#like it’s crazy that I’ll spend money on the good butter for people

[inkdrinkerworld]

one thing about me… you’re gonna know i like you when i start whipping out the intricate desserts

[cleverthylacine]

Tag 10 People You Want to Get to Know Better

Relationship status: Extremely divorced. Prowl levels of divorced. Four times! Multiple genders! Still hopeful though!  I would like to be in a relationship but probably nobody who is not a quadruped should live in the same house with me; while the other parties involved definitely had contributing issues and one was an honest-to-G-d abuser, I’m the only one who’s done it 4 times.

Favourite colour: This varies; it’s usually pink, but can also be purple and various shades of light blue, teal or peach.  There are shades of yellow and yellowish green that are deeply, almost physically unpleasant and painful for me to look at. I’m very autistic that way.

I always get the highest scores possible on those colour sensitivity tests, and was almost broken as a kid by my mother telling me I had to match colours because to my eyes almost nothing matched so I just wore whatever I personally thought looked good.  Turns out everyone other than my mother thought so too. I was really good at “matching blacks” during my goth stage.

Something I want right now: universal basic income and to quit my job so I can write and dance and learn how to draw again. Song stuck in my head: Oh No!  by Marina and the Diamonds (it’s one of my Starscream songs)

Three favourite foods: My three easiest to obtain favourites are: 1. Rib eye steak, particularly the outer part, rare but not cold. 2. Salmon and asparagus with brown rice farina and cheese. 3. Haagen-Dazs butter pecan ice cream. I’m autistic.  Other brands are close, but for me close but not quite as good is “nasty” not “acceptable”‘ -- if the brand isn’t available, I’ll get some other gluten free flavour.  Too close is deeply disappointing. Something that doesn’t sound awful can only be mildly disappointing and might be good.

Last song I listened to: “You Better You Bet” by the Who.  I always imagine Grimlock singing this to Howlback.

“I don’t really mind how much you love me--oooh, a little is all right When you say, come over and spend the night, tonight!”

(He is demiro, she is aro. She loves him to pieces, but despite the fact that they are so hot for each other they fuck rather than hug hello, she has never been In Love in her life and is grateful for that because she thinks being In Love makes people of every species act crazy AF.)

Last thing I googled: 1960s brutalist jewellery. That’s what @legendtrainer, who tagged me, googled last, and I, who have only ever heard “brutialist” applied to architecture, wondered what the fuck that was. It turns out that I own a fuck ton of it, though it’s all from the 70s and early 80s. I bought it when I wanted to cosplay my Star Trek: TOS OCs.  I thought it would look like Klingon or Vulcan stuff. I wonder if the ones I haven’t taken apart and strung together with other things are worth anything.

Dream trip: I want to go back to Japan with more time and a lot more money.

Aside from that, though, in terms of practical dreams:  I was supposed to go to TF-Con LA but my brother got cancer and I bought him some of his meds while waiting for his coverage to kick in because, you know, I don’t want him to die. And his special food that insurances just don’t cover.

Don’t live in America.  We’re a beautiful country but we’re a cruel one.

No pressure tags (seriously, NO PRESSURE): @bitegore (who I know very well but not about this kinda thing); @byzantienne (who I was very close to for years but rarely see now because she is Married and writing really good books and it’s Ninety-Three Thylacine, I know animals are weird choices but when have I ever not been weird); @stuffbyshelby2; @guesso13; @inktheblot (who I wanted to be friends with for years because of the videos and finally met in TF-land); @satellitesoundwave;  @shychangling; JD (you keep changing blog titles); @jariktig; @cybervillainess.

[thesmokingguns]

A Dream Come True

Warnings: Slight language, mention of infertility issues

Song by Elton John

First part of my A-Z one shots I’ll be writing. I changed this idea about ten times and ended up writing pure fluff. I think the A-Z is going to have Motley Crue and GNR members and have eveyrthing from fluff to smut. I’m hoping to post one a week.

I can hear your heart

Pounding in my ear

Now I feel the sound

And the time is near

I feel the taste

Of all the things you do

Now the time has come

I know you're a dream come true

I thought it had been a joke when you had said you wanted to get me pregnant. To see me swollen with your baby. I figured it was something that you were saying to me when you were horny and wanted to ease me into letting you cum inside me.

But then I noticed how you would stare at me when I was playing with Vince’s kids. You’d watch me run around with them, kiss scapes, feed the baby a bottle, or when I would walk around with a kid on my hip hour eyes would flash with something I didn’t understand.

Want.

I never realized how much you wanted a family until you got the idea lodged into your head. You became obsessed with putting a baby in me.

It was the second week in your plan when I realized my birth control pills had gone missing. I tore the house apart and felt slightly crazy when it didn't turn up. It was an easy enough fix to call the doctor and get a new prescription but when I came in holding the brown pharmacy bag you were so angry.  

That’s when I realized you were serious about putting a baby in me.

We had been together for seven years, Married for five of them. But I was still surprised you were willing to share me with kids. I had thought maybe when we were in our 40s there might be a couple dogs but never children.

I was overwhelmed and slept at my mothers house thag night to think about it.

Maybe it wasn’t about you wanting to share me but more about me wondering if I could share you anymore. There was already the band taking up so much time and when you weren’t with the band you seemed to still be doing something with music. I was needy and needed your attention too.

Could I really share you with little carbon copies of you?

Could there be anything cuter than mini little Nikki’s running around?

When I woke up the next morning to the revving of a motorcycle outside I knew we were both on the same page now. I held onto you as we made our way home and started the next chapter of our life.

You make me so complete

With the things you do

And the music's sweet

You make me feel brand new

I hear the sound

Songs start coming through

Somehow I know

That you're a dream come true

I was only 24 when we decided to have a baby, so I thought getting pregnant would be easy. And then I turned 25 and it still wasn’t happening.

I felt like I was disappointing you.

You never asked me for anything and now the one thing you wanted I couldn’t give you. I was getting myself into this deep darkness, stacking my worth into my reproduction.

The doctors couldn’t find anything wrong, which made it worse because no one could help.

And then one morning I woke up and felt different. It was like my body was going through a growth spurt. I ached in weird places. It was like someone punched my right in the boobs.

You were doing a couple shows in Canada but would be home that weekend so I didn’t want to call the hotel and complain about how shitty I felt.

I spent the whole day in bed watching shitty Soap Operas and drinking water and peanut butter, the only things that didn't make my stomach lurch.

When I woke up the next morning feeling nauseous and sore I called the doctor. All I needed was to get the flu and then get you sick. You were such a big baby when you had the slightest cold.

I sat in the cold doctors room, on the table. I needed to call you. I had missed your call last night because I had fallen asleep early. When I called the hotel this morning you were already out. My mind was too busy thinking of you when the doctor came in and told me what was wrong.

I was pregnant.

Six weeks. For six weeks I had been carrying your baby and I didn’t know.

The doctor said it would be a great weekend to tell you. It was going to be Father’s Day.

My heart was pumping as I went home. My hand on my stomach as I held my baby. Rubbing the flat area that would soon be a bump.

It was a Friday and you’d be flying in tomorrow afternoon. How was I supposed to keep this a secret? It was everything we wanted. But I knew that I wanted to make it special for you.

You had been so patient in this and now it was finally happening.

It takes my breath

When it sounds that way

Seems like you

Chase the clouds away

And I feel so good

Each and every day

And life is good

Each and every way

Sunday morning I woke up wrapped up in you. Our limbs entwined as you held me close. I didn’t want to get up but I knew I had to.

I got up and groaned. Watching the way you sat up concerned, asking if I was okay.

I told you I was still feeling a little sick. I had filled you in on all the information about how I was sick and not feeling well. I even told you about the doctor's visit. Which leads to now.

I left the room pretending to call the doctor. Even though I had paid a ton of money to get them to be open on Sunday for your surprise. When I came back to the bedroom you were on the edge of the bed, eyes looking at me with nervousness as I told you I needed to go to the doctor.

Of course you agreed to go with me. Holding my hand on the drive and even coming into the room with me.

The doctor said he wanted to do an ultrasound just to check on what was going on in my stomach.

And that’s when the loud booming of a heartbeat filled the room.

Your eyes went from my face to the screen where our little bean was making all that noise, just like their daddy.

Your hand squeezed mine as you realized what you were looking at. I swear your eyes teared up and my heart was beating a million miles a minute. Your free hand slid up onto my stomach as you held our baby.

Our baby, Nikki.

Now I feel the beat

Of the dancing drums

And now I know we're

Gonna have some fun

Now the time stands still

And the blues are through

And now I know

What I'm gonna do

Nine months.

It was nine months of you being practically glued to my side. Every ultrasound, all the pregnancy yoga, the million pictures you wanted to take of me, pulling me out of bed when I was so round I couldn’t even sit up alone.

Every step of the way, we were in it together.

Except now. You had to go to a show tonight before taking a couple months off. You wanted me to go but the idea of people seeing me look like a blimp wasn’t exactly my idea of a good night. Going to get a strawberry milkshake was exactly how I wanted to spend my night.

I was just pulling out of the drive through, sipping the ice cream and it happened.

The warm water slid down my thighs, over the leather seats of your Porsche. You were going to love getting the car cleaned after this.

Usually I would panic in these situations but I had been having the small fluttering contractions for weeks. Plus we had taken that birth class together where we learned about how long labor actually takes.

Did it feel great to start labor well driving your Porsche to the show to go get you? No. BUt my mind was so focused on getting to you I was sure that I could I’d make it.

Ten minutes to the venue, Three minutes to rock back and forth to propel myself out of the car, Five minutes to clean myself up and throw on your red leather jacket over the tight black dress I was wearing with my converses, Nine minutes to make it backstage.

My hand was on my back trying to count the time between the contractions which were feeling more intense than I expected. I could see the side stage that I would need to waddle over to but it might as well have been ten miles away.

The opening chords to Use it or Lose it started to play, making me smile. It was one of my favorite songs. Someone helped me over to the side of the stage and I watched Nikki spinning around.

You looked so happy as you slammed on your bass, running around the stage and leaning out to the fans. As much as I wanted to have someone run on stage and let you know your wife was in labor I wanted this moment.

This was your last show before you became a dad and I wanted you to have the moment without worrying about me.

I pushed out of the chair making my way to the payphone and calling the doctor's office to let them know that I was in labor and I’d be heading to the hospital in about a half hour. As I hung up another tight, sharp pain ripped through me. My hand gripped the edge of the phone.

Hang on, Baby Sixx. We’re going to meet you soon.

You bounced towards me, your big smile on your face until you realized the grimace I was giving you and the realization of what was going on hit you.

I don’t know how we made it to the hospital without flipping the car or getting a speeding ticket but you were helping me in the front door fifteen minutes after leaving the show.

It was 1:53AM when he was born. Jackson James Sixx. 8 lbs 1oz, 22 in long.

Holding your son for the first time was one of the best things I’ve ever seen. He was so little in your arms but the love between you was so big. The way you crawled into bed, wrapping yourself around us. It was the three of us together now.

And it was everything I wanted and more.

And I feel so good

Each and every way

And life is good

Each and every day

[noladyme]

La Cuervo - Chapter 20

She is used to the biker-life, having grown into a woman in the familiar embrace of SAMCRO. A bad decision and a gun-shot later, she gets whisked off to Santo Padre, and put under the protection of another club. What is supposed to be a short stint in the Mayan headquarters just north of the border to Mexico, turns into something more; when la quervo begins to develop feelings for el angel - and he seems to return them in kind...

TW: violence, blood, drug use, alcohol, smut, fluff, angst

In the spirit of "The Crown Princess of Charming", this is a story about O.C. Nina and Angel Reyes. It is obviously non-canon, as characters who have passed on, on Mayans M.C., are present in it, and others have been excluded completely. Nina is written as a cis-female, but I have tried to keep her race and looks as ambigous as possible. Should you find any of this story offensive, please let me know.

20.

The next morning, Nina was looking out the window, at a green truck that had just pulled up by the curb. “I think it’s him!”. “You’re really excited, huh, ma'…?”, Angel chuckled at her. Nina turned to look at him, and nodded enthusiastically. “Do you think he’d like some coffee? We should make him some coffee…”, she said. “Ooh! Maybe some cheese! Go to the store an get some. Hurry!”. Angel came up behind Nina, and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her away from the window. “He’s not royalty”, he said. “To me, he’s pretty fucking close right now!”, Nina retorted. “I can’t wait until every one of those little assholes are dead and gone!”. Angel laughingly pressed a kiss to her temple, and went to open up for the exterminator. Nina felt a sudden urge to straighten her hair, and brush invisible lint of her clothes, before he came through the door.

As Angel showed the exterminator around the house, Nina followed close behind; adding to the conversation whenever it made sense – and sometimes even when it didn’t. She realized she was beginning to go stir-crazy from only spending time at either the clubhouse or Angel’s house; and she hadn’t talked to a person that didn’t have anything to do with the Mayans in days. Before that, she’d been kept under strict surveillance by SAMCRO, who were worried she’d hurt herself; and even before that, it had been the first lockdown at the scrapyard.

Crouched on the kitchen floor, and looking under the sink, the exterminator looked up at them, and sighed. “Yup. Roaches”, he said. “Is this a rental or do you own the house?”. “I’m the owner”, Angel muttered. Nina realized she hadn’t known either until now. The thought of having a stable home for a potential future family made her heart skip a beat – in spite of the roaches. “Too bad… You could charge the owner otherwise”, the exterminator. “That reminds me of a joke! A man walks in to an insect shop, and asks for a box full of roaches. The man behind the counter asks the costumer what he needs it for. Well, I’m moving, and the owner of my apartment told me to leave the place as I’d found it!”. He laughed loudly at his own joke, and Nina bit her lip to keep from grinning; while Angel simply raised a brow. The exterminator looked at Nina. “You liked that, huh…? Listen to this one: My girlfriend stepped on a butterfly the other day, so I told her; No butter for a week! Then she saw a cockroach, and stomped on that as well. I told her; Nice try!”. He roared with laughter, and Nina snorted out a snigger.

Angel went to stand half way in front of Nina, and looked at the exterminator. “What’s this gonna cost me?”, he grunted. “No price on peace of mind, right?”, the exterminator said, before catching on to Angel’s glum expression. “250 $... If you take care of the clean-up yourself, I’ll cut it down to an even deuce”. Nina winced at the thought of having to clean up an unspecified amount of dead bugs, and Angel sighed. “Just take care of it”, he muttered. “Will do. But I’ll need you to clear out of here for the rest of the day. And open the windows when you get home”. Angel grunted in confirmation, and took Nina’s hand; pulling her with him. She hardly had a chance to grab her borrowed helmet, before he dragged her out of the front door.

Once out by the bike, Nina stopped dead in her tracks. The weather was beautiful, and perfect for a day at the park, or a ride anywhere other than what at the moment felt like the suffocating closedness of the clubhouse. She looked deep into Angel’s darker than usual eyes. “Take me out for breakfast…”, she said. “Querida, you know how it is. We shouldn’t even be out in the open like this", Angel said.

“But I’m going crazy!”, Nina pleaded. “I only ever see you, or the people in the clubhouse… I feel like I’m under house arrest, even though you keep telling me I did nothing wrong". Angel got on his bike, and shook his head. “We’ll go out when all this is over", he said. “And when is that? You haven’t found the snitch yet; and even if you do, it’s just a matter of time before Palo realizes I’m still alive". Nina realized her voice was turning whiny. “I wanna go somewhere… see other people…”. “Like last time?”, Angel snapped back, taking her by surprise. “When you fucking left me, with nothing but a bullshit excuse?”.

Nina felt like she’d been slapped in the face. “Angel… You think I want to leave?”. “You did once already”, Angel said. “And just now, you were flirting with the guy who came to nuke the cockroaches, that’s made you hate my house”. “I don’t hate your house…”, Nina said, and scowled at him. “And I wasn’tflirting!”. “We’re not doing this now. Get on", Angel grunted, and started the engine. “Angel…!”. “Get on the fucking bike, Nina!”. “No! Fuck you!”, Nina growled, and began walking down the sidewalk, in the direction she thought might lead to a bus-stop.

She was so angry, she hardly heard Angel drive after her; and only just noticed him, once he was coasting slowly next to her. “Are you gonna walk to the yard?”, he said. “No. I’m gonna take a bus”, she retorted. “With what money?”. Nina halted. “I’ll flirt with the driver. Apparently, I flirt with strangers!”, she hissed. “I’m sorry…?”, Angel said. “Is that a question?”. She looked at him with rageful eyes, and he stopped the bike; getting off to walk up to her. “You have girls all over you, all the time, and I never complain. I’m friendly with one person, and you flip out!”. “You laughed at his sex-joke!”, Angel exclaimed. “Creeper was making dirty jokes all night, last night. I laughed at them”, Nina sneered. “You didn’t even blink!”. “Creep is a brother”. “So, I’m allowed to talk to patches; but with everyone else, I’m supposed to pretend they don’t exist?”, Nina asked. “With the club, it’s different. I trust them not to…”.

Nina scoffed at him, and rolled her eyes; before continuing to stomp down the street. Angel ran up behind her, and grabbed her arm. “I’m sorry…”, he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have said that shit”. “You don’t trust me; that’s the problem”, Nina said. “Yes, I trust you. I’m just… I already lost you once. I can’t do that again”. Angel’s eyes were sincere, and Nina fought the urge to take him into her arms. She was still angry. “I wanna protect you… And maybe I’m trying to protect myself”. Nina sighed. “I’m not leaving you again… But I have to see more than the inside of your house and the scrapyard”. “I know”, Angel said, and cupped her face. “Just, please… Let’s finish this shit with Palo, and I’ll take you wherever you want, ok?”. Nina frowned at him for a moment longer. “Don’t accuse me of stuff like you did just now… That’s not ok”. “I won’t. I’m sorry”, Angel said. “Please get on the bike. We need to get you to the yard, where you’re…”. “Safe… yeah. Whatever”, Nina muttered; put on her helmet, and got on the bike, after Angel had saddled up.

They drove to the scrapyard in silence.

---

Once at the clubhouse, the tension between them had lifted slightly, but Nina was still feeling peeved at Angel. He managed to steal a short kiss from her; but frowned, when she didn’t reciprocate his hug with more than a pat on the back.

Coco and Gilly came over, with rushed expressions. “We got a load of meds for the doc, but border control is hovering around the flower shop”, Gilly said. “East tunnel?”, Angel said. “West”, Coco said. “It’s further, but safer”. Angel nodded, and gave Nina a final look, before going over to get on his bike with the others. Nina waved at them as they drove off. She felt bad about how she’d left it with Angel, but it was hard to just get over being reminded of what she’d done to him. Mostly, she was angry with herself. Maybe there had been a different way to deal with the situation with Danielle those weeks back; but at the time she hadn’t known how to.

Trying to take her mind of it – she couldn’t do anything about it at the moment, anyway – she went into the clubhouse to start work. EZ was waiting with coffee and burritos, and they spent a little while having breakfast; while Nina retold the exterminator’s bad jokes. “He was flirting with you!”, EZ said. “How did Angel take that? Is he still alive?”. “Angel?”. “No, the exterminator!”, EZ chuckled. “Yeah… Though, I have a feeling he’s gonna have to watch his back for a while”.

Bishop, Taza and Hank came out of templo, and the prospect got to his feet. “We’re meeting with El Padrino”, Bishop said. “Business”. “Where’s Huey, Louie and Dewey?”, Hank asked. “They got a hold of some meds for the doc down south”, EZ said. “They’re using the west tunnel”. Hank nodded in approval. “Riz and Creeper are rat-hunting”, Taza said. “With their dicks…”, Bishop grunted. The men all sniggered. “Do you need me with you?”, EZ asked. “No. Stay here and Nina-sit”, Bishop replied. Nina rolled her eyes. “Sorry, mija. You know how it is. Palo is supposed to come tomorrow, but we don’t know if he changes his mind, and shows up early”. “You have your gun?”, Hank asked. Nina pulled out the .38 from her waistband. “Always”, she said. “Good”, Bishop said. “Prospect, go take care of that load of iron with Chucky. Nina, call him if anything comes up”. Nina and EZ both nodded, and the Mayans left the clubhouse. EZ went to clear up the table, but Nina halted him with a hand on his shoulder. “Go… scrap, or whatever it is you do. I’ve got this”. EZ nodded with a smile, and left her to it.

After clearing off their dishes, Nina went behind the bar, and put her gun by the sink, to wash them. She took her time, turning on some music to relax her tense mood. She hated to think something might happen to Angel while he was away, after how she’d more or less shrugged off his affectionate gestures, before he left. A cheery song came on, and Nina let herself sway to the music. Maybe she’d get a chance to dance with Angel at the party the day after, in spite of the psychopath bikers coming to kill her. They’d be ok. They had to be.

After a while, she went to wipe down the tables around the clubhouse; having to work a little more forcefully on the table the poker-game had been held at the night before. Stains from liquor and stray cigarette ashes had dried in, and she broke a nail trying to get one of the stickier stains. She cursed bellow her breath, and put her finger in her mouth, to relieve the pain a bit.

The door to the clubhouse opened, and Camille came in. “Hey!”, Nina smiled. “What’s up?”. Camille looked around the room, as if searching; before walking behind the bar. “Where is everyone?”, she asked. “Bish’ and the other tops are at some meeting; and the rest are out on some job down south”, Nina shrugged, and turned around to continue wiping down the table. “What about EZ?”, Camille said. “He’s around the yard somewhere. Bishop has him working on something”. “So, no one’s around?”. Nina looked confusedly at Camille. She looked almost relieved that they were alone; when usually she’d be annoyed there was no Mayans around to adore. “Yeah, we’re alone”, she muttered. “But seeing as you’re here, maybe you could help me with the party prep”. Camille chewed her lip. “Actually, I was hoping we could talk”. “Sure”, Nina shrugged. She dried her hands, and went to sit at one of the clean tables. “What’s up?”

Camille sat down across the table from her, and blew out a deep breath. “I’ve been keeping a secret from the club”, she said. Nina felt a shudder go through her. The situation reminded her too much of her confrontation with Daniella. “What’s that?”, she said. Camille took a long moment to gather herself, before looking meaningfully at her. “Before I came here, I used to go with the Vatos”, she said. “Oh”, Nina croaked. “Yeah…”, Camille muttered. “I met Sala while on a trip to Tijuana; and he took me to one of their parties… I ended up sticking around for a while; you know how it is”. “I guess…”. Nina didn’t like where this was going. “At first it was fine. I’d hang around, and take care of them…”. Camille shot Nina a look; making it clear what taking care of meant. “They offered me a permanent place with them, if I helped them out with a problem… Apparently, they wanted to expand into the states, but there was another MC blocking their way… So, they sent me up here to get whatever info I could get out of the Mayans; and for a while, that’s what I did”.

