his daughter, his pride and joy, and he’d always have some kind of sympathy for her, no matter what she’d done. So, even if she was a grown woman and he could no longer fix her problems, he’d still support her. 

Keanu’s eyes were trained on the script, though he wasn’t exactly reading it. The words all seemed jumbled and uninteresting and his mind foggy and clouded with confusing thoughts, most of them involving Y/n. After brunch, he’d hung out with her a couple times, but things had felt awkward and lacking. Her words, much like his, were totally counteractive to her actions, Y/n kept reminding him that things were okay between them, but had declined his offers to meet in his room and as such, they had only met in neutral places; the hotel’s restaurant, a cafe that they both liked near where they were filming and of course, on set. She’d even refused to have breakfast with him that morning. 

Even though they kept assuring each other that things were okay, Keanu could tell they weren’t, and worse yet, he was positive that something was up with Y/n, she had actively brushed off his concern, but Keanu could tell; she was way quieter than usual and she seemed far away most times, deep in thought. He wondered if it had anything to do with Luke’s abrupt departure.

With a heavy sigh,  Keanu closed the script, casting his gaze to the city, visible from his place on the balcony, Lake Michigan not too far off in the distance. Truthfully, it had become a little annoying to think about her that much, especially when he couldn’t really assign a feeling to the thoughts. Everything was just so muddled and confusing and it didn’t help that he could barely tell how she felt. Keanu wished that it could be easier, or at the very least, he could talk to someone about what was going through his head. But alas, the last thing he wanted was for his mother or his sisters to give him a lecture on how he shouldn’t have even been hanging around someone Y/n’s age.  

“Ugh,” he groaned audibly, tossing the script to the glass topped coffee table stationed next to the wicker lounge chair. Leaning forward, Keanu planted his bare feet on either side of the chair, scrubbing his hands over his face. Raking his hands through his hair, Keanu swung his left leg over, moving to collect his stuff and head inside. Maybe he could head to the hotel’s gym, spend a few hours there with his headphones in; that should clear his head.

For what felt like the millionth time since she’d laid down, Y/n turned, that time laying on her stomach, draping an arm on the cold pillow next to her. The position was comfortable, for all of five minutes, and unfortunately, within those five minutes, she couldn’t fall asleep. Groaning, annoyed, she rolled again, coming face to face with the alarm clock, which only seemed to mock her plight. In bold green, the time read as 2:57. There she was, at nearly three am, unable to catch a wink of sleep. 

Groaning, Y/n shoved the covers down slightly, finally settling on her back. It wasn’t like she wasn’t tired, she was, her body was heavy from ten grueling hours of filming; they hadn’t stopped until it was nearly one in the morning and even if they wouldn’t be cooperative and stay shut, Y/n’s eyes burned. The problem wasn’t physical, it was mental. All Y/n could think about was everything that had happened in the past two weeks; the kiss they had tried to brush off, the night she had spent with Keanu, Luke walking out on her, how guilty she felt and finally,  her father’s words, telling her that he couldn’t do much more than offer her a listening ear and a shoulder to cry on. 

It all swam around Y/n’s head, the thoughts bombarding each other and eventually coming together in the collective agreement that they would keep her awake, even if she had work the next day.  With a defeated huff, she sat up, dragging her fingers through the mess that was her hair. Briefly, she wondered, if by some long shot, Keanu was awake too.

Don’t think about him.

The reminder took her by surprise and Y/n absently shook her head. She’d been trying to do that recently, telling herself to not think of him when they weren’t together, just so she could bury whatever it was that she felt for him. But it was never to any avail, Keanu had continued to be one of the constants on her mind. It was becoming a pain, especially when she knew that he probably wasn’t even thinking of her.

That hurt.

With a heavy sigh, Y/n swung her legs off the bed, discarding the sheets and stripping as she walked towards an open suitcase. She needed to clear her head, and she knew just where she wanted to do that. 

Slowly, Y/n changed out of her pajamas, into a powder blue bikini, a cute one that pushed her breasts together, with a decorative knot in the center and an inch of loose ruffles beneath the cups. The bottoms were simple in comparison, sporting a regular cut though still boasting a scandalous amount of skin. Y/n threw on a floral printed, black and white cover-up over her ensemble, grabbing her phone and key card as she headed out.