Nina cleared her throat, and tried to look calm; failing miserably. “Why are you telling me this?”, she asked. “You should know, I don’t have very good experiences with snitches”. It was difficult to avoid having an edge to her voice. “Because… I like you”, Camille said. “And I want you to understand why I’m doing this”. She put her hand behind her back, and pulled out a .38; which Nina instantly recognized as her own. She cursed internally for letting the gun out of her sight. Her eyes widened, and she fought the urge to run for the door. She wouldn’t make it anyway. Camille let the hand holding the gun rest on the table; the barrel pointing towards Nina. “Camille… What is this?”.

“The night of the party, I went into the trailer with Creeper… I saw your inhaler, and I figured out who you were. Sala had told me to look out for someone like you”, Camille said. “I was going to tell him, but then Creeper started talking about taking me out to the ocean for a couple of days, and I didn’t want to miss the chance of becoming his; and being a part of the family here... The Mayans are so different than Vatos Malditos… It’s not just drugs, and guns and fighting. They’re like a club should be. They care about their own… VM never cared about me, not really”. There was true pain in Camille’s eyes. “So, I went to talk to Sala, and tell him I was done. I wanted to belong to the Mayans… He told me it was fine, and that he’d take me to get the last of my money… But in stead, they beat the shit out of me, and… The Vatos aren’t as nice to women as the Mayans are. They dropped me in that tunnel, for the club to find me; said that if the Mayans wanted me, they could have me…”. Nina could read on Camille’s face what had happened the night she was beat, and she felt bile rise in her throat. “Camille… I’m sorry that happened to you…”, she tried. “Don’t pity me”, Camille hissed, and clenched her hand around the handle of the gun. “After all that, after they beat and raped me to try to get me to talk, I was still loyal to the MC here! I didn’t say a word... You are the Mayans favorite pet, and I saved your ass; but I couldn’t even tell anyone about how faithful I’d been, because I’d still be punished for being a snitch.”.

Nina swallowed thickly. “But you did talk to them again… didn’t you…?”, she said quietly. Camille nodded. “People around here love you. Everyone lights up when you enter the room, and I want that as well... You left, and I thought that when you went away, I’d have a chance to take over your job; but Dani was here, and she was all over the gig… I didn’t stand a chance”. “So you told the Vatos she was me…”, Nina croaked. “I was there the night Angel made her tell him what she knew. But even after trying to blackmail him into giving her another chance, the club was going to let her stick around; I just knew it. So, when Angel calmed down, and went to take her home… I called Sala. I told them the woman they wanted was with him, and where they were headed”, Camille said. “They killed her… You killed her, Camille”. Nina felt her whole body shaking. “Yeah… With both you and her gone, maybe the Mayans would finally let me be a part of the family”, she said. “But you came back, and you make it so fuckingdifficult to live up to the standards you set”.

They sat for a long moment in silence. Nina was terrified to move even a muscle. “What are you going to do now?”, she asked, convinced she already knew the answer. Camille looked at her with sad eyes. “You weren’t supposed to come back”, she said. “I just want to be a part of something, but with you around, there’s no room for me”. “That’s not true… You belong here as much as I do”, Nina said. “Bullshit…! I tried everything; serving their favorite beers; laughing at their jokes; giving them a good time in bed… They still see me as a nobody. But you… you’re like this shining, perfect person to them; and I can’t live up to that… The only chance I stand of having a home here, is if you’re not around. I’m not enough as me; so, I’m going to become you”. Camille pulled the hammer of the gun, and took a deep breath. “I’m gonna tell them the Vatos came by, and took you out… I’ll take care of them while they heal. They’ll see me as the new Nina”. Camille raised the gun, and smiled sadly. “I’m sorry…”.

Nina felt pure adrenaline flow through her veins. She put her hands under the edge of the table, and flipped it over; making Camille fall backwards, and the bullet hit the ceiling. Running for the door, another shot was heard, and she felt a burning pain in her leg; and screamed out in agony. Crawling behind the bar for cover, she heard Camille scramble to chase after her. “Don’t make this so fucking difficult”, the red-head yelled. Nina got to her feet, and grabbed a stray bottle of scotch; throwing it at Camille. Camille ducked just in time for the bottle to narrowly miss her head; giving Nina time to jump at her, and grab her wrist, to force the gun to point away, before Camille could pull the trigger again. They wrestled for the gun for a few seconds, before falling to the floor; limbs tangled. Camille was growling in anger, and as Nina got on top of her, she grabbed her arm, and bit down on her skin; drawing blood. Nina cried out, and pulled back; making Camille able to get on top of her. Nina kept her hold on Camille’s wrist, trying to force her to drop the gun, but Camille was like a wild woman; not letting go of her weapon. Once again pointing the .38 at Nina; she was startled at the door to the clubhouse slamming open. Nina twisted her wrist, when Camille pulled the trigger again.

The next three seconds felt like years to Nina. Red mist clouded her vision, as Camille’s blood and brain matter rained down over her. Something heavy held her down, and she realized it was her assailant’s body, slumped on top of her. The weight was pulled off her, and someone yelled her name repeatedly. She didn’t reply. Even opening her mouth a little, she felt the metallic taste of blood in her mouth. She could hardly even breathe, though not for need of her inhaler. It just felt like there wasn’t any air to be had. Turning her head, she looked at Camille. It was that dark alley all over again. The bullet hole in Camille’s head, and her dead body on the floor; laying just as Gael had lain there.

A hand on her wounded leg made her jolt in pain, and she finally met EZ’s startled eyes. “Nina…! Are you ok?”, he said. Nina simply let out a short breath; unable to reply. When she didn’t answer, he pulled out his phone. “Angel! Get back to the clubhouse now. Camille is dead, and Nina’s been shot…”.

---

She sat on the floor, with her back against the bar. A paramedic was shining a flashlight into her eyes, and trying to get her to talk; but she had nothing to say. She’d not spoken a word to anyone, not even shed a tear.

EZ’s second phone call had been to Bishop; and he, Hank and Taza had arrived moments later. They all tried to get her to move away from Camille and the pool of blood she was sitting in, but she’d refused; recoiling from anyone trying to touch her. She’d sat there, looking at the dead woman on the floor, while Taza called 911.

The Mayans were pacing the floor, and giving statements to the cops; and all giving her worried looks. “Miss? Do you think you can tell me what happened here?”, a police officer asked. He crouched down in front of her, while the paramedic moved down to take a look at her leg. Her calf was soaring with pain, but Nina didn’t move a muscle. “Miss Teller?”, the officer tried again. “This is a serious situation. A woman is dead!”. “Back off her!”, Bishop growled. “You see the gun in the dead bitch’s hand. It’s clear what happened”. “You need to relax, sir”, the officer said warningly.

A roar of bikes was heard from outside, and Nina recognized the sound of one of the engines. It felt like there was finally a little bit of air to be had, and she took a gasping breath. “Where the fuck is she?”, Angel roared, before slamming the door open. He took one look at the scene, and ran over; dropping to his knees next to Nina. “Get off her!”, he growled at the police officer. “Watch it, son…”, the officer sneered. “She won’t move”, the paramedic muttered. “We need to get her to the hospital”. “Just let me talk to her”, Angel said. The officer got up, and backed away; keeping wary eyes on him and Coco and Gilly, who had come in after him. Both of them cursed bellow their breaths as they took in the scene.

Angel cupped Nina’s face, and looked at her with worried eyes. “Nina? Look at me, please…”. He stroked her temples with his thumbs, and Nina met his gaze. “Angel…”, she almost whispered. “I’m here, querida”, he said, trying for a soft smile. Nina slumped against him, and he gently wrapped his arms around her; letting her melt into him. “She… I can’t…”, she croaked. It was as if a dam inside her exploded, and tears came streaming out of her eyes. She sobbed violently, and clutched her hands around his arm. “I got you… I’m here”, Angel said, and pressed his lips to the top of her head. Everything surfaced in Nina’s head – overwhelming her with emotions. Her fight with Angel; how she’d not said goodbye properly; how she could have died without telling him again how much she loved him. She looked at the dead body on the floor. The coroner was crouched over it, taking pictures, and swabbing for gun residue on the hand. Camille’s eyes were still open, and it felt like she was staring straight in to Nina’s soul. Nina closed her eyes, turned away, and wailed against Angel’s chest; while he continuously stroked her hair, and tried to wipe away the unstoppable rivers of tears coming from her eyes.

“Sir, we have to move her… I can’t treat her here”, the paramedic said. Angel nodded, and slipped his arms under Nina’s body; lifting her up. He carried her out of the clubhouse, and over to the waiting ambulance, where they’d set up a gurney. Nina was shaking and crying as he set her down on it. “Let’s get you out of here”, the paramedic said. Nina shot Angel a panicked look. “Don’t let them take me away”, she cried. Angel looked at the paramedic. “I’m going with her”. “Only family can…”, the paramedic tried. “He is family", EZ said. He and Bishop had followed close behind Angel. “All of us are", the president grunted. Angel looked ready to kill anyone who tried to keep him from Nina’s side, and the paramedic sighed. “Alright. Let’s go", he said, and together, they pushed the gurney inside the ambulance. Angel jumped in to take the seat by Nina’s head, and took her hand.

The paramedic went to share a few words with the police officer, and left them alone in the ambulance “Angel…”, Nina whimpered. “Shh… you’re safe”, he whispered, and stroked her cheek. “It’s over”. “No…”, Nina whispered. “Camille was the snitch”. Angel’s eyes widened, and he stared at the body bag the coroner was rolling out of the clubhouse, before giving Bishop a hard look. “Rat…!”, he growled.

The last thing Nina saw before the paramedic closed the doors to the ambulance, was Bishop rushing back towards the clubhouse, his phone in hand.

---

[tooruluv]

Kei Tsukishima x F!Reader ( part 4 )

❝ they were the sun and moon, destined to be together but only ever totally meeting once every hundred years or so. ❞

description: in a world where you only see color when you're in love, you've grown frustrated of the greyscale. but falling in love with someone you barely know was never something you planned. and, him not returning the feelings definitely wasn’t planned.

genre: soulmate au... except not quite. everyone is born colorblind. you can only see color once you fall in love (and it grows brighter until you see full color as the love grows). however, that doesn't ensure a lasting connection. it simply means that love exists in that moment, until it doesn't.

word count: 1,680

warnings/notes: nothin’ crazy!! cursing, of course. this one was fun to write!! next part will be longer, promise <3

prev | next

“ ‘cause i can’t make you love me if you don’t, you can’t make your heart feel something it won’t ” - i can’t make you love me, dave thomas junior

┏━━━━━⋇⋆⋆⋇❦⋇⋆⋆⋇━━━━━┓

For your entire life, you had always wondered what your favorite color would be. You would hear your parents talk about it with their friends, you would hear it between the lucky few who had met their lovers early. But you never had one.

It should be such an easy question to ask someone when you first meet them. It should be the most basic human answer, a description of who they are as a person. You’ve done research, scanned websites and took fake online “what color is your aura?” quizzes, only to become frustrated by the black and white.

You even tried to compare the shades of grey to colors. Your mother would tell you what color something is, and you would try to remember. It never worked.

But now, if someone were to ask “what’s your favorite color?”, you would simply tell them, “yellow.”

“I’ll wait for you after practice.” Tsukki told you the next morning.

He stood directly beside your locker, tall and still as if he never hunched over in his life. He pushed up his glasses and walked away as a way to conclude his statement.

You rolled your eyes. Of all the people on this planet, you’ve fallen in love with him. You looked up as if to ask God, or whoever’s up there, “why?”

Working at Blu for the summer was an easy job. When you weren’t glancing at Tsukishima, you poured coffee and lemonades and sold baked goods. It was good for extra money, and everyone that you worked with was kind and welcomed you with smiles. 

Tsukki was sitting at his table, drinking his daily plain black coffee, when your coworker caught you staring. She was a third-year and had been working there since she was your age, so it wasn’t like she hadn’t noticed his attendance. 

Wiping her hands on her apron (which are blue, now that you know), she said, “He’s cute. You should ask him for his number.”

You immediately jumped back, pretending to wipe the counter down. “Absolutely not.”

“He comes in here every day.” She said, as if you didn’t already know. “No normal guy comes in to a coffee place in the middle of summer everyday without reason.”

“We have good coffee.”

“Sure. That’s why.”

For the rest of the summer, she made sure to schedule you for the morning shifts and hang back when she sees him come in. 

At practice, the girls were all discussing what they were making for the bake sale. It was a fun practice, full of team building exercises and barely any running. 

Mai looped her arm through yours as practice ended. She gave you one of her award winning smiles, bouncing on her feet. 

“What?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re thinking something.” You said, pushing into her side. 

“You’re baking with Kei Tsukishima tonight.” Mai stopped when you almost reached the volleyball practice gym. “Are you excited? Nervous? Do you have everything you need? Chapstick?���

“Fuck you.” 

You pushed her away as you headed to the gym to help with the boys practice. She kept making kissy faces towards you. You flipped her off.

Kei Tsukishima was not one to pay attention to little things. He was a big picture man. He focused on how things affected his future, about college applications, about how plays can be executed by the entire team. 

Yet, when you walked into the gym, he couldn’t help but focus on a strand of your hair that kept sticking to your mouth.

“Are you coming or what?” Tsukki adjusted the bag on his back. He stood at the doors, leaning on one. You were picking up some extra balls for Kageyama and Hinata.

“Coming, coming.” You waved goodbye to the dynamic duo. 

The walk was mainly quiet. Yamaguchi left before you two, claiming that he had a lot of homework to do. You didn’t know about that.

“You don’t have to stay after, you know.” Tsukki said. You looked up. “You don’t have to stay after practice to help those two. You already are helping us enough.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Why do you do it?”

“Hm?”

“Why do you come to our volleyball practices?” He kept his eyes straight. “You come from your practice to help us with ours, and that just sounds ridiculous to me.”

“It looks good on my college app.” You told him. It was his turn to look at you. “And Ukai has been close to my family for a long time, so it’s hard to say no to him when he asks for a volunteer.”

“That makes sense.” He said. “I couldn’t do it.”

“What? Have two practices, or volunteer for Ukai?”

“Both.”

You chuckled, nudging him with your side. He kept walking, but he had a smile too. He wasn’t so dark and gloomy as people thought. 

He had a gorgeous smile.

The rest of the walk was in silence again. It was already dark, and the moonlight made him look ethereal. Tsukki really could be compared with the moon, you decided.

Every once in a while, you two walked too close and accidentally bumped into each other. Or your back of your hand brushed his. It just ended up in little laughs between you both.

And, before you knew it, you were standing in front of your house.

“This is me.”

“I am not wearing this shit.”

“Yes, you are.”

You were trying so hard not to cry laughing, holding up a pink apron that your mom used. You already had a matching one on. He looked at it as if you just offered him a can of dog shit for breakfast.

“You could not pay me to wear that.”

“It’s this or get shit all over you.”

“I’ll take the shit.”

Sighing, you reached to force it on him. He moved back, narrowly avoiding your attack. One more try ended in the same result. You were giggling now, and he was smiling.

“Just…” A struggling pull over his head. “Put…” A push. “It on!” And your arms were around his back.

The position was awkward, but both of you were laughing too much to notice. You had your arms wrapped around his waist, chest to chest as you tied his apron around him. He stood with his arms crossed as he let you put the fucking apron on.

“There. Look at you. So pretty.”

He pushed up his glasses and looked down. “Must be why you’re in love with me.”

“If you keep pulling that card, I’ll be sure you don’t get credit for any of these.”

“Now you’re just being cruel.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Tsukki, there are literal instructions. You follow them.”

“No shit. My question is, what the hell is softened butter?”

“Oh my god.”

Soon enough, the two of you were into a rhythm. You were baking brownies and cupcakes as if you did it together every day. Conversations came natural. 

It was nice.

It wasn’t until you noticed the brown specs of cocoa powder on his nose did you realize how close you were standing. You were to his right, mixing whatever was in your bowl at the time, But you could feel his warmth from beside you.

He could feel you, too. 

“The brownies are brown, obviously.” You said in the middle of the silence. “The cupcakes are brown with black and orange sprinkles, and white frosting. I thought I should tell you.”

He was silent for a minute. You thought that maybe you were annoying him with reminders that you were in love with him, or maybe you should’ve kept it to yourself. But then, he turned to you.

“You said that my eyes were golden brown.”

“I did.”

He was standing far too close. He was standing incredibly too close. And he was staring into your eyes for far too long. You couldn’t conjure up any reasons to hate him, or get rid of your feelings. Why would you want to do that when he is standing beside you, warm and brilliant and glowing.

Fuck.

“What color are my glasses?”

“Black.”

“And my jacket?”

“Black.”

Now he was standing directly in front of you. You didn’t know exactly when you turned, but you had. He was inches from you. His lips were inches from yours.

“And the apron?”

“Pink.”

He was leaning in. There is absolutely no way that this is happening.

All you had to do was lean in, and you could get it over with. Get it out of your mind and gone forever, along with the stupid colors that remind you with every second that he can’t see them back. All you had to do was press your lips to his…

You could feel his breath on your face. Your heart hammered your chest and everything froze at once.

“You must be Kei Tsukishima!”

You jumped back, bringing your body back to your mixing bowl. Your mom entered the kitchen, pajamas on and a smile plastered on her face. You pretended nothing was happening.

“Yes, ma’am.” He greeted. As if nothing was happening.

As if nothing was happening. Because nothing had happened.

“Mom, I know that it’s late.” You started to explain, but she quickly stopped you. 

“Hush now. You spend as much time as you need. Nice to meet you, Tsukishima.” She sent you a wink, heading up the stairs. 

You closed your eyes, trying to forget what just happened. But, when you opened them, you were faced with the worst thing that could possibly happen in that moment.

The colors gained a little bit of hue. His pink apron contrasted brighter against his black jacket. The orange sprinkles gained a little bit of tint. The greyscale filter lifted a bit more.

You wanted to bang your head against the wall. Fuck.

tag list: @vhskenma​​​​​ @elianetsantana​​​​​ @mini-eggs-reads​​​​​ @ysasian​​​ @hhwanggu​​​ @i-stole-your-juice-box​​​ @definitelynotbianca​​​ @denkithunder​​ @smuttyanimeslut​ @yourlocalbabybird​ @theydy-madamonsieur 

[tirkdi]

Will you continue your stupid-amazing hospital alarkling au?

Let it never be said that just because I’ve let an ask sit for years means it won’t be fulfilled. Chapter 1 is here, this is chapter 2, and it’s still half crack, so let’s not take any of it too seriously, shall we?

*

Alina had just finished buttoning up her white coat when she saw Dr. Morozova striding down the hallway, his long legs devouring the linoleum at a distressing pace.

“How was your weekend?” she asked as she fell into step beside him, her own legs doing double time to keep up. He held out a stack of folders and she instinctively reached out to take them.

“My weekend was good,” she continued, having known from the beginning that she was going to have to do the conversational heavy lifting. “A friend of mine had a birthday party and my schedule actually allowed me to attend, which was a pleasant – what are these?” The files she held were all for surgeries that they’d done over the past couple months: nothing new, nothing to prepare.

They turned a sharp corner past pediatrics before her mentor replied. “We’re presenting at a conference this week.”

“We? Presenting? This week?” Alina couldn’t manage to put all her thoughts into a question and he closed his eyes briefly in disappointment.

“We’ll be giving a presentation at the annual surgical conference. I’ve already made the arrangements. Put together the PowerPoint this evening and I’ll review it in the morning.”

“PowerPoint?”

“Keynote is fine if you prefer.”

“Oh, great. Yeah. That was my question.”

She let him walk towards the office before propping the files between her hip and the wall to allow her to fish out her phone, scrolling through her list of contacts. Who might she know that makes presentations? She didn’t have a huge repertoire of people to choose from, so it really came down to probably not a costume designer, probably yes a lawyer.

do you know how to make a power point? Alina tapped out.

o m g starkov, Zoya texted back.

could you help me make one this evening? it’s important.

do you have ANY idea what I bill at?  

I’ll provide pizza and wine, Alina offered.

and ice cream, Zoya countered.

THANK YOU!!!!!!!!! Alina exhaled and shifted the files back into her arms. Zoya’s reply was a painting nails emoji followed by a hair flip emoji followed by a middle finger.

Perfect. She could get this done tonight.

*

Zoya tapped on Alina’s laptop for a minute while Alina perched nervously beside her. “You have PowerPoint installed, so that’s a good start,” the lawyer muttered. Her hair was pulled behind her ears so that her hair fell in black curls down her back, and her makeup looked as flawless as it must have first thing in the morning. Not to mention the diamonds in her ears – whatever Zoya was having, Alina wanted it.

“When is the pizza coming?” Zoya asked.

“Half an hour. Wine in the meantime?”

Zoya snorted, a you-have-to-ask response that Alina had become familiar with during their time as roommates in college. She returned with a glass of Zoya’s favorite pinot and saw that the screen of her computer was an empty white page.

“Alright,” Zoya began. “Let’s get an outline down, then we can go back and fill in what you’ll actually be saying.”

They had an outline by the time the pizza arrived. Zoya took a slice and pulled up the first slide. “You have some kind of visual you want on this?”

Alina rummaged through the file, pulled out a photo. “This is a pretty good demonstration of the issue we ran into in the surgery–”

She was interrupted by Zoya gagging to the far side of the screen. Once she had recovered, she took a long drink from her wine glass and cut a glance back to Alina, who smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, I sometimes forget what it looks like to people who aren’t surgeons.”

Zoya took another drink of wine, set it down, and looked at her friend. “You owe me so much more than pizza and wine for this.”

“That’s the spirit,” Alina replied.

*

Alina forgot the hospital doors were automatic and nearly fell through them the next morning. She caught herself before she fell – barely – and when she looked up Dr. Morozova was standing there, watching her impassively.

Of course. Of course he would be there.

“The presentation looks good.”

Alina rubbed her face. She and a grumbling Zoya had worked on it until the early hours of the morning – she’d sent it to him not so many hours ago, in fact. “Oh. Great.”

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at seven.”

“Um. Tomorrow?”

He didn’t acknowledge her response. “It’s just one night, so no need to pack too much.”

“Overnight?”

He glanced at her. “It’s a couple hours from here. I’ve booked us rooms. Be ready tomorrow at seven.”

Alina watched him walk off, looked down at the floor. The linoleum didn’t seem to be any help. A two hour drive with her supervisor, an overnight stay at a conference, and a presentation? You can do this, Starkov. “Cool,” she said, once he’d walked off. “Cool, cool, cool. Cool.”

*

At exactly seven o’clock the next morning an impossibly nice car pulled up outside of Alina’s apartment building. She didn’t know anything about cars, but it was black, had tinted windows, and looked like it was worth more than her student debt — which was saying something.

A few moments later, the window closest to her rolled down revealing Dr. Morozova, one eyebrow raised. “Are you planning on getting in?”

“Uh.” Alina looked down at her hands, wondered if she should be wearing gloves if she was going to touch the car. But she also didn’t want to keep him waiting … Just play it cool. “Yeah,” she said. Smooth, Starkov.

The door handle didn’t disintegrate under her touch and she put her bag between her feet as she settled into the passenger side. No sooner had her seatbelt clicked than he began to drive, the ride butter-smooth beneath her. Oh, this is why people spend a crazy amount of money on cars. He shifted gears and she looked out at the tinted scenery as he lead them towards the highway.

He hadn’t said anything since she got in the car. “So,” she said, cringing even as the words left her mouth, “you go to this conference often?” At least she hadn’t asked him if he drove his own car often.

“Annually.”

Another couple minutes passed in silence. She was going to have to do all the prompting, as usual, but being alone with him in a car for two hours meant that maybe she could get to know him a little better. She cast a glance his way but his eyes were on the road ahead. “Do you have any family?” she asked.

“Everyone has a family.”

She stifled a sigh. “Siblings?”

“One.”

“Brother? Sister? Older? Younger?” He didn’t confirm any of those. “Non-binary twin?”

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye before turning his attention back to the road. He signaled, switched lanes. “Sister. Younger.”

Alina looked at him, trying to imagine what his features would look like on a woman. She would probably be the most stunning woman in the world. Either that or scary as hell. “Are you close?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Why are you asking?”

“I’m just trying to make conversation.”

“Would you like me to ask about your family?”

The blow, whether or not it was intended as such, landed hard. Alina looked out the window at the scenery, fighting the lump in her throat.

The silence turned out to be a blessing, though; with the car’s smooth handling, Alina fell asleep quickly.

“We’re here.” She jerked awake, rubbing saliva off of her face, wondering if Dr. Morozova had seen her drooling. “I checked us in remotely; your room key should have been sent to your phone. I’m room 416 and you’re 485.”

He opened the trunk and pulled out a small suitcase. Black, obviously. Alina shouldered her own overnight bag. “Go put your stuff down,” he said. “I’ll meet you in the lobby in fifteen minutes.”

*

There were a lot more people at the conference than Alina had anticipated. It was possible that there were no surgeries happening anywhere across the United States and several other countries right now, because everyone who would have been performing them was in this room. It would have felt crowded in any case, but in this case in particular the attendees were all surgeons —  the egos pressing together were almost suffocating.

Or maybe it was the fact that she was standing in front of all these people as Dr. Morozova gave the presentation she’d put together that made her so uncomfortable. All these people could see her. At least she didn’t have to speak.

“And this last surgery was performed by my intern, Dr. Starkov. I’ll let her explain.”

He handed her the microphone and the tiny clicker to change the slide, and Alina straight up panicked. Her palms started to sweat. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

I will not scream. I will not scream. I will not scream.

The audience was looking at her — patient, expectant. They believed she had something important to share. All because of the surgeon everyone here was listening to — because he believed she had something important to share.

She cleared her throat and forced herself to begin to explain the procedure. Once she started, she found she had a lot to say.

Once she started, she did great.

*

Twenty minutes into the happy hour, Dr. Morozova materialized at her side. “I’m going back to my room.”

“As keynote speakers tend to do when there are literal crowds of people wanting their time.” When he’d made his way over, he’d pulled a bubble of people with him, several of whom did not look like they were hoping to spend their time with him discussing surgery. “Too tired of having room keys thrown at you?”

The look he cut her reminded her of a particular type of incision that required a lot of stitches. “Nothing good happens in a room full of drunk surgeons. I advise you not to stay too long, either.”

A drink and a half later, Alina was starting to suspect he was right. “You’re Dr. Morozova’s resident?” a petite woman in heavy glasses was asking her. “Wow.”

“Lucky you,” the man next to her added.

“He’s been an incredible teacher,” Alina agreed.

“Among other things, I’m guessing.” The woman raised her eyebrows at Alina.

Alina’s mind blanked out. “What?”

“I mean … ” She looked at the man next to her who gave an encouraging nod. “All that anatomy, the long nights on call …” Her look was unmistakably suggestive and Alina finally got it.

“Oh, no,” she said. “Nope. That is not a thing that is happening.” She put down her drink. “I actually think I’m going to go now.”

“Makes sense.” The woman winked at her. “Have fun.”

“I am not sleeping with my attending.”

The man and woman looked at each other and shrugged. “If not you, I wonder who he’s with now?”

“Who he’s — he’s not —” Alina left the thought unfinished. Dr. Morozova’s sex life had never crossed her mind; sure, he was absurdly good looking, but he was her mentor. And for whatever reason, she didn’t picture him coming to a conference to sleep around.

But … did he? Were they right?

“I’m going to make this an early night,” Alina said.

“Well, ‘suture’ self,” the man replied as she walked away. He and the woman beside him both laughed hilariously.

The fourth floor hallway was quiet, and she was starting to feel a little more like herself. She passed room 416, and then she stopped. She couldn’t help herself; she walked backwards a few feet to the door and knocked.

He didn’t answer. Of course he didn’t answer. He must be out with one of those surgeons she’d seen him with earlier, or maybe out with a few of them. Alina was almost relieved; if he wasn’t here, if he was seeing people, then she didn’t have to make herself think about —

The door opened. “Can I help you?” Dr. Morozova asked.

Alina’s blush was fast and furious. She hoped he would assume it was from the alcohol. “Um. No. Nope!” she said. “I was just … checking?”

“Checking?”

“To see if you needed anything. Make sure you’re good to go. I was going to get some coffee.”

He leaned in closer to her and her heart sped up. What the heck? Why would it do that? It must be left over adrenaline from the speech, Alina told herself, well-aware that that was not how adrenaline worked.

“I don’t need coffee.”

“Great! Me neither.” What was happening? “Okie dokie, see you tomorrow.”

He squinted at her. “Are you alright?”

“You betcha.” She did little finger guns. This maybe she could blame on the alcohol, because even she wasn’t usually that bad. “See you later.”

She walked back to her room, and by the time she made it all the way down the hall, she’d pulled it together. She was his resident, that was it. She’d focus on learning everything from him that she could.

*

After a day of attending presentations, poster sessions, and eating terrible conference-center food, Alina was once again seated in the passenger seat beside her instructor, this time heading home. She was determined to not make it awkward.

“Why do you go to this conference every year?” she asked. “Just to speak?”

“Speaking is one reason.” He changed lanes. “I also come to learn.”

“You learned something at this conference?”

“I always do.” He glanced at her disbelief. “The day you stop learning is the day you die.”

“I don’t … ” Alina paused. “I mean, I haven’t been a doctor for as long as you have, but I’m pretty sure that’s not true.”

“Perhaps not.”

They passed a couple towns before he spoke again. “Have you thought about who you’d like to work with next year?”

The intern program at this hospital was two years long, and each year was with a different mentor. It shocked her to realize she was over halfway through her time with Dr. Morozova. She found she desperately didn’t want it to end, and his expertise was only half of the reason.

Oh, yipes. Where had that thought come from?

She coughed to stall for time. “Ummmm … I was thinking of maybe going for more of a specialty next year. Oral surgery?”

He gave a hum that was as smooth as the road beneath the car. “You could try it. I don’t think you’d like it.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t.”

The thought of him thinking them similar enough that their likes would overlap was interrupted by panic at what she at first feared was a medical emergency. It took her a few minutes to realize the weird way her heart was beating wasn’t anything like that.

They rode the rest of the way in silence.

*

The week after the conference had been a busy one at the hospital, and Alina had managed to avoid Dr. Morozova without making it obvious she was doing so. At least, she hoped it hadn’t been obvious.

There was a lot she needed to work out for herself – why did thinking of him increase the temperature of her internal organs? And, maybe more importantly: what could she do about it?

If she was interested in Dr. Morozova in any sort of romantic way — which she totally, totally, was not, because a) that would be a terrible idea and b) getting involved with a higher-ranking surgeon, let alone one who was managing her, was highly-unethical-if-not-strictly-prohibited — she would run into problem c): the odds that he would be interested in her as well.

A face like his would have plenty of people to choose from, if he ever left the hospital. Probably even if he didn’t.

Whatever. She couldn’t put off talking to him any longer. She exhaled and knocked on his door.

“Come in.”

He was bent over papers at his desk and she got to observe him as he read. The planes of his face, the set of his shoulders —

“Well?”

In her observation she had failed to notice he was looking up at her. Very cool, Alina. So cool. “Oh, um, I … had a question for you.” He kept looking at her in a way that made her want to cringe and somehow now also made her want to start taking her clothes off. She shut down that animal part of her brain and soldiered on.

She cleared her throat. “I have a shift next Tuesday, and my usual backup isn’t available. I’ve been having a hard time finding anyone who could take over if I’m in a surgery and something happens so I was wondering … if you could be … if I could put you down to be the one they call. Just backup.”

He stared at her hard for a few seconds, then slumped back in his chair. “Fine,” he said. “Make me your fill-in.”

Alina barely managed to not squeal her “thank you.” She was halfway to the door when he called after her. “Take that folder before you go.”

The folder was sitting on a shelf just at her chest level. “Study those tonight. Surgery tomorrow,” her mentor said.

She opened it and found a thick stack of case notes. She looked back at him and smiled. “They just happened to be sitting here?”

“I had a feeling you might come around,” he replied, making her wonder just how much of what was going on in her head he was able to see. She could have sworn there was something in his expression that she’d never seen before, though she couldn’t quite figure out what it was.

“Nice to see you again, Alina.”

[cadence-talle]

Sugar Snow and Peppermint Pathways

Pairing: Fitz Vacker/Dex Dizznee, Sophie Foster/Biana Vacker

Wordcount: 9,587

Summary: Unlike many baking shows out there, the Holiday Bake-Off isn’t elimination-based, which viewers claim makes it all the more interesting. Each competitor, however, is entirely on their own- which means that if the Vacker siblings do attend, they’ll be working against each other for the first time ever.

Dex rolls out the cookie dough again. "I hate them so much."

(Or: nearly everyone is a famous baker, Biana and Fitz are both a little bit in love, and Dex Dizznee does not, under any circumstances, want to interact with the Vackers.) 

Other notes: my Winter Exchange gift for @yeetersofthelostcities! I probably wasn’t supposed to tell you as much about this fic as I did, but it’s also 9k, so I think you can forgive me.

Read it on AO3 (much recommended since this is long and some of the fonts didn’t quite translate to Tumblr) or under the cut!

World-Famous Vacker Siblings Rumored To Be On 2020’s Annual Holiday Bake-Off 

Fitzroy and Biana Vacker have been making a lot of headlines this year, from the opening of their new bakery in Chicago to the millions of dollars they’ve donated to various charities around the globe. The sibling duo seems to have been born with baking skills- and it’s no surprise, since their mother is Della Vacker, author of five bestselling cookbooks. (See our biography of Della Vacker if you’d like to learn more!) 

But this December may mark their greatest trial yet. Netflix’s Happy Holiday Bake-Off garnered more than three million views last year, and it’s set to get even more attention this year now that four-star restaurant owner Edaline Ruewen is hosting. 

For those of you new to the bake-off, the rules are simple: it’s comprised of five different baking challenges, spread out over the week leading up to Christmas Day. Each of the eight competitors will have five different chances to wow the judges- and on the final day, whoever’s made the most impact will win thousands of dollars. Unlike many baking shows out there, the Holiday Bake-Off isn’t elimination-based, which viewers claim makes it all the more interesting. Each competitor, however, is entirely on their own- which means that if the Vacker siblings do attend, they’ll be working against each other for the first time ever. 

--read more--

OTHER NEWS

13 Christmas Cookie recipes to brighten up your winter! 

“It’s All In The Butter”: Edaline Ruewen shares the secret of her famous butterblasts! 

Fintan Pyren opens a new barbeque joint in Upper Manhattan. Its name? Flambé. 

Subscribe to BAKER’S WEEKLY ONLINE today and get a free tote bag! 

-/-

December 12, 2020.

Biana Vacker’s Self-Proclaimed Trash Can Fire

New York City, New York.

“No.”

“Yes,” Biana says cheerfully, leaning over the dining room table to ruffle her brother’s hair. Fitz glares at her. “I’ve already signed the papers.” 

“But-” Fitz sighs, apparently already giving up. “Ugh. I’m busy.” 

“Fun fact: spending thirty hours trying to refine the perfect croissant recipe does not qualify as being ‘busy’. Our croissants are delicious. They don’t need any more work. You, however, need a vacation.” 

“Funner fact: competing against my own sister on a reality show broadcast to the country is less of a vacation than working out apricot croissants would be.” 

“Even more fun fact: ‘funner’ is not a word.” 

“Even funner fact: I literally do not give a single fuck.” 

Della’s laugh crackles over the phone, warm and bright. “Language, Fitzroy,” she says. Livvy snorts. 

“He’s twenty-two years old, Dell. I don’t think you get to say that.” 

Biana giggles. She can almost picture the scene at the other end of the call- her moms curled up on the couch, Della nursing a cup of mulled cider as Livvy talks intently about her patients at the hospital. Their menorah will have four candles lit by tonight, mirroring the one that sits on Biana’s own side table. The whole house will be filled with warmth and laughter. 

Biana misses that sometimes, looking around her empty apartment. Wishes she was still a little girl and could snuggle up next to her mom and watch The Nutcracker because Della knew, without asking, that Biana was sad. Before all this… responsibility.

That’s not really fair, though, because when she was a little girl Livvy wasn’t there, and Della was sad, and Fitz was angry. So maybe she doesn’t miss the old days- maybe she just misses having someone there to understand her. 

Fitz is here, she reminds herself. He’s not leaving. He’s good, and he’s not leaving. 

“... chocolate chips on the ceiling,” her brother is saying when Biana snaps back to the conversation. Over the phone, Della groans. 

“Don’t even mention that. Goodness, I’m glad you’ve left the ‘crazy parties’ stage of your life behind, Fitz. Those were hell to clean up after.” 

“I don’t know, it was pretty funny to watch him try to repair a chair while hungover the next morning,” Biana teases. Fitz rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. 

“I didn’t-” 

There’s a loud beeping noise Biana registers as an oven timer, and she spins around towards her kitchen before realizing it’s coming from her moms’ end. Della makes an apologetic noise. 

“Sorry, darlings, we should go. I love you!”

“Love you too,” Biana and Fitz echo. There’s a rustling sound, like Della is moving to hang up, and then she pauses. 

“Oh, and Fitz, I think the Holiday Bake-Off is a wonderful idea. Good luck!” 

And then Biana’s phone is flashing the Time Elapsed: 22 minutes screen, and her brother is back to glaring at her. 

“No.”

“I’m not arguing this anymore,” Biana says, moving towards the kitchen and filling up a pot of water. “Do we want spaghetti for dinner?”

“Sure,” Fitz retrieves several cans of tomato sauce and dumps them in a pot. “I just- sorry. What if we lose?”

“Well, at least one of us is going to lose,” Biana points out. “And even if we both get the lowest ratings in the entire show, so what? We don’t need the money.”

“But-” Fitz waves his hands in the air. “We’re going to be- people are going to be watching us. What happens if we fuck up?” 

Oh. Of course that’s what he’s worried about. Fitz has always, always been worried about public appearances. Biana sets the water on the stove and moves over to him, leaning against the opposite counter. 

“Bro. Man. My dude.” She says seriously. Fitz purses his lips in a way that makes it clear he’s hiding a smile. “Fitz, we’re going to be fine. No one’s going to be judging how we do in this competition.”

“Sorry, do you hear yourself?”

“Okay, fair, but you know what I mean. Losing this contest isn’t going to wreck our business. If we can strike up enough of a friendship with whoever does win, we could even stand to grow.”

Fitz stares at her. Biana stares back. The tomato sauce starts to bubble. 

“Fine,” Fitz finally says. “Do we have any veggie meatballs?” 

-/-

December 13, 2020.

The Good Place Bakery

Middlebury, Vermont. 

Dex drops the cookie dough onto the flour-covered counter, smacking it with what’s probably more force than necessary. It holds up, though, and he cuts out two entire trays of tiny snowmen and stars before his co-owner arrives in a blaze of glory. 

“Guess who’s got a date this weekend!” Keefe sings, dumping his coat on a hook and pushing himself up on the counter. He gets a good look at Dex’s face and frowns. “Whoa, who bruleed your creme?”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Dex rolls his eyes, “and everything’s fine. What poor guy did you pick up now?”

“His name’s Nathan and he’s beautiful,” Keefe sighs. “But don’t try to change the subject. Why do you have your grumpy face on?”

Dex grabs the letter from where he threw it across the room half an hour ago and hands it to the other man. Keefe skims it. 

“You have been invited onto Netflix’s Happy Holiday Bake-Off,” he reads. He glances up at Dex. “Okay… didn’t we already know that? Soph’s been talking about the contest for weeks.”

“Yes, but I got more information this time around,” Dex says tightly. “And it turns out the Vacker siblings are also competing.”

“Oh.” Keefe sets the letter down and picks up one of the cookie sheets, sliding it into the oven. “Well, I think you can beat them.”

“Of course I can beat them,” Dex snaps. “That’s not the problem. The problem is-” he sweeps up the dough scraps and prepares to roll them out again. “The problem is they’re fake and I don’t like them.”

He’s aware he sounds like a child. It’s hard to describe, though, what makes him so frustrated about the Vacker siblings. The two of them just make it look so… easy, though. Born into fame and given a head start in front of everyone else. Dex had to take out three different loans to start this bakery, and even that was with Keefe’s huge trust fund. 

“They’re just… fake,” he says lamely. “No one’s that perfect.” 

“Mmm.” Keefe hums, then murmurs, “okay, but you know who is that perfect?”

Dex sighs. “Okay, tell me about Nathan.”

Keefe is halfway through the story of how they met- at the library, apparently, because that’s widely known to be the most romantic spot in town- when Amy shoves through the doors and steals an unbaked cookie. 

“Morning,” she grins around a mouthful of crumbs. Dex raises an eyebrow and slides the cookie sheet towards Keefe before she can eat more. 

“Morning,” he says. “How’s Marty?”

“Still hates everyone but Sophie,” Amy shrugs. “Who isn’t here, obviously, because she and Mom are in Chicago setting up the Bake-Off.” She squints at Dex. “I can’t believe you got onto the show. There have to be rules against that.”

“Technically, that only applies if it’s direct relation. So, like, kids and parents.” Keefe grabs a piece of cookie dough. “Plus, even if Edaline did give Dex super high ratings on everything, he can’t win unless the other judges agree.”

“You’re going to get salmonella,” Dex tells the two of them. “But yeah, Keefe’s right. I’ll have to actually try if I want to win.”

“Do you?” Amy asks. Dex bites his lip, dusting some flour off his shirt.

“The money would be nice, I guess. But- I don’t know. We’ll get publicity either way, and that’s what’s important.”

“Attaboy,” Keefe gives him a thumbs-up. “You’re gonna win all the brownie points. Well, assuming they have you make brownies.”

“I-” Dex stares at him, shaking his head. “Why don’t you tell Amy about Nathan.” 

-/-

December 17, 2020.

Some Fancy Hotel

Chicago, Illinois. 

Biana glances around the room, light reflecting off the chandelier above and casting glittering patterns on the carpet and various couches scattered around the hall-like space. Four days have passed she broke the news to Fitz, and she’s wondering if this was a bad idea after all.

She’s not the first one here, thank goodness; there’s a tiny blond woman seated on a chair further down chatting to a man with silver-dyed bangs and a frizzy-haired woman tapping impatiently on her phone a few feet away. A door at the other end of the hall presumably leads further into the hotel. 

A buzz in her pocket prompts her to retrieve her phone, and Biana opens it to find three texts from her brother.

ritzroy

Ok I made it to our room

[image.jpg]

There’s a paper crane on the kitchen counter is this some sort of message

me

yes.

they're trying to tell u that u r a paper crane

ritzroy

*you *are 

I know you only do that to annoy me.

me

<3

now get down here i feel awkward standing all by myself

ritzroy 

Have you tried talking to people?

me

fuck you

Sighing a bit, she plops down on a couch half-obscured by a large plant. Someone coughs from where they’re sitting next to her and Biana turns around to apologize. 

“Hi,” says Sophie Foster. 

Biana stares. The woman is about half an inch shorter than her, blond hair tucked back into a ponytail and white blouse slightly wrinkled. Biana’s seen this face on television upwards of a hundred times- the award-winning chef daughter of Grady and Edaline Ruewen attracts attention, after all- but never quite like this, with eyebrows furrowed and mouth tilted a little to the side. 

“Hey,” Biana says about a minute too late. “Hey, sorry, I didn’t know there was someone sitting here.” 

“No problem,” Sophie assures her. “You’re Biana Vacker, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Biana nods, slightly stunned that Sophie Elizabeth Foster knows her name. “You’re- Sophie Foster.”  

“That’s me,” Sophie says, smiling a little. “You ready for the competition?”

“Definitely,” Biana responds. “I mean, I don’t celebrate Christmas, but I watched the Holiday Bake-Off last year, and it seems like it’s super fun? And it’ll be cool to see what other people make too.” 

“Yeah.” Silence falls over the two of them, and Biana cringes inwardly. This is the worst possible thing. Where on earth is her brother? 

Searching for something to say, Biana opens her mouth. “Um-”

“Huh?” Sophie turns a little more towards her, eyes fixed on Biana’s face. Biana swallows a little.

“Uh, I was actually really nervous when I noticed I was sitting next to you. I’m kind of a huge fan.” 

Sophie blinks. “You’re kidding.”

“No?”

“When I found out you were going to be competing, I literally asked my mom if she could get me on the show because I wanted to meet you so bad.”

Biana’s staring again. “Oh.” 

Sophie’s phone buzzes and she pulls it out, tapping the screen. Biana tilts her head a little in confusion.

“Gotta go,” Sophie says with an apologetic smile. She stands up and starts towards the door, turning back to say one last thing before she leaves. 

“You’re even prettier in person.” 

When Fitz shows up two minutes later, Biana’s still staring wide-eyed at the place where Sophie was just standing. Her brother flops down onto the couch next to her and raises an eyebrow. 

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” Biana shakes her head. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Well, I dropped the bags off. The room’s nice,” Fitz offers. “Oh, and Mom says we should video chat tonight. She wants the tea.”