She’d been to the hotel’s interior pool a few times before since they’d been there, but Y/n had quickly found that she preferred it in the dead of night, when most of the other guests were asleep or just flat out uninterested in an impromptu swim. That way, she could have it to herself. It was the perfect place to unwind and clear one’s head. 

Like the rest of the hotel, the room with the awning pool painted the perfect picture of modern luxury; high ceilings and marble floors, the tiny lights embedded into the ceiling  dancing on the seemingly blue water. Because it was so late, Y/n was naturally expecting to have the pool to herself, prepared to swim a couple laps and maybe lounge in the water for a while, though, when she caught a glimpse of a familiar silhouette doing the same, she swore quietly, “Fuck!” The lonesome swear echoed, drawing his attention.

She hadn’t seen him since leaving set earlier and she certainly wasn’t planning on running into him at the hotel’s pool. She was trying to not think of him, not give her brain more material to work with. 

“Y/n? Hey,” Keanu stood, the water coming up just past his waist, the long, vertical scar on his stomach taking on a light shine and his black swimming trunks barely covering strong thighs was visible in the low lighting. As he waded closer to her end, he brushed wet, dark hair out of his face. “Couldn’t sleep huh?” 

Y/n inhaled nervously, of all the men in the world she had to be alone with the one who could rile her up with just a look. Stepping back a little, ready to turn and go back to her room, Y/n gripped the neck of her cover-up, “Yeah,” she agreed, “You probably wanted to be alone,” she rambled, “I’ll leave.”

“If it makes you uncomfortable, I can leave,” Keanu folded his arms on the tiled edge.

Y/n shook her head again, “No,” she dismissed, “You were here first. I’ll just go,” without waiting for him to object, Y/n was turning around and walking towards the door.

“Wait!” He called after her, surprising Y/n. When she turned again, Keanu had stepped back a bit, his arms spread out on either side, “Let’s not be ridiculous this thing is huge. Just get in, we can keep our hands to ourselves,” he joked lightly.

Y/n mulled on Keanu’s offer for a minute. There was no reason for one of them to leave, not really. Friends shared pools all the time, they were friends. Besides, a couple weeks ago, they wouldn’t have even given something like that a second thought before getting in. 

She smiled tightly, walking over to one of the sleek lounge chairs, discarding her key card and cell, “Why not?”

It was wrong, but Keanu kept his eyes on her as Y/n’s lithe fingers went to the knot holding her ensemble together, sucking in a sharp breath when she undid it at an unhurried pace. The thin fabric slid off her shoulders, revealing the two-piece she was wearing underneath, something below the water twitching appreciatively. If she looked good when he was drunk, she looked absolutely beguiling then. Y/n didn’t let the material fall, instead catching it with her fingers and draping it on the chair.

For a hot minute, Keanu looked on, entranced by the way the blue bikini top exaggerated the fullness of her cleavage and how the skimpy panties hugged her hips. The little stud at her navel winked, teasing him. Keanu wasn’t sure if Y/n noticed his staring, but his hooded gaze stayed on her as she sashayed towards the pool, down the impressive steps.  

The water was deep enough to cover her above the stomach and while he continued standing there, trying to shake himself out of the moment, Y/n disappeared beneath the clear blue, swimming around him, her legs gently paddling around him, before she reemerged a few feet away. Keanu paddled backwards in return, trying to put a bit more space between them. 

Y/n’s wet hair clung to her skin, some of it sticking to her shoulders and neck, though none of it was enough to cover the exposed parts of her boobs and Keanu had to keep reminding himself to not check her out. Clearing his throat, he searched for something to fill the silence, the little splashing noises just weren’t cutting it, “So,” he dragged his lower lip through his teeth, “How did the meeting with your manager go?”

Y/n furrowed her brows for a minute, almost forgetting that she’d told Keanu that she was meeting with Walter instead of telling him that she was meeting with her father, “Oh!” Her eyes lit up in recognition, “Yeah, it was okay. He just wanted to…..tell me about a prospective contract.”

That was probably the worst lie she’d ever told.

“Ah,” Keanu nodded slowly, sensing her trouble with the subject, “Wanna talk about it?”