Biana blinks. “The… tea.”

“Her words, not mine.”

“Yeah, I think I could tell. What-”

“Hello, everyone!” The door at the end of the hall swings open and a smiling red-haired woman steps out, followed by two others. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Edaline Ruewen, from Vermont. I’ll be one of the judges next week. We’re all gonna go around and introduce ourselves, I’ll outline a schedule, and then y’all will be free to go. Cadence?”

“Good afternoon,” a tall dark-skinned woman greets. “I’m Cadence Talle, food journalist for the LA Times. I’ll be another one of your judges, along with-”

“Bronte.” The third man interrupts. He raises an eyebrow at the faces waiting for him to go on. “Well?”

“Looks like someone’s judging us already,” Fitz whispers. Biana muffles a laugh in her coat sleeve as the blond woman from before speaks up. 

“Hi, I’m Marella Redek. I’m a pastry chef over in Portland.” 

“Tam Song. I do the baking for a restaurant here in the city.”

People introduce themselves quickly, names flashing by in quick succession- Maruca Chebota, Jensi Babblos, Stina Heks. 

“I’m Biana Vacker,” Biana says when it’s her turn. “My brother and I co-manage a couple bakeries across the country.” 

Fitz raises his hand. “I’m her brother.” 

“Dex Dizznee,” says the last competitor, a strawberry-blond man seated on the arm of a couch. “I have a bakery up in Middlebury.” 

“Wait, The Good Place?” Fitz leans forward. “I made your chocolate cream pie recipe once. It’s fantastic.”

Dex blinks, face finally settling in an expression that reminds Biana of some of the people at the huge dinner parties her dad used to throw- carefully, delicately concealed disdain. She wonders what Fitz has done to warrant that look. 

“Oh, that’s cool,” Dex says calmly. “Chocolate cream is one of my co-owner’s favorites, actually.” 

Fitz nods. “Neat.” 

Edaline smiles at them, clapping her hands for attention. “All right! Let’s go over the schedule, then. The first round is on Saturday, and the last one is next Wednesday. You’ll be expected to arrive at the kitchens by eleven am…”

“What’s up with him?” Biana whispers. Fitz raises one shoulder in a tiny shrug. 

“I don’t know, but he doesn’t seem to like me very much.”

There’s no way Dex can hear them- he’s nearly fifteen feet away and Edaline’s voice carries throughout the entire hall. Still, he’s staring at Fitz when Biana glances at him, and there’s molten caramel in his gaze. 

-/-

December 17, 2020.

Some Fancy Room In Some Fancy Hotel

Chicago, Illinois.

“And then he just went, ‘Neat.’ Neat? Like, what the fuck?”

“Dude, you know I love you, but don’t you think you’re making a bit of a big deal out of this? He just complimented the bakery.”

Dex heaves a sigh, flopping onto his hotel bed and staring up at the light fixture. It’s probably trendy, with all those boxes or whatever, but Dex can’t really tell. This is why he’s a baker. 

“I know, I know. He just- gets under my skin. I’ve been pissed all day.”

“Funny,” Keefe says, and Dex can just hear him smiling. “I thought you had more of a problem with the Vackers as a whole than you did with Fitz. Or is he just too attractive to be anything but your singular arch-nemesis?” 

“Enemies to lovers speedrun,” Amy calls in the background and Keefe laughs. He’s probably having dinner with Grady and Amy tonight like they typically do once a month. Normally, Dex, Sophie and Edaline are there too. 

Dex’s family is weirdly spread across the country- Grady and Edaline live an hour away, Rex and Bex are somehow both coexisting at Seattle University while Lex stays closer to home back in Michigan, and Sophie and Amy split their time between Middlebury and their apartment in San Francisco. They do their best to stay in touch, though, even with the bakery’s odd hours and the Ruewen’s constant media appearances. 

“So how’s the hotel?” Keefe asks. Dex shrugs. 

“It’s a hotel. My room has a little kitchen, which is nice, and there’s, like, a bigger community pantry-slash-kitchen down the hall. It feels like college.” 

“College is worse, actually,” Amy says. Dex snorts.

“You say that like I haven’t been to college.” 

“Dude, we met in college,” Keefe points out, “and you did not get the full college experience. You just, like, baked 23/7 and then miraculously passed all your classes with the last hour.”

“Yes,” Dex says over the sound of Amy’s cackling. “Yes, that is exactly what I did. You’re completely right.” 

“I know,” Keefe says. “I’m always right. I have, never, ever done anything wrong.”

“You called me this morning to freak out over your date outfit for a date that’s three days away, but go off I guess.” Amy deadpans. 

“Fuck you-” The sounds of a small scuffle come through the speakers and Dex rolls his eyes. 

“I’m going to sleep,” he calls. “See you guys in a week.”

“Good luck!” Amy calls, and Dex hangs up. 

-/-

December 19, 2020.

Netflix’s Test Kitchen

Chicago, Illinois.

Biana tucks one last strand of hair back into her braid and glances over at the imposing black camera standing next to her station. There are ones just like it scattered around the entire room, fluorescent overhead lights reflected off their shiny exteriors. It’ll be weird trying to bake with someone recording her the whole time, but she can take it.

“Good morning, everyone!” Edaline calls, sweeping out to the judges bench with Cadence and Bronte close on her heels. There’s some sort of sheet-covered circle on the wall behind them. “I hope y’all are ready to bake!”

Everyone cheers and Edaline throws her head back, laughing a laugh with just enough snort in it to sound real. Biana’s reminded suddenly of her own mother; Edaline has the same sort of tough core and caring nature covered by a thin layer of plastic for the cameras. She wonders if Sophie is the same.

“And without further ado,” Edaline says. Biana snaps her attention back, hoping she hasn’t missed anything important. “Today’s challenge is…”

Bronte tugs on the fabric and it falls away to reveal a casino-style roulette wheel. If Biana squints, she can see words written on each colored section; CHOCOLATE and RASPBERRY and ALMOND. 

“Cookies,” he announces. 

Cadence sweeps her gaze over all of them. “Spin the wheel twice to find out what ingredients you need to include, and then you’ll have forty-five minutes to bake. Understood?”

Biana nods, glancing at the camera out of the corner of her eye and rearranging her face into something a bit more excited. She should probably start thinking about what to say in the post-baking interview.

Fitz is the first to spin the wheel, and he gets COCONUT and STRAWBERRY. He looks a little confused but smiles, media persona still firmly in place. 

Biana gets GINGER and CHOCOLATE, returning to her station with a wide smile. This recipe is one she created with Livvy- they were home alone while Della and Fitz went out to a show and decided to try the most difficult food combinations they could think of.

Honey-covered crickets were surprisingly delicious. Hot sauce mixed with Gatorade was not.

(I knew what I was going to do immediately, she tells the cameras afterward. It’s a family favorite; chocolate-ginger crinkle cookies.)

She retrieves a packet of candied ginger and grabs two bags of chocolate chips, dumping one bag in a saucepan and starting to melt them. A few feet away, Dex Dizznee stares at his ingredients- ALMOND and ANISE, a fairly simple combination- before turning away towards the ingredients. If Biana had to hazard a guess, she’d say he’s making biscotti. 

(Biscotti’s probably too obvious for almonds, Dex shrugs later, but my friend Keefe and I perfected an almond-anise biscotti a while back and I figured, why waste what little time I had on something new?)

Once she gets started, it’s easy to just focus on the recipe. She’s not like Fitz; baking’s not the be-all end-all stress reliever it is for him, but there’s definitely something comforting about the familiar motions. Before she knows it, she’s pulling the sheets out of the oven and arranging the prettiest ones on a plate for the judges to try.

Marella Redek goes up first, showing off her caramel-pecan shortbread with a polite smile. 

(I’m just glad I didn’t get one of those crazy combinations, she says with a sigh of relief.)

Then Fitz, who’s managed to make tiny sandwich cookies filled with strawberry jam and dusted with coconut in forty-five minutes. He fidgets with his hands as the judges taste them.

(I was really worried when I got my ingredients. I’m so relieved they turned out okay.) 

Biana’s cookies go over well, Cadence nodding and reaching for another one. Finally Dex Dizznee steps up. 

“Almond-anise biscotti,” he says with a small smile. The judges all bite into the cookies at the same time and smile.

“Delicious,” Bronte says. Dex grins and steps back to his station.

Fifteen minutes later, the contestants stand in front of the judges bench in a straight line, worried eyes and tapping feet all the way down.

“All your cookies were exquisite,” Edaline says. “But one of you made a fantastic first impression.” 

Cadence offers the group a tiny, sideways smile. “Dexter Dizznee,” she says. “You are today’s winner.”

There’s a round of applause and Dex’s cheeks go a little bit red. 

“Thank you,” he says.

(I won! It’s only the first round, of course, but I’m still proud to have started off on the right foot.)

“Hey,” Biana nudges her brother’s shoulder as they trail out of the room for individual interviews.“That wasn’t too bad, huh?” 

“No,” Fitz tilts his head and glances back at the still-smiling Dex. “I guess it wasn’t.”

(I don’t think I’m too sad about losing this round. Dex’s cookies looked absolutely delicious, anyway.)

Biana’s phone buzzes on the way back to her room. She pulls it out to see two messages from an unknown number. 

415-623-7868 

hi!! sorry if this is mega creepy but it was super cool to meet you the other day and i’d love to talk more sometime

this is sophie foster btw

“Holy shit,” Biana whispers. Her brother turns around with a questioning glance but she waves him off. “Nothing, I’m fine.” She’s pretty sure she’s grinning at her phone screen with all the force of a thousand suns. “I’m totally fine.”

(Tomorrow, we try again.) 

-/-

December 20, 2020.

Netflix’s Test Kitchen

Chicago, Illinois. 

Buoyed by the previous day’s success and an especially good breakfast buffet (he is not immune to chocolate-chip pancakes, no matter what he might claim), Dex practically floats into the kitchen the next day. His mood isn’t even brought down by Bronte’s lackluster announcement that the second challenge is simply Snowflakes. The bakery’s meringues are a town favorite for a reason, after all, and that reason is that they’re fucking good. 

He does get annoyed, though, by the man leaning against a counter a few feet away as he pipes the meringue. Fitz Vacker is tapping his fingers against the marble, watching the ice cream machine with a calm sort of fixation. Dex huffs and accidentally pipes too much meringue on the baking sheet. 

“Do you mind?” He grumbles under his breath. Fitz’s head snaps up. 

“Sorry,” he says, slight accent curling around his words. It’s not a British accent or really any sort Dex can discern, and that just makes him more frustrated. “Am I in your way?”

“No,” Dex says as politely as he can. He’s well aware of the cameras standing a few feet away. “No, you're fine.”

Fitz nods and tilts his head towards the meringues, apparently taking Dex’s grudging silence as an invitation. “Those look pretty good.”

“Thank you,” Dex says shortly, letting out an annoyed sigh internally when Fitz doesn’t budge. “You’re making ice cream?”

“Heh, yeah. I couldn’t really think of anything else, so.” Fitz shrugs. “Ice cream bars.” He scratches the back of his neck, looking a little embarrassed. “At least it’s cold, right? Like snow.” 

This startles a laugh out of Dex. “Yeah, like snow.” He leans back a little to give the now-completed snowflakes a once-over. “What do you think?”

“They look great!” Fitz enthuses, jumping a bit when the ice cream machine lets out a long beep. “Oh, looks like that’s me. I should go. Nice to meet you!”

And then he’s off to his own station, bowl of ice cream clutched tightly in one hand. Dex allows himself thirty seconds of staring into the camera like he’s on The Office before he sighs and slides the meringues into the oven. 

What on earth was that. 

He bumps into Sophie on his way out of the room after interviews. Biana Vacker’s chocolate-pecan-bark snowflakes won today; unsurprising, since they looked almost real- and he kind of just wants to go back to his room and sleep for a month. His cousin, however, seems to have other ideas.

“Quick,” she says, grabbing his arm. Her phone is in her other hand, screen lighting up with a message. “How much would my mom kill me if I went on a date with one of the Bake-Off contestants?”

“Um,” Dex blinks. “I’m going to need some more information?” 

“Okay, so I met Biana Vacker the other day, and I might have gotten her number from the contestant files we have? And then texted her? For like five hours last night? And I might have asked her out and she might have said yes?” Sophie tugs at her eyelashes. “Please help me, I have no idea what the fuck I’m going to do.”

“You’re going on a date with Biana Vacker,” Dex confirms. “Why?” 

“Because she’s smart, and pretty, and incredibly funny, and because I don’t have some weird hate-obsession with her.” 

“I don’t-”

“Yes, you do. Seriously, how much is Mom going to murder me for this?”

“How much is Mom going to murder you for what?”

Edaline’s standing a few feet away, arms folded across her chest and eyebrows raised. Sophie’s eyes go wide, but she sighs as if already giving up.

Dex gets it. Edaline is scary when she wants to be.

“Is it illegal and-slash-or nepotism if I go on a date with Biana Vacker tomorrow night?”

Edaline blinks. “Probably not? As long as you can confirm that she’s not using you to get further in the contest.” She shrugs. “I could talk to Cadence and Bronte about it, but they were all right with Dex being on the show, so.”

“Wait, really?” Sophie grins and throws her arms around her mother. “This is the best. Thanks, Mom! I’m gonna go text her.” 

She takes off down the hall, typing frantically. Edaline watches her go with a fond smile. 

“It’s incredibly weird to see her this old,” She says to Dex. “I still think of her as twelve, honestly.”

Dex snorts. “Yeah.”

“So,” Edaline cocks her head, looking at him with the same I’m going to ask you a question and we both know what the right answer is look that Dex’s own mother has. “I saw you talking to Fitz Vacker earlier. Making friends?”

“No.” Dex says immediately. Then he rolls his eyes. “He’s not as bad as I was expecting, though.”

“What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know, like, posh and rich and British or whatever they are. But he’s actually a decent person or whatever.”

“Or whatever.” Edaline laughs. “Well, I’m glad you’re having fun either way. I’ve got to get to a meeting, but I’ll see you later, all right? Say hi to Keefe for me.”

Dex nods and heads back to his room.

He really needs to sleep. 

-/-

December 21, 2020.

The Art Institute of Chicago

Chicago, Illinois.

“Here we are,” Sophie says as they push through museum security and enter the clearly-marked Thorne Rooms. Biana glances at the art curiously; the exhibit is made up of tiny glass windows set into low walls all around. She peers into one and lets out a tiny gasp. 

“Oh.”

It’s a tiny room in there; chairs and sofas all with perfectly embroidered cushions as small as Biana’s thumb. Through minuscule doors in the back, Biana glimpses a painted background and a balcony. It’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. 

Sophie snorts behind her, and Biana realizes she said that last bit out loud. “Right? It’s all real, too. Took Narcissa Thorne and her craftsmen eight years.”

“Wow.” 

“I used to come here all the time,” Sophie says, stepping forward and tracing one finger over the glass. “Whenever we were in town. I wished I could live in some of these rooms.” She glances back at Biana and gives a little self-deprecating smile. “Pretty stupid, probably.”

“No, it’s not,” Biana shakes her head. “I get it. It would be nice to escape for a little bit, especially to a place that looks like that.” She tilts her head at the room. Sophie laughs. 

“I’ll bet it gets really dusty, though. And that chair seems highly uncomfortable.”

They move throughout the whole exhibit, making low comments to each other every time they see a particularly amazing piece of furniture or a fancy candlestick. Biana finds herself relaxing more and more- Sophie is smart, and funny, and keeps shooting her little smiles that make Biana’s knees weak. 

That day’s competition had been the hardest yet. Each contestant had had to make a dessert based around a Christmas carol; a specific, judge-assigned Christmas carol. It was, for lack of a better term, absolute shit.

Biana had gotten Santa Claus Is Coming To Town- not the worst, considering the circumstances, and at least she knew it- and had had to figure out how to map the route of an overweight stalker on baked goods. 

She hadn’t won; that honor had gone to Maruca Chebota’s fondant replica of a sleigh for Over The River And Through The Woods. (Biana is pretty sure that song is actually a Thanksgiving song, but she wasn’t going to contradict.) Still, Biana’s happy, content as they leave the museum and move down to an Italian restaurant a few blocks away. Smiling as Sophie’s hand brushes against hers. 

They get settled in a little corner near a window, knees bumping under the table. The room is dim, lit by one chandelier in the middle and candles on every table. It’s warm, something delicious wafting through the air. 

Sophie leans forward to grab a menu, hair lit golden in the candlelight, and Biana revises her earlier statement. The Thorne Rooms aren’t the most beautiful things she’s ever seen. This woman is. 

“Everything okay?” Sophie asks. Biana realizes she’s been staring and gives her a quick nod. 

“Yeah, no. Everything’s perfect.” She glances down at the tablecloth, sees Sophie fidgeting with the edge of her napkin. “Are you all right?”

“I, uh,” Sophie tugs at one of her eyelashes. “I just wanted to say that I don’t really tend to talk to my mom about the competition? So, like, if you’re just trying to get an edge or something-”

“No!” Biana shakes her head, reaching forward to grab the other woman’s hand. “No, no no. Absolutely not. This is like, the opposite of that.” 

“Pretty sure the opposite of that would be divorcing me to lose the Bake-Off,” Sophie says, but she’s smiling. Biana smiles back. 

“Well, I don’t want to do that either.”

“What do you want to do?”

Biana shrugs. “I don’t know. This is pretty nice. I like spending time with you.”

Sophie blushes and tightens her grip on Biana’s hand. “I-”

“Pardon me.” There’s a waiter standing next to their table, notepad in hand. He offers them an awkward smile. “Are you ready to order?”

“Right!” Biana says at the same time as Sophie’s “Yes! For sure! Just give me a second!”. They grin at each other and look back down at the menus. 

“Thank you,” Sophie murmurs after they’ve ordered. Biana doesn’t have to ask what for. 

“Of course.”

(Biana leans down to kiss her barely an hour later. Sophie smiles against her lips and tugs her in closer.)

(Biana doesn’t get back to her hotel that night.)

-/-

December 22, 2020.

Some Fancy Hotel 

Chicago, Illinois. 

Dex can’t sleep. 

There’s no particular reason why, no loud party down the street or flashing lights outside his window. He just can’t sleep, which is especially frustrating when he glances at the clock and finds it’s one AM. Tomorrow- or, today, really- is event four, and if he wants to make a good impression, he’d better do it on more than three hours of sleep.

Heaving a sigh, he flops himself out of bed and flips on the light switch. As long as he’s awake, he might as well read or something. 

A loud crash sounds from down the hall. Dex blinks and grabs his sneakers, opening his door and peeking out. No one’s in sight, but rustling noises are coming from the communal kitchen a few doors away. Dex decides that sleep is for the weak and pads down to investigate.

Fitz Vacker is standing in the middle of the kitchen, aggressively stirring a bowl of what looks like cookie dough and frowning. There’s a flour-dusted cookbook on the counter.

“Um.” Dex coughs a little. Fitz looks up from the cookie dough and turns toward him. He's wearing a sweatshirt thrown over a pair of what looks like Walgreens-brand pajamas. Dex is a little surprised that a Vacker would wear something that shitty. 

“Sorry,” he says in his annoyingly perfect accent. “Did I wake you up?”

“Nah, you’re fine. Why are you still awake?”

Fitz shrugs. “Couldn’t fall asleep. You?”

“Same.” Dex moves over and peers into the bowl. “Sugar cookies?”

“They’re a classic Christmas cookie, right?” Fitz looks at him. Dex blinks. “No, really, I’m asking. I don’t celebrate Christmas.”

This startles a laugh out of Dex. “Yeah, they’re a classic. My aunt used to make them all the time in December. I’d come home from school and she’d be, like, chilling on our couch with three different kinds of cookies.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t even realize she was famous until I was eight. She was just Aunt Eda.”

“My mom used to have to do all these photo shoots? With baked goods and shit? And she’d bring me and Bi along because our daycare didn’t go that late so we’d just be hanging out around this camera equipment and doing our best not to break anything.” Fitz looks down and stirs the cookie dough a bit more. “Bi always says we grew up with a camera in our faces, so much that we never learned to be normal. She’s more right than I’d like to think.”

Dex doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have anything to say; he’s always assumed, like so many other people, that the spotlight on the Vackers was effortless and encouraged. Life seemed so easy for them. 

Of course it does, Dex reminds himself. Life always looks easy when you’re the one looking at it. 

“Sorry,” Fitz grabs the bowl and turns away, reaching up into a cabinet for some powdered sugar. “I get… honest when I’m tired.” 

“Yeah, well, I get grumpy, so you’re still better off.” Dex grabs a baking sheet out of where they’re being stored in the oven, since the cookies look about ready to be rolled out. “You’re fine, though. No cameras here.” 

You’re not being judged here, he means. I’d like to get to know you. 

This must translate at least a little, because Fitz gives him a small smile and dumps the dough out onto the counter. 

“Help me? I think the cookie cutters are in the bottom left drawer.”

“Got it.” Dex grabs a tiny metal snowman and cuts out a piece of dough, laying it flat on the metal sheet. He’s reminded suddenly of going through the same motions back home, with Keefe and Amy arguing good-naturedly over his head. 

There’s a different air in the kitchen right now. It’s quieter, slower, dark-dark-chocolatey; something bitter and sweet and smooth all at the same time. 

“Are you worried about the competition?” He asks. Fitz blinks, lifting another three cookies onto the sheet before answering. 

“I don’t think so. I was, before, but once I got here…” he gives an expansive shrug. “It’s just baking. Baking calms me down.” 

“Hence the cookies at one AM,” Dex notes. Fitz laughs. 

“Hence the stress-baking cookies at one AM,” he agrees. “I don’t even think I was stressed about the contest, just-” he waves a hand in the air. “Just stressed in general.” 

“I get that.” Dex presses a few buttons on the oven and tilts his head toward the table a few feet away. They’ll need to wait for the oven to heat up before they put the cookies in. “I was pretty scared of fucking up at first, but, I mean, it’s a baking competition. Everyone’s gonna forget the butter at some point.” 

Fitz squints at him. “I can’t tell if ‘forget the butter’ is an expression I’m unaware of, or if you actually did that and I just didn’t hear about it.” 

“Maruca from Cali did that, actually. I have more style, at least- I forgot the eggs.”

“My friend’s cat got into my kitchen once,” Fitz says seriously. “Not during this contest, but when I was making her daughter’s birthday cake. There was hair everywhere. It was… a cat-astrophe.”

Both of them are silent for almost a full minute, just staring at each other, before Dex breaks down.

“That was terrible,” he wheezes, trying to stop laughing. Fitz grins. 

“I know, I’m embarrassed of myself.”

“You should be.”

The oven beeps and they both startle, turning toward it. Fitz retrieves an oven mitt and slides the cookies into the oven. Dex closes the door and stands back up, suddenly realizing how close they’re standing. 

“You should try to sleep,” Fitz says quietly. “It’s late.”

Dex nods slightly but doesn’t move. There’s a tiny bit of flour on Fitz’s cheekbone. He doesn’t know why he notices it. 

They seem to stand there forever, just looking at each other. Then, suddenly, Fitz turns away and looks over the cookbook again. 

“I should sleep,” Dex says. Fitz nods, face shadowed in the dim lights. Dex turns away and heads back to his room. 

What the fuck was that. 

-/-

December 23, 2020.

Netflix’s Test Kitchen

Chicago, Illinois. 

“Dex Dizznee. Biana Vacker. Maruca Chebota. And Tam Song.” Bronte reads out the names, then looks down at the contestants. “The four of you have won the past events, so you’ll get an extra prize today.”

“As you all know, today is the last event!” Edaline says cheerfully. “All eight of you have made some truly fantastic desserts in the past week, but only one person can win and today’s your final chance to really wow the judges. So, Event Five is…”

Cadence gestures toward the table up front, which holds two candy-covered houses. “Gingerbread houses,” she says. “You have four hours to bake, assemble, and decorate a gingerbread house with your partner.”

“Yep, you’ll be working in pairs for this one,” Edaline says when the murmurs start up. “And our four previous winners get to choose who they’re working with.” She smiles at Biana. “Although, Miss Vacker, I’m afraid you can’t work with your brother.” 

Biana laughs, turning and holding out a hand to Marella Redek instead. “All right. How about it, partner?”

Marella shrugs and takes her hand. Edaline gestures to Dex. 

He glances over the seven remaining contestants. Jensi Babblos seems nice- he probably wouldn’t be too bad to work with. Or maybe he can pair up with another winner and ask Maruca?

Then Fitz catches his eye and Dex remembers the previous day, cutting out cookies in the early-early morning light. It’s not really a choice after that. 

“Fitz,” he decides, and the man strides over to stand next to him. 

The other two pairs find each other, Edaline lays out the final rules, and then she shouts go! and they’re off. 

“Hand me the cinnamon?” Dex asks. Fitz drops it into his hand and Dex dumps a tablespoon in the bowl, starting up the mixer. “Okay, and we should get the icing started so it has time to cool-”

“Already done,” Fitz says. He points to a bowl of fluffy white icing on the counter a foot away. “We should probably-”

“Figure out the decorations, yeah. You wanna-”

“Sketch something?”

They grin at each other and Dex pours the gingerbread batter into a pan. “Perfect,” he says. The oven lets out a tiny beep when he closes it. 

The hours pass quickly, in a blur of candy and icing. They cover the sides of the house in dark red modeling chocolate and drag a toothpick through them for the individual bricks, carefully shape a vanilla wafer chimney, build a candy-cane fence. The actual construction of the house is tricky- Dex has to hold the walls up while Fitz pipes the icing and then keeps holding them until it sets. They get through it with only one roof collapse, though, and the final house looks pretty good. Fitz glues down three peppermints to make a path in front of the door, Dex attaches tiny sugar cookie trees to the ground, and they’re done with two minutes to spare.

“Wait, no. Hang on.” Fitz rummages through the mess they’ve made at their station, skirting a camera and grabbing the half-empty container of powdered sugar. He dumps it into a sieve. 

“Snow,” he and Dex say in unison. Fitz laughs and shakes the sieve over their presentation board, covering the whole thing in a fine layer of powder. 

“Perfect,” Dex says just as the timer goes off. “Let’s win this thing.”

-/-

December 23, 2020.

Netflix’s Test Kitchen

Chicago, Illinois. 

Cameras flash as they zero in on Dex and Fitz’s gingerbread house, presumably taking the shots that will go along with Edaline’s and the winner of Event Five is Fitz Vacker and Dex Dizznee! announcement in the actual show. Biana’s staring at the opposite wall, though; if she looks towards the recording equipment, she doubts she’ll be able to hide how nervous she is. 

The competition doesn’t matter in the long run, but it would be really, really cool to win. 

“Now,” Edaline says after the cameras have returned to their original places. “You’ve all shown amazing talent in the past few days. Frankly, all three of us were just blown away at some of the things you created. But one of you managed to wow us at every turn, showcasing your art as well as your baking skills. And that person is…”

Next to Biana, her brother stares at the ground. A few feet away, Dex is twisting his hands together, expression schooled into something just left of panic. Biana takes a deep breath.

“Maruca Chebota!”

The room is silent, and then everyone breaks into applause. Maruca is smiling wide, tears glittering at the corners of her eyes. 

“Thank you so much,” she manages before getting crushed into a giant group hug. 

Later, Biana stands in the front hall of the hotel with her suitcase by her side. She and Fitz are flying home tonight, and she can’t wait to get back to her own apartment. 

“It’ll be nice,” Sophie agrees. “I’m heading straight out to Michigan to see my aunt and uncle for Christmas.” 

Fitz appears in the doorway, talking animatedly with someone out of sight. Biana takes the opportunity to give Sophie one last kiss. 

“I’ll text you?” She asks. Sophie nods. 

Fitz strolls up, Dex by his side. They’ve finished their conversation, apparently, and are now just looking at each other. Biana coughs.

“We should get to the airport.” She reminds him. Fitz jumps.

“Right! Yes, of course. Um-” he glances back at Dex and then sweeps the shorter man into a hug. Dex’s eyes widen but he hugs back. 

“It was so nice to meet you,” Biana tells Dex when the two break apart. “Have a nice Christmas.” 

“You too,” Dex says, and then he and Sophie are gone. Biana elbows her brother. 

“Dexter Dizznee, huh?” She asks. Fitz glares at her. 

“Shut up.”

-/-

December 28, 2020.

Dizznee Family Household 

Detroit, Michigan.

Christmas is low-key. Or, it’s as low-key as Christmas with the Dizznees can be, anyway. Bex manages to get lights on the roof, Rex brings his partners to dinner and the three of them break into an impromptu performance of Deck The Halls, and Lex sets up an elaborate present-wrapping station in the living room that seems to involve heinous amounts of tape. 

Edaline disappears upstairs a few times to work out all the details of the show, but she has enough time to help Kesler baste a turkey and kick all of their collective asses at foosball alongside Juline. Grady makes chocolate-covered cherries and Amy eats too many of them and Sophie laughs herself to tears when her sister trips over an armchair in her post-chocolate haze. They smile and exchange terrible presents and sing carols and it’s all normal, as normal as anything gets these days.

So maybe they’re not low-key. Maybe it’s just Dex who’s low, Dex who still feels like something’s missing. 

He lost the competition. He’s not mad about it; losing by a few stray points isn’t nearly as bad as it could have been. And the publicity he’ll gain from just being on television is definitely worth it. 

None of that explains his mood, though, and Dex is starting to wonder what on earth he isn’t seeing. 

“Hey,” Sophie says, wandering into the den and flopping down on the couch alongside him. Dex has been absentmindedly fiddling with a Rubik's cube for the past ten minutes, and he only now realizes it’s solved. “What’s up?” 

“Hmm?”

“You’ve been mopey all day,” she says. “All week, actually. Which is weird, because you’re not normally mopey.” 

“You- noticed?”

Sophie gives him an affronted look. “I do pay attention.” 

“I’m not mopey,” Dex protests. 

“So staring into the distance and frowning is just a hobby?” Sophie sighs, plucking the Rubik’s cube out of his hands and scooting closer. “Look, I’m not trying to shame you. I just want to know what’s going on.”

Dex stares at her, then glances down at his hands. “I… who do you keep texting?”

The question catches Sophie off guard. “What?”

“You’ve been glancing down at your phone and smiling all through vacation,” he says. “Who are you texting?”

Sophie’s cheeks flush pink. “Um. Biana?”

“Oh.” Right. Biana Vacker. Dex had almost forgotten about her, in all the chaos of the last day of competition and then heading back home. Sophie didn’t, apparently. “That’s great. I’m happy for you.”

“You sound like a greeting card.”

“Fuck you, I’m trying.” 

Sophie rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Thanks, though. I really like her.” She tilts her head. “Now, back to your moping.”

“No.”

“Hmm.” Sophie says. She fixes him with a look that says I can see into your soul and there is some weird stuff in there. “Dex. What happened when you teamed up with Fitz Vacker in the last round of the contest?”

“Um.” Dex blinks. “We… made a gingerbread house?”

“And after that?” Sophie raises an eyebrow. “Dex, I know you. You’ve hated the Vackers possibly since you were born. How on Earth did you go from that to hugging Fitz when you said goodbye to him?”

“I-” 

There have been a lot of things recently, Dex reflects, that he’s been unable to explain, even to himself. Why he disliked the Vackers in the first place. Why he’s been empty the past few days. 

Why he and Fitz are sort of on decent terms now.

But things start to dig themselves out of his memory; an out-of-the-blue compliment about his pies, a night spent in a terrible hotel kitchen unable to sleep, a grin and a tiny peppermint swirl and fake sugar snow on a rooftop.

“Oh.” Dex’s eyes go wide. “Oh, shit.” 

“What?” Sophie asks. As if on cue, three strawberry-blond heads poke into the doorway. Dex groans. 

“Do you hear that?” Rex asks, shit-eating grin on his face. Lex nods seriously. 

“I believe it’s the sound of a local man realizing he’s been in love with Fitzroy Vacker this whole time.” 

Bex gestures towards Dex as if she’s holding a microphone. “Tell me, sir, how does it feel to come to such a conclusion? Do you think your behavior towards Mr. Vacker will change after this?”

“Please leave,” Dex says flatly. Sophie squints at him. 

“Wait, are you really-”

“I don’t know. Please make them leave.” 

Sophie looks from him to the triplets, who give her matching smiles. She shakes her head and stands up. 

“I don’t think I’m capable of doing that, honestly. I’m going to go text Bi.”

“Traitor!” Dex calls after her. The triplets flop down on the couch, garishly patterned Christmas sweaters clashing terribly with the blue cushions. Bex gives him an exaggerated I’m thinking look. 

“Hmm,” she says. “You know, maybe Amy was onto something with all her ‘enemies to lovers speedrun’ stuff.” 

“I’m leaving this family,” Dex mutters, shoving a pillow over his face. “I will go to Canada and buy a large house and never have to see any of you ever again.” 

Rex raises his eyebrows. “Wow, you’d leave your boyfriend behind like that?” 

“Nope! No, nope, not doing this.” Dex stands up and moves towards the door. Behind him, he hears at least one of his siblings fall off the couch. 

“Seriously, though. What are you going to do?”

Dex turns back around. Rex and Bex are sprawled on the floor in a tangle of feet, but Lex is looking at Dex with a strangely sympathetic expression. He sighs.

“I don’t know.”

There’s a buzz in his pocket and Dex pulls his phone out as his siblings start to untangle themselves.

Fos-Boss

hey. wanna go to nyc?

-/-

December 31, 2020.

Biana Vacker’s Self-Proclaimed Trash Can Fire

New York City, New York.

“You’re doing it again.”

Fitz leans his head over the back of the couch and frowns at her. “Doing what?”

“Your whole woe is me, time to stare aimlessly at the wall thing.” Biana waves a hand towards her brother. “Stop that and help me cut the baklava.”

“This is… a lot of baklava for just the two of us,” Fitz says. “Are you sure you didn’t decide to throw another giant stupid New Years party again?”

“I promise there will be no giant New Years party,” Biana says. “I’ve invited two people over. That’s it.”

“But you refuse to tell me who those people are, which automatically makes me suspicious.” 

As if on cue, the doorbell rings. Biana smiles at her brother and takes the knife from him. 

“Why don’t you go find out?”

Fitz sighs and moves out into the hallway. Biana hears him swing the door open, and then- nothing. 

She pushes the now-cut baklava onto a plate and leans her head out the doorway. Her brother is standing there, staring at a man with strawberry-blond hair. Sophie stands behind him, smiling awkwardly.

“Hello!” She says, directing the statement at Biana since her cousin is still locked in a staring contest with Fitz. “Happy New Year!”

“It’s not New Years yet,” Biana laughs, coming out of the doorway to grab Sophie’s coat and drop a quick kiss to her lips. “How was your drive?”

“Long,” Sophie says. “But I’ve had worse. And we had some decent pancakes, right?” 

“Right,” Dex murmurs, still staring at Fitz. He shakes his head. “Yeah, they were pretty good. Happy New Year, by the way.” 

“You too,” Fitz manages. Biana hides a laugh behind her sweater sleeve and grabs Dex’s arm. 

“Hey, you wanna come help me open the champagne?” 

“Sure, but-”

“We’ll be fine,” Fitz manages a bright grin. “I’m gonna show Sophie some of Bi’s elementary school pictures.”

“Fitzroy Avery Vacker, don’t you dare-”

Fitz laughs and Biana and Dex retreat back to the kitchen. Biana reaches for one of the bottles of champagne and turns towards the shorter man. 

“I’m not going to give you a shovel talk,” she shrugs, “mainly because I think you already know I could murder you if you hurt him.”

“Yep,” Dex nods. He looks down. “But you don’t have to worry about giving me a shovel talk. It’s not like we’re dating.” 

“No, you two have just been in love with each other for a ridiculously long amount of time.” The cork pops out of the champagne bottle and Sophie cheers from the other room. Biana grins at the stunned expression Dex is giving her. “Come on. Only an hour till midnight.”

They put the Times Square Ball Drop on at 11:30, watching as some band Biana vaguely recognizes but couldn’t name rocks out in front of the crowd. Sophie says that looks cold, and Biana says it’s always cold. That’s why I stay home, and Sophie snuggles a little closer to her. At the ten-minute mark, Dex and Fitz make some sort of telepathic agreement to go out and stand on the balcony. 

“Hey,” Biana mutters as the lights onscreen get brighter. The countdown should start soon. “I’m so glad I met you.”

Sophie turns her face, so close their noses almost brush. “Me too,” she smiles. “But I’m even happier I get to do this.”

A hurricane could probably pass through the apartment right now without Biana noticing. Sophie's lips are soft, and Biana knows this woman will stick with her no matter what. 

Numbers start to flash on the screen. Biana couldn’t care less about what they say. 

-/-

December 31, 2020.

Fitz Vacker’s Plant-Covered Balcony

New York City, New York.

“The apartment’s Biana’s, technically,” Fitz says as they step out into the cold night air. “But she never uses the balcony and I needed a place to put my plants, so it’s mine now.”

“And you’re certainly using the space,” Dex notes. He can spot at least five different kinds of flowers out here, and that’s just with his non-existent plant knowledge. 

Fitz laughs, loud and bright against the painted backdrop of the sky. There are only a few stars Dex can see, but the whole sky is a shade of midnight blue that makes up for the darkness. 

“I am, yeah.” He leans on the railing for a moment, staring down at the world below, before turning back a bit. “How was your Christmas?”

“Good,” Dex says. “How was your… Hanukkah?”

“It ended before the contest started, but yeah, it was good” Fitz glances down at the street again and Dex goes to stand next to him. Minutes tick by, the two of them just watching cars pass by.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Fitz says finally. The words are soft, barely more than whispers, and Dex thinks for a moment that he imagined them. Then Fitz looks up and meets his eyes. 

A cheer goes up from around the city, people everywhere shouting Ten! 

“I’m glad too,” Dex says. Carefully, oh-so-slowly, he reaches up and cups the other man’s cheek. Fitz’s eyes flutter closed for just a moment. 

Seven!

“The ball will drop soon,” he murmurs. “If you want to watch it.”

“I’m fine,” Dex smiles. “Unless- you want to?”

Five!

“Nah,” Fitz says, reaching up to touch Dex’s hand where it’s still on his face. “I think I can do without the spectacle for tonight.”

Three!

Dex nods, rocking forward just a little. 

Two!

Fitz’s eyes are bright, and his breath is warm where it ghosts across Dex’s skin. 

One!

They barely have to move in before their lips meet. 

-/-

January 1, 2021.

Somewhere Over New York City. 

Fireworks bloom into bursts of color against the dark sky. 

[aph-honk-kong]

Soaring Gold

After one successful marriage comes a very unsuccessful engagement. [A continuation of this.] [Very late for day six of @aphasiaweek with the prompt of “culture”.]

Peninsula Hotel, Hong Kong

  “Wah diuuuu, you tried to ask out a Diocesan alumni? I bet she turned you down before you could say ‘five double stars’.”

  “I finally got that apartment in Qatar! It cost an arm and a leg, but it was worth it. Do you think I should go for a place in California, next?”

  “Hold on, which province did you say your sister moved to?”

  A million conversations seem to be happening at the same time, a cacophony of voices filling Harald’s head as he tries to find his table. The dining room is massive, at least three times as big as the entirety of the Dragon Room back in London, and he has no idea where he’s supposed to be sitting.

  “Babe!”

  Leon grabs him from behind and presses a not-so-sneaky kiss to the tip of his ear. He can feel his ears getting warm. “I was wondering where the fuck you’d gone off to. Come on, our table’s right next to the happy couple’s.”

  He’s lead to a table near the centre of the room, covered in a pure-white tablecloth and set with elegant porcelain plates. Ling is already sitting there, deep in conversation with the blonde next to her. Also at the table are Lauren, Berwald and his husband.

  “Why the fuck are you grading papers?” Leon exclaims incredulously.

  “Because I care more about my students than this massive dinner that’s probably going to last three hours, that’s why,” Lauren shoots back. “Heaven forbid some of us actually have to work for a living.”

  He presses a hand to his chest in mock offence. “Oh wow, so hurtful. I feel deeply wounded.”

  Rolling his eyes, Harald sits down. Next to him is Berwald’s husband, who smiles at him. “Well, hello again!”

  “Hi.”

  “I don’t think I’ve introduced myself yet.” He extends his hand. “My name is Timo Väinämöinen. This is my husband Berwald.”

  Berwald shakes his hand next, saying quietly, “I believe I know your brother?”

  “My brother-in-law, actually,” Harald corrects. “Henrik says you’re the reason he and Stell got to come here.”

  “Speaking of Henrik,” Ling cuts in, “is nobody going to talk about how he looked in that suit of his? I may be a lesbian, but hot damn.”

  The woman next to her scrunches her face up slightly in dissatisfaction.

  “Don’t be jealous, Nat.” She giggles and kisses her temple. “The man’s a pancake, unlike you.”

  “A pancake?” Nat rolls her eyes. “He’s a crepe.”

  Harald chokes on his water. 

...

  A few tables away, many-named Arthur is sitting with Francis, Roderich, Erzsébet, Jo and Niklas, nibbling daintily on the pig’s-ears biscuits served before the banquet is due to start. He occasionally throws a glance towards the married couple’s table, where Vicente and Madeline are practically sitting on each other’s lap. “Goodness gracious, how much do you think they spent on this wedding?”

  “Including the chapel, the after-ceremony lunch, the Rolls-Royce that drove them here, this dining room, the banquet, the complimentary party favours, the lucky draw involving twenty-four-karat gold jewellery and however much it took to get Mr. Edelstein to perform, I assume the entire thing cost at least two million Hong Kong dollars,” Niklas pipes up. He snatches the last biscuit before Arthur can and crunches it loudly. “Give or take a million or so.”

  The adults all stare at him in shock. Roderich leans over to whisper to Arthur, “see, this hip new Scandinavian education system that treats kids like human beings lets them pull things like this. But again, he’s not even wrong...”

  Francis smiles and pats Niklas on the head. “You were very close. The wedding actually cost five million. Five million Euros, that is.”

  His eyes widen. “Euros!?”

  “Oui, Euros. I am pretty sure that’s more than the GDP of some countries.”

  Jo looks around them, big eyes taking in every bit of the room’s extravagance. “If I ever get married, I’m going to do it in a park or something. The guests can wear whatever they want and the only food we serve will be the wedding cake.”

  “Nonsense, I’ll organise your wedding in St. Stephen’s Cathedral.”

  They blow a raspberry at their father. 

  Erzsébet points at the table next to the couple’s. “Say, isn’t that Vicente’s brother?”

  “That’s Leon, all right.” Francis takes a sip of white wine, swirling it around the glass. “He even brought along a common boy. Poor Yao, can you imagine what he’s thinking?”

  “Nothing good, that’s for sure,” Roderich tuts. “At least Leon’s not trying to marry him. The continent would go up in flames.”

  Arthur clicks his tongue disapprovingly. He’s looking at another table, where the more famous guests are sitting. “I know his brother, who attended my luncheons while on tour in England. The two of them are fine fellows, I must admit, but unfit to marry into the Wang family.”

  “That guy dresses funny,” Jo says. “At least, he doesn’t dress like the rest of us. Nik thought he was the usher when we got to the chapel.”

  “Sounds about right!” Francis laughs. “Nobody would expect somebody of his upbringing to know how to dress.”

  A group of waiters enter the room, holding a number of steaming dishes. Roderich sits up straighter and elbows his child sharply. “Put that tablet of yours away, now. The banquet is starting.”

...

  “This is incredible,” Harald says for what feels like the millionth time. Course after course has been served, each plate presenting a clever fusion dish he never would have thought of. Nothing at the Dragon Room could ever compare.

  “Vic hired two of Asia’s best chefs to make tonight’s banquet, plus their wedding cake.” Leon nibbles at a forkful of buttery Arborio rice before setting it down on his almost-finished plate of white-truffle garlic butter and Hangzhou shrimp risotto. “The desserts are going to blow you away.”

  He nods gratefully at the waiter who takes his dish away. “I want to meet the chefs behind this one day.” The next dish is placed down, and Harald stares down at it. On the plate is a mini sculpture made of sorbet, shaped like a rosebush with tiny candy flowers and caramel branches. “You’d have to be some kind of genius to think of this.”

  “I think you’re plenty genius yourself,” Leon quips. He swallows his first bite of sorbet before kissing him briefly. His lips taste of mint.

  Soon, dessert is over and a pair of waiters wheel out the massive wedding cake. The icing around it is pure-white, topped with narrow grey-pink filigree patterns. At the very top of the cake is a sugar butterfly, holding two thin sheets of rice paper covered in thin writing, inked with chocolate sauce. Harald peers closer and realises it’s Vicente and Madeline’s wedding vows.

  “Amazing, huh?”

  “Yeah,” he breathes. 

  Leon stands up the moment they receive their slice, holding his plate and his dessert fork. “Grab your plate, too.”

  “Won’t people notice?” Harald protests.