Well, she really couldn’t, considering it didn’t exist. Y/n’s mind went wild looking for a way to change the subject, eventually only turning up with a foolish, childish strategy. Without Keanu noticing, she reared on hand back, biting back a smirk as she splashed him, a tiny wave hitting him square in the face, “Nope,” she popped her lips at the last leg of the word. 

“Wow,” Keanu chuckled quietly, “That’s very mature of you,” he teased, just before retaliating. Y/n stumbled back in surprise when Keanu splashed her with a slightly bigger wave. 

“Talk about maturity,” Y/n playfully rolled her eyes, her grin matching his. For a bit, as they continued like that, things felt the way they did before, comfortable and like they could just be together without worrying. She didn’t realize much she truly missed Keanu until those moments spent in the pool, going to and fro in a splash war. Their laughs bounced off the marble walls, and they both tried to ‘one up’ each other. 

“You’re so bad at this,” Keanu jeered, making Y/n stumble again.

“Me?” She shot back incredulously, stopping for a minute, “It’s not my fault your hands are fucking huge. You obviously have an unfair advantage.”

Keanu scoffed his laughter, “I beg to differ, this is a game of strategy, not brawn, little one.”

Y/n was about to spat something about how he was wrong, argue that his size did give him an advantage, but his last words left her speechless; her eyebrows raised and her lips ajar. Little one. Why did she like the sound of that? 

Within a few seconds, Keanu seemed to realize what he’d said too, his smile fading. He hadn’t meant for it to slip out and that certainly wasn’t the kind of nickname someone gave a friend, “Y/n,” he began, ready to apologize and explain that he hadn’t meant anything by it, “I’m-”

“Luke left me,” she blurted out, cutting him off, for some reason thinking that would help him relax. The air around them seemed to change yet again, though that time it wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. It was just tense. The kind of tense that subconsciously made Keanu step closer. As he did though, Y/n walked backwards, not really to get away from him, but to see if he’d followed her. Something in her mind wanted to know how far he’d go. 

“When?” Keanu frowned, not knowing if she wanted comfort, pity or for him to continue their not so PG game of cat and mouse.

“Saturday,” she managed, moistening her lips. Keanu could see her eyes grow darker as he drew closer. He liked seeing her like that, all small, sexy and easy for him to just snatch up, “After brunch.”

The rough wall of the pool hit her back, catching her by surprise and before she knew it, Keanu was merely a few inches away from her, their bodies so close she could feel his heat but not touching. “Why?” Reaching out, Keanu used the tip of his finger to brush some stray hair away from her face, his feather light, barely there touch, sending shivers up her spine.

“He thinks there’s something going on between us,” the breathy admission escaped her lips and Y/n could see that like hers, Keanu’s pupils were dilated, his whiskey eyes darker than usual. Their proximity was blurring. Half of her  wanted things to go further while the other told her than they needed to stop. She knew which half she was leaning towards.

“Is there?” Keanu tilted his head, his gaze roaming the visible parts of her body, his fingers itching to skim her curves.

“You said there wasn’t.”

“So did you,” Keanu shot back, without missing a beat. When Y/n couldn’t come up with a response, Keanu spoke again, his voice gravely and low, “What do you want, little one?” That time, the words were intentional and Y/n’s breath hitched and she had to press her thighs together.

“I…..” Nothing of substance came and when her silence went on for too long, Keanu cocked a wicked smirk, turning to leave, “Where are going?” 

“I told you that I’d keep my hands to myself tonight,” he shrugged, already padding up the steps of the pool grabbing a towel to dry himself off, “I like to keep my promises,” he winked and Y/n couldn’t help but be a bit frustrated. 

With the fluffy white fabric had lapped up most of the water, Keanu pulled on a pair of low riding sweatpants over his damp swimming trucks, though that was the very least of Y/n’s problems. Without another word, Keanu threw on an old t-shirt and roped the towel around his neck, gripping the ends as he walked away, “Keanu?” Y/n called after him, prompting Keanu to pause to look at her, “Would you have fucked me like that if we were sober?”

Cocking a confident grin, “No,” he chuckled, “I would have fucked you way better.”

*********

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