  “They would, on most cases.” He winks at his brother, who smiles back while balancing the caramel butterfly on a plate. Vicente stands up, hand in hand with Madeline, and lift the plate up. A crowd of photographers surge forward, cameras at the ready, to capture the moment. Leon grabs his hand and tugs. “But not today.”

  Holding on to his plate, Harald follows him out of the dining room, up grand staircases and past jewellery stores until they reach the topmost layer of the hotel. Leon opens the door, revealing a stunning rooftop garden. 

  Nobody is there, and the only sound is that of leaves being rustled. He leads him to sit down on a cushioned loveseat that overlooks the streets and Victoria Harbour. On the other side of the Harbour, Central glows radiantly. 

  “Isn’t this a better view than that stuffy dining room?” Leon eats his first forkful of cake.

  Harald cuts into his slice and pops it into his mouth. It turns out to be a rich red velvet cake, dotted through with pieces of vanilla fudge and lemon crumble. He smiles. “This is good.”

  “We’ve been going to parties all weekend, so it’s nice that we get some time alone.” He reaches across the loveseat to hold his hand. “I’m almost dreading going back to London. What would I do without all my crazy friends?”

  He lets out a short puff of laughter. “‘Crazy’ is an understatement. No sane person would spend so much money on a wedding!”

  “You said once that you’d prefer a simple wedding if you ever got married,” Leon reminisces,” and I gotta say the same. I’d go nuts organising stuff like this!”

  Slice of cake finished, Harald shifts closer to snuggle up to Leon, shrugging his suit jacket off. “I love you,” he mumbles.

  “Love you too.” He drops an absent kiss on the top of his head. “I actually have something to tell you.”

  “Hmm?”

  Leon pulls a small box out of his pocket and shows it to him. Harald’s breath hitches.

  “Normally guys would get down on a knee to do this, but I don’t want to stop cuddling you so here we are.” He drops his gaze for a moment before returning it, strong and sure. “And, uh, I just love you so much and I’d like nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you.” He flicks the box open, revealing a simple silver ring. “So what I want to know is... is if you want to marry me.”

  Harald’s cheeks prickle with heat. His heart is thudding wildly in his chest. “I - “ he sputters. “Of cour - “

  “STOP!”

  The door leading back to the hotel swings open. Standing in the doorway is Yao, arms crossed and glaring daggers at them. Leon glares back. “What are you doing here?”

  Yao marches towards the loveseat. “I know what you’re doing,” he says. “Ka Long, I know you’re planning to marry Harald. And I’m here to say that you can’t. I forbid it!”

[handonshipper]

If I Knew Then What I Know Now: Chapter Two

After several hours, Landon got off of the bus in New Orleans and looked around, clutching his backpack. He tensed up as he got into a crowd of people walking around. Music was playing, jazz that he generally would have enjoyed but right now between the people around and the music playing, he knew it could  be very dificult to defect danger. His heart pounded a little before he calmed himself and retreated to an alley.

He opened up his bag and  pulled out a dagger from his small stash of weapons before concealing it. He wanted to make sure around it was easily  accessible. He looked around carefully, thinking.  He needed to keep an eye on everything. and find the Mikaelsons. But what would he say when he found them?

Hope would probably be suspicious that he had appeared normal but was actually knowledgeable about the supernatural. But the real 15 year old Landon hadn't been. He had no idea. But this was 18 year old Landon trapped (possibly permanently) in his 15 year old body.

How could he possibly explain everything to her? And he was a mess. He was not good to be around, and he knew it. He sighed softly and continued looking around as he walked down a back street less chaotic than the main busy streets of New Orleans. His senses were on high alert.

The human hesitated before rejoining the busy street and looking around a bit. Suddenly, he bumped into someone, automatically tensing up as his hand reached for his weapon just in case. But then he saw the familiar face and felt his grip loosen. The one person still alive that he truly trusted. He trusted everyone else at the school to a degree. But Hope and Rafael were the only ones he has ever trusted completely in his whole life. The woman he loved and his foster brother. Who currently didn't even know him.

"Landon?" Hope Mikaelson questioned in surprise.

"Hope" Landon said, relief flooding his voice as he looked at the girl he loved. It felt like it had been years since he had last seen her. The girl he kept fighting to get back to.

"What- what are you doing in New Orleans?" Hope looked at him.

Landon hesitated briefly, his mind spinning on what to say. He didn't want to lie to her but also wasn't sure what he should say. "I just got back from a... long and not very pleasant trip. I decided to come here once I got back. I've always wanted to come. It's home to some ot the greatest musicians of all time"

"What about your job at the Mystic Grill?"

"I don't work there anymore" It was true for his 18 year old self at least

Landon was already doing more talking than he had done in a while. He wasn't used to being around people. While he was always comfortable around Hope, he also still didn't want to talk all that much. Yet at least

"Oh" Hopr said, her tone faint with disappointment, and Landon suspected she too was thinking about the Peanut Butter Blasts with whipped cream on the bottom that she ordered and he served her whenever she came to the Mystic Grill. "Have you found a place to stay in while you're in New Orleans?"

Landon shook his head slightly. "No. but I will find somewhere" Somewhere to camp out for now, he added silently. He had little money, and Hope did not know he knew about the supernatural world.

"Right... well I was about to head home. It's been a long... couple of weeks actually. Family stuff. But, uh, if you need anything, vo to Rousseau's and ask around for me. And maybe I could give you a tour while you are here" she said, seemingly hesitant. She looked as though she both didn't want to talk and also wanted the distraction the tour would provide.

"You don't have to if you don't want to" Landon said. He both wanted to avoid people as well as remain with Hope by his side, his anchor the one that had kept him going. The one he  fought to get back to.

"I do" Hope said. "I need to head  home first, but I'll meet you here  in two hours? " Hope gestured to Rousseau's

Landon nodded. "l'll be here " he promised her

"I'll see you then" The tribrid walked away to her home.

Landon looked around, thinking about everything. He retreated into an alley and continued walking, trying to find a good place to camp out for the night once night came. It took him a bit, but he found an abandoned building. Landon looked around a bit and opened up the door quietly.

It was a bit dusty but not the worst place he has camped out it. He had to keep moving in the prison world, never could stay at the same place. The longest he had risked it was at the Salvatore School at the beginning. He had stayed in Hope's bedroom, surrounded by her things that had brought him so much comfort. But the building became dangerous  as the monsters further invaded and destroyed it. So he had left and started moving from place to place each night.

Landon pulled out his blade and turned it, knowing it would be a good idea if he had some vervain considering he was in New Orleans. Just in case. Though he did have a wooden weapon in his bag. Dr Saltzman kept himself stocked with weaponry. Probably because he used to be a vampire hunter.

Eventually, Landon put away the blade and headed to Rousseau's. He walked inside and looked around. cautiously, waiting for Hope as he sat at a table. Soon, she walked inside, and he straightened up at the sight of her.

"You came" she said

A slight smile formed on Landon's face. "I did"

"Come on, I'll show you around"

Landon stood up, and the two of them walked out of Rousseau's. There was a little bit of silence, neither particularly wanting to talk in general but also finding comfort in the presence of each other.

"You seem different" Hope spoke up eventually, looking over at Landon.

It was true. He was more mature and distant. Tense. Though her presence certainly helped. But he had just gone through Malivore and fighting for his life,, fighting to get back to her.

"So do you" Landon observed, noticing the pained and guilt filled look in her eyes. "I guess we have both been through a lot since we last saw each other." He tore his gaze away and looked ahead.

He breathed out a little slowly as he saw more and more people. He hadn't been around people in a while, and it was a lot to take in being here. At least he didn't have to worry about gargoyles or dragons or anything else. Assuming this was real and he had actually traveled back in time. Though he still wasn't sure, considering the last monster he had seen had also been the one to make him believe he was rescued over and over again. But it had never happened like this.

"Yeah" Hope said quietly. "I guess we have" She cleared her throat and began giving Landon the tour she had promised him. "So how long are you staying in the city?"

"I'm not sure yet. It depends on my reasons to stay"

"Well, what about school?"

"I could ask you the same question" Landon pointed out with a faint smile.

"Right, well, I'm dealing with... family stuff and then I'm going back to the Salvatore School" Hope explained vaguely. "You're probably better off not roaming around at night here. Did you find a place to stay?"

"I did. Thanks for the tour"

"It's no problem. Honestly, I could use the distraction" Hope tugged down the sleeves of her jacket.

"Is there anything you want to talk about?" Landon asked. "I'm here if you want to talk. No matter how crazy it sounds" He wanted her to know he was there for her

The tribrid shook her head a little and continued walking. After a bit, she took a seat on a bench, and he sat down beside her, looking at her curiously. He didn't ask her again, not wanting to push her to talk. Just as he wouldn't want to be pushed to talk about what he had gone through in the prison world.

"My... my mom died a few days ago" Hope said finally, looking at the street ahead of them. "And it's hard to explain, but its my fault. And I haven't been able to get my mind off of it" She swallowed thickly.

Landon nodded a little at her words. "Well, whatever happened, whatever part in her death you think you played or did play, I'm sure she would forgive you. I doubt she'd blame you for it. I've met people. I've gotten good at reading people, and most of them aren't that great. But I can tell you're a good person, Hope. So whatever happened, try not to beat yourself up about it."

"You don't even know what i did."

"No, I don't, but I can tell you are a good person. I've always been able to see that."

"I've been trying to avoid family members" Hope said, though she looked like she wasn't sure why she was telling him this. "But when you live with a big group of them, its kind of hard to"

Landon looked at Hope, his gaze soft. "Whatever it is you're going through right now, you'll get through it. And remember you're not alone."

"I don't even know why I'm telling you this. Or why I'm spending time with you. It's better if I keep my distance"

"Better for who? It's okay to talk to people, Hope. And its okay if you dont. But just know you have people willing to listen and be here for you. I know you barely know me, but I'm here for you"

"Thank you, Landon" Hope said, looking at him. She suddenly stood up. "I should get back home."

Landon stood up and headed down the street with her once she started walking. "I'll walk with you"

"I'm fine, Landon"Hope said, but it then started raining as they neared the Mikaelson home.  She hesitated, "Do you want to come in to stay dry? Just for a little bit."

Landon hesitated. "No, I'll-I'll go but maybe I'll see you soon before either of us leave New Orleans"

"Yeah maybe. I'd like that" Hope said before swiftly going inside and closing the door.

He smiled a little and waited a moment before going off to the abandoned building. He slowly opened the door and took a step inside. Landon ran a hand through his wet, curly hair, moving away from windows so there was less of a chance he was seen but also close enough to the back exit he could take off.

He set his backpack down and unzipped it.  The unactivated phoenix took off his soaked shirt and replaced it with the Mystic Grill shirt before setting the other shirt out to dry. He needed to get more clothes. Figure out somewhere he could bathe here. Once it stopped raining, he'd go exploring. He needed to get a better idea on the area and what to do.

What should he do?

He knew the future. He knew what Hope would be forced to endure. What they all would have to go through. Maybe it would be better if he just... changed it. Maybe it would be smarter to ensure Malivore never rises.

Landon took a seat an put his head in his hands, trying to think about what should be done. He needed to help Hope. And if her mom was already dead, she likely had the Hollow magic in her already. But if she didn't, he needed to stop it. He loved her. And she deserved to be happy. It was the right thing to do.

Wasn't it?

After everything Hope does for everyone, doesn't she deserve to be happy and be able to live with her father?

[purplesurveys]

1235

survey by pinkchocolate

Have you ever watched any of those fashion vlogger videos where they go around cities and ask people about what they're wearing? Not into fashion/beauty vlogs in general, sooooooo nope.

Speaking of which, where did you get the clothes you are wearing today? My shirt I just got from my high school. No clue where the shorts came from.

What beverages do you have in your refrigerator right now? There’s several bottles of soju, a huge-ass bottle of gin my manager gave me just because, water, and I think also coconut water.

What products are you using on your hair these days? Shampoo and conditioner.

I see. Can you recommend a good hair product? Not really lol, I just use standard products.

Your most recent snack - was it something sweet or something savoury? It was savory.

How many cars does your household own? Two.

Do you prefer to read books in one sitting, or a few chapters at a time? Depends on how invested I am/how long the book is. I can definitely read books in one sitting, but there are some I’ll have to take breaks for. I don’t have a preference.

Where were you the last time 7PM came around? In the dining room, having dinner.

Are there many pizza places in your town/city? Which serves the best pizza? We have lots of pizza chains and you can always find one within a kilometer or two, but no independent pizza joints. But that said, I like Yellow Cab’s pizza the most.

When was the last time you went to a fast food restaurant? Which one? Reena, Hans, Angela, and I grabbed some meals at Taco Bell last Tuesday to have something to munch on before our trip to the BTS pop-up store - we went back since Reena hadn’t been able to join us the first time we went.

Do you have a favourite Elton John song? Nah. It’s a lyric in Permission To Dance but I don’t really listen to him lols

Have you recently heard any song that stirred a strong emotion inside you? Sure.

When was the last time you ate peanut butter? I had a very brief phase last month where I fixed myself a peanut butter sandwich every night before I turned in.

The last time you boiled water, what was it for? I made a cup of coffee last night.

If you have pets, are they ever mischievous? Kimi’s 13 so he hasn’t been mischevious in a while. That’s a position held by Cooper now.

Who did you last talk to on the phone? When did you last see them in person? My Lalamove rider. I had a package that arrived the other day and was informed by the shop to prepare cash on hand for the shipping fee...which I didn’t have. I was also in the middle of work so I couldn’t just go to the nearest ATM, so I had to call him up and ask if it would be possible to do cashless. He agreed, thank FUCK, so I just sent him the money through an e-wallet and gave a hefty tip as thanks since it had also been pouring like crazy that day. As for the second question, I only saw him that one time.

Which word processing software do you prefer to use? Google Docs, if I understand ‘word processing software’ correctly.

Do you own any hair straighteners? What brand? Not my own. I don’t like the look of my hair when it’s straightened, so I’ve never felt the need to get one of my own.

How old were your parents when they first met? They were 22.

When you were growing up what kind of music was in your parents' record collection? Mostly ballads.

I see. And do you think that influenced your musical taste at all? No. It’s quite different from theirs.

What did you have for lunch yesterday, if anything? I had brunch instead of lunch, but to answer the question I had kimchi rice with tocino and tomatoes, glazed ham, and bangus.

Do you enjoy watching home videos? I absolutely love them. I could spend hours watching home videos, regardless of who it’s of.

Has anyone you know become engaged recently? Someone from work but I don’t talk to her.

The last time you felt genuinely happy, what was the reason? Yesterday!!! I had a blast at my Korean language class and right after, Taehyung held a VLive with a Namjoon cameo, which I super fucking enjoyed. Then in the evening the boys were interviewed on Korean news and that was followed by Jimin posting a tweet and a couple of selfies at like 11 PM. I loved yesterday.

Do you own many hats? What does your favourite one look like? I just have one bucket hat but I really want to buy more + berets! The one I have is dark green and just has a simple Ivy Park design written on it.

What do you expect to be doing at this time tomorrow? Back at work.

[parkersjiggle]

I love jealous Tony ! It was a great read :) do you think you could do jealous Peter where they are in an established relationship ? Like at a restaurant an an old bf or gf of Tony comes up ☺️

Thank tou in advance 💜

Hi! Thank you! Here it FINALLY is, I hope you enjoy. ❤️

TW: jealous bimbo ex, non-consensual touching (?)

——————

Even though it’s been a year of being Tony Stark’s boyfriend, Peter still feels dizzy with admiration of how handsome his lover is, sharply dressed in an immaculate full-black suit and the midnight blue tie Peter helped pick out this morning.

He didn’t look too shabby himself with the crispness of his suit and the perfect tailoring Tony insisted on. Normally he would’ve complained, Peter already had a perfectly fine suit and he didn’t need Tony to spend even more money on him, but tonight was special. He wanted to look good for their anniversary, perfect for Tony.

Tony placed his arms around Peter, leaning closer to him. The softness and the gentle touch against his neck, made Peter’s back tingle. Whenever they were close like this his thoughts would usually stop as if his heart took over from his head. However, one thought seemed to remain tonight.

“You haven’t kissed me in like five whole minutes. It’s really upsetting.”

“Is that so, baby?” Tony smirked in a smug kind of way. “Let me make it up to you.” He gently leaned in, brushing his lips against Peter’s. Not innocently, like a tease but hot, fiery, passionate and demanding. Then he fully kissed him and the world fell away. It was slow and soft, comforting in ways that words would never be. Tony’s hand rested below Peter’s ear, his thumb caressing his cheek as their breaths mingled.

“M-much better.” He could feel the heat growing in his cheeks. By now they must be beyond an attractive rosiness. Peter had that kind of smile on his face that couldn’t hide the love that warmed him from within. It was a little silly how badly a simple kiss from Tony still affected him, how responsive he was to him.

It just felt so great to be loved. They were so relaxed in each other’s company, so caring. Their love for one another radiated from them. “That’s what I thought.” Tony winked at him, pulling his lover closer. His embrace was warm, and his big, strong arms seemed very protective when wrapped around the younger’s frail body. This was nice, perfect even, and he never wanted the moment to end. But then it did.

“Oh my gosh, Tony! Is that you? I can’t believe it!”

Peter really didn’t think he was the jealous type. That is until he sees the woman walking up to his boyfriend, acting as if Peter is nothing but mere air around them.

She was like all those models in the magazines, after they had been airbrushed of all the imperfections. Her butter colored hair fell perfectly around her shoulders, and she had the deepest blue eyes that could intimate even the strongest of men. Peter couldn’t help hating her, and that was before the introductions.

“Ah, Stacey. It’s been a while. Uh... Peter this is my old friend Stacey, Stacey this is Peter.” Tony pointed between the two of them, introducing them to one another.

“Oh please, Tony, we were more than friends, weren’t we?” She winked at him, completely ignoring Peter’s existence. And if Peter starts to see red when the long-haired blonde not so surreptitiously touches her hand on Tony’s arm, well, he has every reason to. This woman is blatantly flirting with his Tony, and that’s not okay. God, and that dress, the neckline of her shimmering gold gown dipped dangerously low, showing off her considerable assets. Peter nearly growled watching her.

He knew he should be used to it by now. Of course people would show an interest in Tony, who could blame them? An attractive, intelligent, billionaire who also happened to be a first class superhero. Peter got that, truly.

But he just really, really didn’t like it.

He didn’t want to cause a scene though, doesn’t want to wrap his fingers around her throat and use his super strength to make her eyes bulge out, definitely not, even though it would be very satisfying. Instead he tries to act mature, put on his big boy pants and show this blatantly transparent woman who Tony really belongs to.

“Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Tony’s boyfriend, Peter.” He then rested his arm on the back of Tony’s chair, brushing his fingers on Tony’s arm, just to let her know he wasn’t on the menu tonight. Tony was taken.

She scoffs, af if addressing her was the most offensive thing Peter could’ve done, and doesn’t waste any time in turning back to Tony. She flicks that butter blonde hair to one side in what he knows is a conscious act, Tony must see it too, right? Dangling from her perfect lobes are diamonds set in white gold. They are exquisite, accentuating the length of her neck. They probably cost more than most people make in a month. He realizes that he has held his gaze too long when her face turns into one of triumph.

She’d gaze through her overly made-up eyes with her cloying vapidity and laugh at anything Tony said, even if it wasn’t funny. She had a constant case of bedroom eyes and it was pissing Peter off.

“Hey, back off, Barbie,” Peter thought and caught himself. Whoa, where had that come from? He didn’t have time to question himself, for Tony looked over Blondie’s shoulder and smiled at him.

He knew Tony was only being polite. He never flirted back and it even seemed like he felt awkward, with the amount of times he coughed and cleared his throat, Peter was starting to think he had the flu.

Yet, that knowledge didn’t keep the green eyed monster at bay when her hands returned on his boyfriend, this time landing on his chest.

He narrowed his eyes into slits. Realizing he was holding his flute of champagne so tightly that it was in danger of shattering, he instead brought it to his lips and downed it all with one swallow before beckoning the waiter for another drink.

At her wandering hands, Tony’s usually fond expression completely disappeared into a much harder one. His brown eyes looking over Stacey with irritation. Yet, he still doesn’t say anything.

Peter - and perhaps the glasses of champagne had something to do with it - does though. “Okay enough is enough. The time for being polite is over cause clearly you don’t recognize a no when it’s waving in front of your face. He’s not interested in you. I know you miss him with the kind of sadness that sinks your bones into the earth, and I know you’d do anything to get him back, I get that. I would too if I lost a man like him. But, sweetheart, you were nothing but entertainment, something pretty on his arm, a little bit of eye candy maybe. If you really want to pleasure him, make him happy,” he stands up, getting in her face, “then leave.” Even Peter himself recoils a little from the venom in his voice. And clearly she does too because with a heated glare, she walks away, to the sound of Tony snickering.

“You do realize that I’ve already patented the right to be the emotionally unstable, immature and insecure one in this relationship, right? Do I need to call my lawyers and start a law suit? cause I won’t have you coming for my title.” He grinned, clearly seeing the amusement in this situation.

“Ha, very funny, Tony. You know, you could’ve said something right? Then maybe I wouldn’t have had to lose my cool and look like the crazy obsessed boyfriend.” He rolled his eyes at Tony.

“Let them think what they want,” he turns with that serious look that still has his trademark warm eyes. There was something in those brown eyes that was so beautiful, so safe and warm. In just one look he was home, “so long as you’re by my side, love, the rest of the world can go fuck themselves.” And that’s just what Peter needed to hear, that he’s Tony’s for now and into the future... that there will be a future. Cause all thoughts have the potential to grow toxic, but insecurities are born hungry.

“I’m sorry I really didn’t mean to get so intense.” Peter spoke softly. Tony shook his head. “Don't be, you're adorable when you're jealous," he teases, his voice drops to a huskier tone as he adds, "and I'll make it all up to you later tonight, baby."

Peter gulps loudly, pupils dilating already. “Promise?” He whispers. Tony wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close, gently rubbing. Despite the heaviness in his stomach, Peter fluttered at the feeling of his body pressed against Tony’s. It almost felt like holding him wasn’t quite enough. Peter had to feel every once that he is press into every ounce that is Tony. “I promise.” He whispers back just as quietly, kissing the top of Peter’s head.

———————

You’re always welcome to send in more prompts!

[kareofbears]

day 30: dusk

Hawaii is hot, beautiful, crowded, and decidedly not downtown Tokyo.

---

(Or, the Hawaii school trip rewritten.)

He's about to leave his hotel room when his phone starts ringing. Akira sighs, and swipes up.

"I said to call when you get there."

"Hello to you too, Futaba," Akira greets the pouting girl on the screen. "Sorry, things got busy."

"For five days!? Do you hate me?"

"I could never!" He exclaims, mock offended. "I just wanted to get you the perfect souvenir, unless you don't want the super cool Featherman stickers I saw in a gift shop—"

She gasps, pushing her face right up against the camera, screen blurring as she shakes her phone around. "You’re lying, Kurusu! There's no way you found the limited edition American Featherman laptop stickers there!"

"Mm, I'd be willing to cough it up, but only if an annoying brat is willing to forgive me."

"I forgive you, I forgive you!" She shrieks, eyes glimmering with excitement in a near dangerous way. "Okay, go have fun! Buy more of the stickers, too! I could sell them for big bucks in Japan."

"We are not ruining the merch economy, Futaba."

"You're no fun."

"I'm going now. Be good, you monster."

"Over my dead body would I ever do something good."

----

"That looks fun."

Makoto looks up from her place in the sand, a bucket in her hand. "It is. Would you like to join me?"

Akira nods, and sits beside her. He peers at her mediocre pile. There’s no design or meaning to it—It’s truly just a small mound of sand. "Is that supposed to be a sand castle?"

"Yes," she sighs. "I'm glad you can tell, at least. I've been trying to train myself to accept not being good at some things right away, so I decided to try and create a sandcastle; a task I've never practiced before."

"You never take a break, do you?"

"Well, I wouldn't exactly call this working," Makoto replies, filling her bucket with white sand. "Though how people create such tall sand castles are beyond me. How do they do it without some adhesive of some kind?" She then dumps the entire bucket onto her pile, grains sliding down as gravity takes hold. It settles back to its original, lackluster heap of sand. "Quite the predicament."

Akira stares at her. "Is that how you've been doing it this whole time?"

"Yes. Is something wrong?" She fills up another bucket of sand.

"Well—" Dump. "That's not...really how you do it."

She frowns. "I wish you'd told me that sooner, I've been working on this for fifteen minutes, and it would be a waste of time to—" Suddenly, a screaming child runs through her pile, flinging sand into both of their eyes.

After a solid minute of coughing and aggressive rubbing, Makoto turns to Akira. "A lesson would be excellent, thank you."

----

“Ooo, look at this one!” Ann exclaims, peering closely at massive, floral-themed sunglasses.

The two of them are strolling through the shopping district of their resort, pointing at random knick-knacks and giving their hot takes on them. To everyone’s surprise, Ann and Yusuke make excellent shopping partners; Yusuke is really the only one who can keep up with Ann’s insatiable need to shop, and he never butters up his response. In return, Ann listens closely to whatever advice he can give about aesthetics and color coding outfits.

“Tacky, but definitely in with the spirit of our island here,” he nods. “I think you should buy it. It will definitely bring some color into the dreariness of Tokyo.”

“You think?” Ann wears them, and looks in a mirror. “Not too much?”

“No, especially if you pair them with the blouse you bought in Shibuya.”

“The white one? Really?”

“Absolutely.”

“Alright,” Ann nods. “I trust you! But if Ryuji laughs at me, I will be throwing these at his head.”

“What on earth does he know about the art of aesthetics and fashion? Certainly not close to the knowledge that you and I possess, surely?”

Ann grins. “This is why you rock, Yusuke.”

“Thank you.”

They pay for her shades before continuing their stroll through the pavilion.

“Thanks for helping me out!” Ann says, basking in the sun. “Ever since Shiho moved, I don’t really feel like I have a friend who I can shop with. I mean, there’s Haru, or Makoto, or even Akira, but I feel like I bore them after a while.”

“My pleasure,” Yusuke replies, every step he takes deliberately putting himself underneath the shade. “I can see no better use of my schedule than practicing the art of color-coding in real time rather than in front of a canvas.”

She hums. “Are you gonna buy anything?”

“Oh, lord no,” he scoffs. “To spend my money on something such as souvenirs when I can hardly imagine paying for my next meal is laughable. No, I’m perfectly content with simply aiding you on your journey.”

Ann blinks at him, before gasping loudly. “I know, I know!” She whirls in front of Yusuke, clapping her hands together. “To thank you for always being with me on my shopping trips, how about I, Takamaki Ann, will buy you one thing in this entire shopping district, free of charge!”

Yusuke frowns. “I can’t possibly do that to you.”

“Sure you can! Think of it as a thank you for being my shopping best friend!” She grips his forearm tightly, eyes twinkling. “Come on, it’ll be fun! Please!”

Yusuke shifts in place, torn. “Only if you’re certain—”

“Heck yeah, I am! Let’s go!”

=

“How about a nice shirt?”

Yusuke tilts his head, holding an armful of fake coconuts. “I have a shirt back at home.”

“Yeah, but…okay, nevermind.” Ann sighs. Shopping for Yusuke is turning out to be a headache. Every time she offers something, he always seems to find a reason not to get it.

“Oo, how about a hat?” She says, showing him a very cheesy red hat with the word ‘Aloha’ written on the top.

“I’m not a fan of hats. To restrict the brain would be to restrict the mind.”

Ann holds back a groan. She wishes Akira were here—his mental alignment with Yusuke is miles better than hers. “Sorry, Yusuke, I’m out of ideas.”

“That’s quite alright,” Yusuke smiles. “I do have to thank you for the offer--” He stops, eyes zoning in on something behind her. “My goodness,” he whispers, before running.

“Wh-what? Wait up!”

Yusuke lifts a massive tiki head, mouth agape. “It’s brilliant…” he mutters, gently brushing the wood with his thumb. “Look at the intricate carving, the colors, the size!” He gasps, before turning to her desperately, still clutching his artifact. “Ann. I need it.”

Ann opens her mouth, before closing it, teeth clacking together. It’s better not to question Yusuke, and she has to wonder why she even tried to offer something normal to him when, in reality, he’s anything but. “Sure thing.”

They walk out of the store five minutes later, Ann’s shades still perched on top of her head and Yusuke happily carrying a 3 foot tiki head.

----

Akira's sitting underneath the shade of an umbrella when Haru decides to visit.

"Hello, there."

He looks up, sunglasses darkening the figure in front of him. She’s wearing her bright teal swimsuit with a large, white sun hat on her head. "Wanna join?" he asks, patting the sand beside him.

"I'd love to," she replies, settling down beside him. "What are you doing?"

"Making sure Ryuji doesn't drown." At her inquisitive look, he continues, "He's been trying to surf for the past twenty minutes."

"Ah, I see. Are you not interested in joining?"

"Not a fan of getting in water if I can help it. You?"

"I prefer to enjoy the sun with some reading," she gestures to the book in her hands: Flowerpedia.

"I'm surprised you haven't read that one before."

"I have!" She smiles, and he mimics her in return. It's nice to see Haru happy despite all odds. "But I like to reread it when I can't actually garden. It still lets me feel as though I'm on the school rooftop this way."

"I'll let you get to it then."

Akira enjoys the sun as Haru flicks open her book. With the waves crashing, the winds blowing, and people around them laughing amongst themselves, it makes for a calming atmosphere.

After a few minutes, Haru looks up from her book. "Oh, would you look at that,” They both watch as Ryuji finally stands on his surfboard, knees shaking. His brow is furrowed in intense concentration, even more so than in group study sessions (which, in reality, doesn’t mean much). "He's doing quite well."

Akira raises his hands and cups it over his mouth. His voice turns high pitched, "Looking cool, Sakamoto-senpai!"

Ryuji looks up, eagerly looking to see which cute kouhai is calling his name before slipping off the board, submerging in water completely as his surfboard continues to ride the current without him.

Haru purses her lips, trying not to laugh. "Too cruel, Akira-kun."

"I think of it as ‘just right.’"

----

“Yo, Haru! Ann!”

The girls turn around to see Ryuji enthusiastically running towards them, a hand behind his back.

“Hello Ryuji-kun,” Haru smiles. “You seem happy.”

“You bet I am! Because, I, Sakamoto Ryuji,” he rips his hand up, showcasing a neon green frisbee. “Bought a motherfuckin’ frisbee! Oops, sorry Haru.”

“I told you, I don’t mind if you swear.”

“A frisbee?” Ann asks, skeptical. “You’re that excited over a piece of plastic?"

“Hey! Have you ever played frisbee on a beach? It’s fu-frick, ugh, whatever, it’s amazing! It tires you out like crazy and it’s super fun. Plus, there ain’t much places to throw a frisbee around in Tokyo, unless you wanna get hit by a car or something.” He grins widely, jumping in place. “So? How about it? Wanna play a few rounds?”

“Ugh, pass. Sounds lame."

“What?! I spent a crazy amount of money on this thing—screw gift shops by the way, they're monsters—and you’re gonna call it lame?”

“Don’t worry Ryuji-kun!” Haru says kindly. “I’d love to play frisbee with you”

“Aw, you’re a lifesaver!” Ryuji whoops. “Unlike this killjoy over here.”

Ann rolls her eyes. “Whatever. I’m meeting with Akira. Later, Haru.”

Ryuji and Haru separate a good few meters apart and begin to lightly throw the frisbee from each other.

“Would you like to have more distance between us?” Haru calls after a few minutes of tossing. “I’d hate to feel like I’m boring you.”

“Only if you want! Don’t wanna make you sweat or nothin’.”

“I want to!” Haru says, determined. “To learn a skill like proper throwing and the technicalities of a perfect aim is helpful in our endeavor!”

“Hell yeah, that’s the badass Haru I know! Okay, let’s get some distance in here.”

The two of them separate even further, to the point where they have to scream in order to have a conversation.

“Is this good?!” Haru yells, holding the frisbee in her hand.

“Totally!” Ryuji shouts back. “Throw it!”

Haru takes a deep breath, and throws the frisbee with all her might. Perhaps it was her passion for learning new things, or maybe it was simply because she really, really wanted it to reach Ryuji in a beautiful arc where it would land directly in his waiting hands—instead, the neon green frisbee that was lovingly bought with Ryuji's pocket money is flung, gliding into the ocean. They watch in silence as it floats, far and away, until it’s out of sight.

Ryuji does his best to go through the five stages of grief in as little time as possible.

Haru sprints towards him, apologies already bubbling from her lips, promising to buy him ten frisbees and ‘I'm so sorry I don't know what happened Ryuji-kun, come on let's go back to the gift shop.’ In the end, Ryuji successfully turns down her offer, opting instead that they split a banana split back in the hotel.

"I don't know what happened," Haru sighs, shoving strawberry ice cream in her mouth. "I must have thrown it much too hard, I'm—"

"If you say sorry again, I'm making you eat the banana."

She frowns. "Do you not like the banana part of a banana split?"

"Of course not, do I look like someone who likes fruits? Anyway, point is, stop apologizin'! No harm, no foul."

"You looked devastated, Ryuji-kun."

He waves it off. "That's fine. What do they say in English? C'est la vie?"

"I'm... pretty sure that's not English. But please, one last time, allow to me apologize—"

"What, for being too strong?" He asks, eyebrow quirking up. "Look, I know you're my senpai and all, but lemme say this." Ryuji scoops a spoonful of chocolate in his mouth before continuing. "Never apologize for being too strong, especially in a shi-crappy world like this, okay? Lotsa people wish they have what you have, and people who are strong seem to be doin' awesome! I mean, look at Ann—she can probably kick my ass!"

"But she wouldn't."

"She wouldn't," he shrugs. "Doesn't mean that she can't, though. Anyway, for the last time," he points his spoon at her seriously, dripping with melting ice cream. "It's chill. You’re strong and that's awesome. Probably from all the dirt you carry, or weeds you pull out, or something."

Haru giggles. "Thank you, Ryuji-kun."

"No prob! Hey, let's see if we can get away with fillin’ up an entire bowl with caramel sauce!"

"I don't think that's the best idea."

----

"Akiraaaaa~"

"Yes, Ann?"

She grins, donned in her bikini and proudly shoving her phone in his face. Her beach bag hangs off of her shoulders. "Photoshoot?"

He pretends to think about it. "Only if I get compensated."

"You'll get compensated through a movie when we get back?"

"Deal."

Ann chooses a nice, empty spot on the beach; a seemingly impossible task given that Hawaii is a magnet for tourists. "This place is perfect!"

"It is," he agrees. "Any particular angles you're feeling right now?"

"You know my good ones," Ann says, throwing her bag down. She'd dragged him to enough of her photoshoots that he can practically mimic them, in order, alongside her.

Akira nods, and they get to work. She gives him a variety of poses—playful, confident, flirty, and he tries his best to channel his inner Ohya and get the best shots possible (at least, enough for ‘the ‘Gram,’ as she would affectionately call it). At one point, Akira has his stomach against the sand to capture her angles, to the amusement of the people watching.

"Ooo, what a cameraman!" Ann calls, one leg in the air, mid-pose.

"Only the best for the next Vogue superstar."

She laughs, but abruptly stops when a rough, deep, unknown voice yells at them.

"Show us more, sweetheart!"

Ann makes eye contact with a massive bodybuilder, eyeing her. She giggles. "Only if you come here!"

Akira clenches his jaw as the man saunters over to her, clearly thrilled to have Ann's attention. "What's your name, honey?"

Ann smiles, leaning over, having the man salivating behind her. Then, she picks up her bag and slams it across the guy's jaw. "My name is eat shit, asshole!"

He stumbles back, shocked and clutching his jaw. "You're fucking crazy!" He spits out, backing away from her, before stomping in another direction.

Akira sits up, smiling, and puts his hand up to her. "Good one."

"Thanks!" She enthusiastically high-fives him. "Was it too much?"

"The ‘eat shit’ thing? No, it's pretty classy."

"Right? It really gets the message across!"

"You want more pictures?"

After a second, she answers, "Nah, I’m good. I am down for a selfie though."

He smiles, and they both throw bunny ears around each other, both grinning at the camera.

----

"You okay there?"

Yusuke groans, eyes closed, leaning his head back on the sofa. His hand absent-mindedly rubs his bloated stomach. The two of them are sitting alone in the hotel buffet lounge on a table that's too big for them. Everyone else had left already, too impatient to wait for Yusuke to finish. "I feel that death is approaching."

Akira grimaces in sympathy. "Was it before or after the third plate of fried squid?"

"Before." He sighs. "I am not accustomed to so much food being available to me that I may have been a tad too eager."

"I can see that," Akira pushes his glass of water towards his mildly green-looking friend. "Drink that when you can."

"Thank you, but if I attempt to put anything in my mouth right now..." he shivers. "I cannot imagine it."

"Wanna try walking it off?"

Yusuke considers it. "Yes, that would suffice."

Akira helps Yusuke up, not unlike helping an aging Saint Bernard stand, and together they make their way to the beach.

He breathes in deeply, smiling ever so slightly. "As always, a great decision, leader. I feel my insides cleansing with the salt of the ocean."

"Do you like the ocean?"

"Yes. In truth, this is only my second time going; the first being when we went in the summer," he hesitates, before admitting, "Sensei didn't like to take us places as it could have been a distraction from making art."

"That's weird," Akira says. "Since places and experiences can help you make art, can't it?"

"My thoughts exactly. Sensei seemed to have forgotten how art is truly created, instead remembering how art can be acquired," he looks to the ocean, eyes distant. "A shame, since the ocean truly is something remarkable that cannot be captured without seeing it in real life."

He takes in Yusuke's expression, the way he stares longingly at the sea, and asks, "Do you want to make art now?"

"I'd love to, but my canvases were taken away during customs," he grimaces. "A shame, since I had brought five as well. What a waste of good supplies."

Akira tugs on his fringe. "You know, sand is almost like a textured canvas, isn't it?" He traces a smiley face on the sand with his heel. "Check it out."

Yusuke blinks. "Yes, but then I won't be able to take it back with me. It would eventually be washed away, or stepped on, or—"

"Yeah but you're not doing this to put it in a gallery, aren't you?" Akira asks, smiling at Yusuke. "This is just so you have a way to make art and enjoy it."

His eyes widen, before Yusuke chuckles quietly. "You truly have an interesting mind, leader."

"You and me both."

"Alright!" Yusuke starts, clapping his hands together. "Allow me to make art, not for a museum, nor for any of these pedestrians, but for myself."

Akira watches Yusuke make intricate patterns on the white sand for forty minutes; true to his word, he was constantly interrupted by kids sprinting across his make-shift canvas, waves washing it away, and at one point someone had dropped their entire surfboard right in the middle of it all.

Yusuke steps back, and admires his work. It’s barely comprehensible—just a lot of swirls and lines, but he's smiling wider than Akira’s ever seen.

"What do you think?"

"Does it matter what I think?" Akira shrugs. "I thought you never liked making art for others' opinion."

"I'd be willing to say you're the exception."

He grins, and claps his hand on Yusuke’s shoulder. "If that's the case, then I'd say it's perfect."

----

"Three-on-three, girls against boys."

Haru puts her hand up politely. "Pardon the accusation Mako-chan, but it seems that the teams may be unfair to us girls. After all, the tallest of us is Ann, who's only 5'6."

"Nah," Ryuji shakes his head, pointing an accusatory finger at Makoto. "You weren't there when we went to the beach before. She spikes down on us, no problem. Fuckin' hurts to try and block her, too. If anything, girls’ll have the advantage here.”

"But don’t worry about them, either," Ann pipes up. "They'll have Akira on the team. He makes a great setter."

"Not to mention that Yusuke is literally 5'11," Akira points out, hand raised to block out the intense Hawaiian sun.

Ryuji looks at Yusuke, as if only now seeing his height. "Huh. Damn, you're tall, huh? Like a telephone post, or something."

"I'll take that as a compliment; without telephone posts, we cannot use telephones."

"Hell yeah, we can't!" he grins, despite Yusuke's lackluster response. "You'll earn us a ton of points dude!"

Yusuke smiles. "You can rely on me."

=

"Yusuke!" Ryuji wails, frustrated. "You can't just stand and put your arms up to block! You gotta jump! Like this!" He demonstrates. "You're just letting all her spikes in at this rate!"

"But," Yusuke frowns. "If I jump too much, I start to sweat."

"Then take off that goddamn hoodie!"

"Hmm, that's possible. However, too much sun isn't good for me. It makes me sweat."

Ryuji screams, and Akira pats his back.

The score is roughly 22 - 8, girls in the lead. Haru makes for a good setter with her steady hands, and Makoto has never hesitated about anything in her life, which both add up to a dangerous combo. On the other side of the net, the only reason they earned their meager set of points is from Akira's setter dumps. Anytime he tries to set to Ryuji, Ryuji gets so excited that he either misses the timing, or simply forgets to jump. Though, Ryuji is fantastic at receiving the ball, from his stamina and fast reflexes. Yusuke, however, refuses to receive any of Makoto's spikes, opting instead to tilt his body out of her line of fire.

"It's okay, Yusuke!" Haru calls encouragingly from the other side. "Volleyballs are pretty scary sometimes!"

"Thank you Haru, but I am truly unperturbed by the point gap."

"You should be!" Ryuji screeches.

"It's not just his fault, you idiot!" Ann yells back, all too happy to pick on Ryuji. "You're the one that can't run and jump at the same time!"

"Sh-shut up! You're letting Haru and Makoto do all the work!"

"That's way better than losing by fourteen points!"

“How long did it take you to do that mental math, Takamaki? Or did Makoto whisper the answer to you?”

“Which one of us got 29% on the last math practice exam, because it wasn’t me!”

"How about we grab food?" Makoto cuts in. "It's about that time, anyway."

"Food sounds good," Akira says quickly, eager to lower Ryuji’s blood pressure.

Yusuke nods, pleased. "Yes, I was just about famished, anyway."

"Akira told me you almost threw up."

"That was nearly two hours ago. Everything has been digested."

"I worry about you, Yusuke."

----

"Hey."

Akira turns around to see Ryuji kicking the ground, making tiny sand clouds with his flip flops. The sun is about to set soon, casting their chunk of Hawaiian beach in an ethereal golden glow. Thankfully, with the lack of heat, there are substantially less people wandering around, and it can almost be considered peaceful. Quiet, even.

"Hey, yourself."

Ryuji rubs the back of his neck, "I'm not really hungry yet. You?"

Akira feels himself smile. "Can't say that I am. Wanna walk?"

"Almost like you read my mind."

So they walk along the shoreline, flip flops in their hands as they talk, waves lapping at their feet as they laugh about nothing and everything, basking in the sunlight and in each other's company. Akira kicks sand at Ryuji's feet which led to him trying to push Akira into the waves, losing his balance, and falling into the ocean himself. After they both nearly cry with laughter, they both decided to take a break on a nearby bench.

"Man," Ryuji sighs, hair still wet with salt water. “Hawaii is nice as hell. Can’t find a beach like this in Japan, ya know?” Ryuji looks at the sunset in front of them wistfully. “Makes me wish my Ma could see it. She’s always wanted to visit warm places, but she’s always working, never got the time.” His eyes light up, “Maybe I could take a couple pictures! I bet she’d love that.”

“She would,” Akira agrees. In the few times he’s met Sakamoto-san, she’s a huge sentimental sweetheart who thinks the world of her son. “Want me to take some of you?”

Ryuji thinks about it. “How about let’s take one together? She’d be happy to have proof that I’m not just making shit up about having friends.”

“Sure thing.”

The two of them crowd around Ryuji’s phone, Akira smiling softly while Ryuji grins, throwing peace signs, snapping a photo, before pulling back again. “Aw, she’d love this!” He grins. “This ain’t actually half bad, either.”

“Send it to me,” Akira says, peering over his shoulder. “I’ve been needing a new background, anyway.”

Ryuji stares at Akira, ears red. “S-sure, dude.”

They watch the waves crash against the shore. "I can't believe today's our last day,” Ryuji sighs. “I feel like nothing even happened."

Akira hums, making mindless circles into the sand with the very tip of his toes. "Did you want something to happen?"

"I mean, nothing specific. All I know about Hawaii was that they had beaches and shit," he shifts slightly. "The one thing I actually wanted to happen was to hang out with you a whole bunch, and even then I feel like I didn't get that."

"Well, we're here now, aren't we?"

Ryuji looks up at Akira, and after a beat of silence, he laughs. "Yeah, I guess we are." He bumps shoulders with him, grinning. "Look at you, sayin' shit like that, thinking you're so cool."

"Oh, I am the coolest. Arguably, I'd say I'm the coolest guy around."

"Yeah, next to Mishima, maybe."

"You don't think I'm cool?"

"I didn't say that!"

"So you do think I'm cool?"

It might be the warm sun or the general heat of the island, but his face flushes a bright red. After a moment of spluttering, he mumbles, "I think you're cool as hell."

Akira blinks, completely caught off guard. He tries to say a joke, like hell can’t be cool, Ryuji, but his heart is hammering so hard that his body can’t seem to cooperate.

"Oh," Ryuji goes on, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I was looking through the gift shop for my Ma’s souvenir and I found something for you!"

He fishes out two small keychains; two flip flops, one left, one right. They're designed with a tacky Hawaiian print and coconuts all over. Ryuji hands one to Akira. "We could match, see?" He rubs the back of his neck again. "Thought it was neat cause if we both have one, it's like we're walking side by side! Or, you know, something like that." His flush deepens, spreading all the way down his neck and splitting his chest. "Or not, it's probably super lame and tacky, it only cost like, 4 dollars, which is like 40 yen, right? Anyway, my bad for ruining the mood—"

"I love it," Akira breathes.

Ryuji's eyes widen before he quickly turns away. "Cool, cool." He looks to the sunset, too overwhelmed to look at the boy next to him. "We should probably head back, yeah? Bet Yusuke and Ann are eating half the buffet by now."

Akira scoots closer, shoulder to shoulder with the boy beside him. "Then let them."

They sit there for a few more minutes, watching the sky slowly turn violet, matching keychains hanging loosely from their fingertips.

[unfolded73]

Husbands: Two Years In (5/5) - schitt’s creek ff

Here it is, the final chapter!  There's nothing I can say that can get across how touched I've been by the comments on this fic. The number of people who have shared things about their own struggles with mental health -- I'm not worthy of it. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

While I'm including this fic as part of the "Labels" series, the preceding fics are not required reading. Previous fics in this series: Boyfriends; “I Love You”, Partners, Fiancés

Warning: This fic deals with depression as one of its major topics.

Rated Explicit, this chapter 4718 words. (ao3)

Thanks to @high-seas-swan for cheerleading and B13_MaybeThisTime for many valuable comments (and also cheerleading).

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 5: Winter

“So how was your week?” Jessica asked.

Patrick always felt like he should plan before therapy what he was going to talk about, but he never remembered to do that.

“It was a little crazy. The holidays at the store always are, although it’s very lucrative. The money we make in December will carry us through at least half of the upcoming year,” he said, pinching the webbing on one hand between his thumb and forefinger of the other.

“And did you feel more equipped to handle that? The busy store, and all your responsibilities around that? Especially with Christmas a few days away?”

Patrick shrugged, feeling obstinate. “I don’t know.”

Jessica let a silence settle, waiting for him to talk. Patrick hated this part; it made him feel like he was failing at therapy when he didn’t know how to fill that silence. What the right answer was. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the sofa cushions, calling her bluff.

Finally, she relented and spoke, and Patrick felt like he’d won a round of whatever game they were playing. “You’ve never said much in here about your sexual orientation other than to talk about your husband and to say that things with your family are good. Was it always that way?”

Patrick tried not to roll his eyes. He knew this would be coming eventually. He’d been avoiding the subject of Rachel or his coming out process because he knew it would be something Jessica would fixate on. “I’m not depressed because of being gay, or… or anything to do with that. I love being gay.”

She smiled genuinely. “I’m glad. But humor me.”

“My parents always accepted me,” he said quickly, but that felt like a lie even though it was technically true.

“How old were you when you came out?” Jessica asked.

Patrick let out a frustrated sigh, seeing no way to avoid the truth now. “I was… I was in denial about being gay for a long time.” Might as well get it all out, he thought. “When I was twenty-nine I broke off an engagement to my high school sweetheart — who was a woman — and moved away from my hometown. Pretty soon after that, I realized I was gay.”

“That must’ve been hard,” Jessica said.

“Yeah, but once I got through it and… and got together with David, I’d never been happier.”

He couldn’t help but see the smile she gave him in response to that as patronizing. “New love can flood the body with so many good chemicals that it swamps out all of the bad ones.”

Patrick narrowed his eyes. “Are you saying I wasn’t happy?”

“No, I’m saying that the way you’ve framed things in some of our past sessions — that you were depressed before you moved here, and then you weren’t, and now for some reason you’re depressed again… that may not be the right way to frame it. Do you think perhaps it puts a lot of pressure on David as the source of your happiness?”

“I don’t put pressure on David,” Patrick protested.

“Is it possible that you put pressure on yourself, then? When it comes to your relationship with David and its importance in your life?” Jessica asked.

Patrick huffed and didn’t answer. Now she was contradicting herself from one sentence to the next.

“When did you come out to your family?” she asked.

“That isn’t why I’m depressed either,” he said.

Jessica sighed like he was finally challenging her constant state of serene acceptance. “Untangling the web of depression isn’t straightforward. It might be helpful to pull on different threads and see what they’re connected to. Okay?”

Patrick supposed that made sense. “Okay.” Then after another pause, he admitted, “It took me a while to come out to my parents.”

“Why is that?”

He stared at Jessica’s bookshelf for several seconds, his eyes running over the titles without reading them. “I worried that my parents wouldn’t be okay with it. They didn’t talk about gay people when I was a kid, really. Or when they did, they made it sound like a sad thing that we needed to tolerate because it wasn’t a choice. You know, that brand of ‘tolerance’ that is just that and nothing more.”

She shot him a sympathetic look. “It’s understandable why you were hesitant to come out to them.”

“But they were great about it. It wasn’t long after coming out to them that I asked David to marry me, and they were great. They love him, and all my worries were unfounded,” he said, trying to figure out why tears were threatening to spill over.

Jessica took a few seconds to rearrange herself, setting her ever-present portfolio aside and leaning forward on with her elbows on her knees. “I understand that, looked at a certain way, you’ve had a purely positive experience with coming into your sexuality. You had David, who from what you’ve said before is a very loving person. And based on what you’ve told me, you live in an accepting community. And then your parents stepped up and were there for you when you asked them to be. That’s all wonderful, and not to be discounted. But it doesn’t change the fact that for all of your formative years, when maybe on some subconscious level you did know that you were gay, or at least different in some fundamental way, you didn’t feel like your parents or the community you were living in would accept you. That kind of experience leaves a mark, even though everything turned out fine.”

She smirked, leaning backwards again. “Or not. Perhaps your serotonin is low due to simple physiology and I’m completely off the mark.”

Patrick felt strangely reassured by this honesty, this admission that she knew that she didn’t know everything. “So I need medication, then?”

“Maybe,” she said. “Medication might help. Or cognitive behavior therapy could help you. Or both together.”

His reassurance quickly dissolved, leaving Patrick wanting to scream at his therapist, fix me, goddammit! Instead he said, “That all sounds very nebulous.”

She grinned. “From what I know about you so far, I bet that’s driving you crazy, and I’m sorry about that. Can you bear with me for a little while, though? Work through the process?”

He sighed. “I’ll try.”

~*~

Patrick drove past the empty storefront on Elmdale’s main street as he was leaving his therapy appointment. He’d noticed every week that the ‘for lease’ sign was still in the window. After the second time he saw it, he’d texted Ray to ask if that was the space he’d mentioned to David. David hadn’t said anything about the second Rose Apothecary location in a while, but it didn’t take a genius to guess that he was still thinking about it, and probably wondering when Patrick would be ready to seriously entertain the idea again.

On impulse, he pulled into one of the parking spaces that lined the street and got out of the car, walking over to the empty storefront. The windows were covered in paper, but he could see enough through the gaps to make out that it had a scuffed up hardwood floor. It would need to be refinished, he thought, but it looked like it was in pretty good shape.

The smell of coffee attracted Patrick’s attention, and he looked over to see that there was a coffee shop next door. Grind House, the sign that hung under the awning said. Curious, Patrick went over and opened the door.

The barista looked up and waved. It being around two in the afternoon on a weekday, the place was mostly empty other than two people at a table in the corner who were huddled over laptop computers. The shop was decorated tastefully for Christmas, and he thought David would approve of the warmth and coziness of the space.

“Hey, what can I get you?” the barista — Taylor, her name tag read — asked him with a smile. Tattoos snaked out from under the sleeves of her t-shirt, black ink against dark brown skin.

“A small earl grey tea?” he asked.

“Sure thing. Is that it? We’ve got a few pastries left.”

His eyes strayed over to the pastry case. “Yeah, could I get a couple of those butter tarts to go? My husband is a real connoisseur.”

Taylor grinned at him. “Smart man.”

“Hey, what do you know about the empty space next door? Do you know if there’s been any interest in it?”

“Oh man, I’m still bummed about that. It used to be a comic book shop. I was afraid to go in there for the longest time — comic stores aren’t necessarily the most welcoming places to black queer women, you know? But the old guy that ran it was super nice. I remember he made a point of telling me when Ta-Nahisi Coates started writing Captain America.”

“What happened to the store?”

She shrugged. “Amazon drove him out of business, I guess. That’ll be $9.25,” she said ringing up his tea and butter tarts. As Patrick put his debit card in the reader, she added, “Why do you ask?”

“Oh.” He scratched his cheek. “My husband and I run a store in Schitt’s Creek. Rose Apothecary?”

“Holy shit, really? A friend gave me some of your lotion for my birthday. It’s great.”

Patrick swelled with pride. “Thanks. Anyway, we’re considering opening a second location in Elmdale.”

Taylor smirked, handing him his tea and a box with the tarts. “Sorry, I can’t allow you to have a store right next door to my coffee shop. I’ll spend all my profits there.”

Laughing, Patrick accepted his purchases. “Oh, well. Guess we’ll have to look for another place, then. Although David would return the favor, I’m sure.”

“What’s your name?” Taylor asked.

“It’s Patrick Brewer,” he said, setting the tea down again to shake her hand.

“Nice to meet you, Patrick. I’m Taylor. And I hope you guys get the space.”

“I… do too,” he said, surprised to find that he meant it.

The store was bustling when he got back to Schitt’s Creek, and David and Bethany were both busy with customers. Patrick put the box of butter tarts in the back room and went to work restocking Christmas decorations. Given how many decorations they sold every holiday season, Patrick had to assume that by now every Christmas tree in Elm County was fully outfitted in David Rose’s aesthetic.

As soon as David finished with the customers he was helping, Patrick went over and put a hand on his shoulder. “I got you something for your afternoon break,” he said. “There’s a white box on the table in the back.”

David’s eyes lit up, and he hurried into the back before he could be waylaid by another harried holiday shopper.

They didn’t have a chance to exchange any more conversation until Bethany finally flipped the sign on the door to Closed and locked up. Patrick felt dead on his feet, but he had to admit that the thought of all the money in the cash register made him feel pretty good. Bethany went to work cleaning the windows while David leaned against the center table.

“Oh my god, Patrick, where did you get those butter tarts? Those are the best ones I’ve had in years.”

Patrick walked over and put his arms around his husband, pulling him into a hug. “A little coffee shop in downtown Elmdale that happens to be next to an empty store that I believe Ray mentioned to you a couple of months ago.”

David pulled out of the hug, his eyes darting back and forth as he studied Patrick’s expression. “It’s still vacant?”

Nodding, Patrick leaned up and kissed David’s cheek. “We should call Ray after Christmas and go take a look at it.”

“Are you sure?”

Patrick shrugged. “No, I’m scared as hell. Among other things, I’m afraid I’m going to miss having days like this with you, working together in our store. But I want to go look.”

David kissed his lips gently. “Okay.”

~*~

Stevie stood shivering on their back porch, bundled up in her hat and puffy parka. “It’s way too cold for this,” she said.

Patrick exhaled pot smoke in a crystalline cloud of breath and handled the joint back to her. “Our families are getting here tomorrow and I don’t want the house to smell like weed.” He giggled. “It doesn’t match David’s holiday aesthetic.”

His phone chimed, and he took it out to look at it, expecting a complaint from David. Instead the text was from his cousin. There were no words, just a picture of Justin pressed cheek to cheek with another boy.

Patrick: Who’s this?

Justin 🌈: his name is Jonah

Patrick: Very cute. And closer to your age, I hope?

Justin 🌈: 🙄 you sound like my mom he’s 18

Patrick: Good. Merry Christmas, Justin.

Justin 🌈: thanks you too

Then a text arrived from David, just as Patrick expected. She’s got even more luggage than last year.

Patrick laughed. Maybe it’s a lot of presents for you, he texted back.

David: You give my sister entirely too much credit.

Patrick: See you soon.

“Why are you suddenly so fucking popular?” Stevie groused, her teeth chattering, handing him the joint back as he put away his phone.

“Sounds like Alexis’s flight got in on time,” he said. “And my cousin Justin has a new… boyfriend, I guess?” He took another hit.

“I can’t stand this anymore; I’m going inside,” Stevie said, taking the half-smoked joint from him and carefully extinguishing it, then putting it in a crumpled sandwich bag that she produced from her coat pocket. Patrick followed her back into the house. “Is this the cousin that you rescued a while ago?”

“How many gay cousins do you think I have?” he asked, pulling his coat off.

“I mean, statistically? Given how many cousins you have? More than one.” She flopped down on the sofa and stretched out on her back. “So are you liking your therapist any better?”

Patrick dropped into the overstuffed chair across from her. “I don’t know. As I predicted, she’s starting to fixate on my sexual orientation and…” He gestured airily in a very David way. “All that.”

Stevie turned her head and regarded him balefully. “The fact that you were in denial about being gay until you were thirty? And didn’t come out to your parents until you were ready to ask David to marry you? Is that what ‘all that’ is?”

“Fuck off,” Patrick grumbled.

“I’m just saying, there’s probably some stuff to unpack there.”

“Stevie, I’m completely comfortable with being gay,” he said.

“Didn’t say you weren’t. It’s not about you being gay, but maybe it’s about how you get so wrapped up in your obligations to other people that you lose track of yourself. Or that you’re so obsessed with not disappointing the people you care about that you have a hard time being truthful about who you are or what you need.”

Patrick blinked. “Wow. Maybe you should be my therapist.”

Stevie laughed. “The problem is, I need to be high to have these deep insights.”

They settled into comfortable silence for a few minutes. Finally Patrick admitted, “I don’t like the way it makes me feel cracked open.”

“What does?” Stevie asked, her mind clearly having wandered.

“Therapy.”

“Oh. Yeah, I don’t think I could deal with that either,” Stevie said.

“It’s like… you know how if you pick up a big rock in moist soil, there’ll be all these bugs underneath it?”

“Ew,” Stevie said in a perfect imitation of David, and the two of them burst into gales of laughter for a while. When Stevie finally got control of herself, she said, “Sorry, what about the bugs?”

He wiped away tears from his cheeks. “It was a metaphor for my brain. I’ve got a lifetime of practice not moving those rocks. I don’t know if I want to know what’s underneath them.”

“Yeah, I get that.” She stretched her toes out, brushing them against the arm of the sofa. “You know you’ll be okay though, right?”

Patrick felt a swell of love for Stevie and he would have hugged her, but it would probably be weird. Also he was comfortable in his chair. Maybe he’d hug her later.

When David arrived from retrieving Alexis at the airport, Patrick put his coat back on to help with the luggage. David opened a bottle of wine and turned the lamps in the living room off, leaving only the light from the Christmas tree to illuminate the four of them as they settled in to talk.

They told Alexis about the new location in Elmdale that they were considering leasing, and she made some marketing suggestions that were good enough that David went and retrieved his journal from the bedroom so that he could make some notes.

“One thing I’ve seen businesses do to get market penetration is sponsor relevant conferences,” Alexis said. “Like, professional association meetings. Then they get their business name and logo printed on everything for the conference — tote bags, lanyards, USB sticks, all that stuff.” Her free hand that wasn’t holding her wine glass flopped around to indicate all of the stuff.

“We don’t really have general store conferences,” Patrick said, bemused.

Alexis rolled her eyes. “But it works for other events too. Summer festivals, parades, whatever.”

“Elm Valley has a pumpkin festival every year,” Stevie said.

Patrick was starting to have a germ of an idea related to what Alexis had said. He sipped his wine and filed it away to mull over later, when he was sober.

Tomorrow, Johnny and Moira and his own parents would arrive and things would take a turn for the chaotic, but for right now, Patrick could enjoy the warmth of David’s hand on his shoulder as his husband bantered happily with his sister and his best friend. Leaning into the crook of David’s arm, Patrick smiled and tried to soak up all of the love in the room, an inoculation against the darkness that might lurk around the next bend in the road.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” David murmured against his spine later in their bed. Their kisses had been drowsy and a little bit drunk as they decided that sex was happening tonight in spite of their houseguests. Alexis was in the guest bedroom and Stevie had zonked out on the living room sofa, David tucking an afghan around her shoulders before he and Patrick went to bed themselves.

“It’s not Christmas yet,” Patrick said with a chuckle, writhing, pressed against the sheets as David worked him up and up.

“I know it’s not technically Christmas, but tonight was so nice,” David murmured into Patrick’s shoulder, words alternating with kisses. “It filled me with holiday spirit.”

Patrick tried not to laugh, he really did, but it was a losing battle. He made an attempt to smother his giggles into his pillow.

“If you say something about me filling you with the holiday spirit, it’s over between us.” The things he was doing to Patrick with his fingers belied that statement.

Laughing again, Patrick pushed his hips back against David’s hand, and then his laughter turned into a moan, and then neither of them said anything coherent for a long time.

~*~

The first town council meeting of the new year came on a grey January afternoon, the threat of snow on the horizon. Everyone was subdued and low energy, even Roland, and Patrick felt drowsy, struggling a little bit to pay attention and type at the same time that they discussed several budgetary issues. A lot of the topics were the same every meeting, with tiny, incremental changes almost too small to detect. Or worse, they were recurring issues that indicated no progress had been made at all.

When they got to the bottom of the agenda, Ronnie asked if there was any new business, and Patrick almost didn’t say anything. The idea that had occurred to him during the holidays had seemed strong on a happier day. Today, he wasn’t sure he had the energy to argue for it. But then he thought about the things Ronnie had said to him about queer activism, and he thought about Taylor and her coffee shop, and he opened his mouth.

“Have we ever considered having something in Schitt’s Creek for Pride?” he asked.

Ronnie raised her eyebrows. “What, like a parade?”

“No offense, but it might be kind of a sad little parade,” Roland said.

“No, not a parade. Like, a street festival. Tents with food and other vendors and LGBT educational booths. Opportunities for people to find out about meetings in the area. Maybe a stage with speeches and musical performances. And we don’t have to limit it to only Schitt’s Creek. I looked into it a little, and even Elmdale doesn’t have anything like it. We could draw vendors and patrons from all over Elm County.”

Ronnie crossed her arms. “Sounds like a way to line your own pockets. I assume Rose Apothecary would be one of the vendors?”

Patrick met her gaze. “I’m sure the rest of council could be counted on to keep us on a level playing field with everyone else. Come on, Ronnie. Can you honestly say it wouldn’t be a good thing for the community? And a good way to bring money into the town?”

She tilted her head in acquiescence. “Put together a formal proposal and we can vote on it at the next meeting.”

“I’m going to vote ‘yes,’” Bob stage-whispered to Patrick.

“Thanks, Bob.”

After the meeting had adjourned, Patrick went over to Ronnie. “I thought later this month I’d go to that Thornbridge LGBTQIA+ meeting you told me about. See what they’re doing and make some connections. Ask if they’d be interested in helping out with our Pride festival.”

Ronnie stared at him for a second. “Your festival idea hasn’t been approved yet,” she said.

“Assuming it’s approved,” he said, unable to keep himself from grinning. “Would you like to go with me?”

“You want me to spend hours in a car with you, driving to Thornbridge. Really.”

“Come on, Ronnie. Someday you and I are going to have to bury the hatchet for good.” He put on his most guileless expression, the one that caused David to accuse him of weaponizing his eyes. “Why not in service to the queer community, of which we are both pillars?”

She almost, for a split second, looked like she was going to crack a smile. Instead she sighed. “Fine. Let me know when it is. I’ll see if I’m available.”

~*~

They celebrated signing the lease for the new store with pizza at David’s favorite spot in Elmdale. There were paper hearts colored by children in the front window, and it reminded Patrick that he only had a few days to find a suitably tacky gift for David for Valentine’s Day. It wasn’t worth it if he couldn’t get David to threaten to divorce him on this, David’s most hated of holidays.

While they waited for their pizza, Patrick reached across the red and white checkered tablecloth and took David’s hand. “Thank you,” he said.

David had been fiddling with his phone, but at the sound of Patrick’s voice, he set it face-down on the table and gave Patrick his full attention. “What for?”

“For being there for me so many times this past year. For… for putting up with me at my worst.”

A crooked smile threatened to erupt on David’s face. “Patrick, you know your worst is still pretty good, right?”

“I hope you’re not still grading me on a Sebastien Raine curve, David.”

David rolled his eyes at that. “No, I’m just saying that maybe you don’t have the most objective perspective on what being married to you is like.” His eyes softened. “I’m as happy being your husband today as I was the first day. Okay?”

Patrick swallowed around a surprising lump in his throat. “Okay.”

“You’re nervous about the new store,” David surmised.

“I am, but it’s the right decision,” Patrick said with confidence.

“I’m nervous too,” David said. “Don’t mistake my outward confidence for anything other than a thin veneer over all of my anxieties.”

That statement automatically put Patrick into reassurance mode. “The marketing ideas from Alexis are going to be helpful. The customer base in Elmdale is huge and has more disposable income compared to what we’re used to at home. I’ve run some numbers, and I think the revenue from this location may outstrip our Schitt’s Creek location in a matter of months.”

David grimaced. “Well, that somehow makes me feel irrationally protective of our first store. It doesn’t deserve to be the under-achiever.”

Squeezing David’s hand, Patrick said, “Never. I fell in love with you there, and there’s nowhere in the world more important to me than that store.”

“We can make new memories at the new store,” David said softly.

Patrick knew, realistically, that he and David probably wouldn’t be spending that much time together at the new store after they got it open. They’d have to split time between the two locations, and there would be even more work to do out on the road, expanding their vendor base to support the increased demand.

David seemed to read his thoughts. “And when we spend our days apart, it will make being at home together in the evenings that much more precious.”

“Yeah,” Patrick managed to say, his voice raw. He averted his eyes from David’s piercing gaze, staring out the window between the gaps in the paper hearts. “Can you… can you talk to me more about that?”

David smiled and rubbed his hands together. “Well, imagine a day when I’m at the store here in Elmdale, and you’re at the store back at home.”

“Are you at the one in Elmdale because of Taylor’s pastries?”

“Shhh,” David said, reaching out with a finger like he was going to put it over Patrick’s lips. “I leave the store a little early, letting one of our trusted employees close up, and I bring home some wine and cheese from the store. Maybe some of Heather’s new triple cream.” He closed his eyes like he was having an erotic fantasy about Heather Warner’s cheese.

“Wine and cheese that you pay for,” Patrick said.

“Naturally. Oh, and fresh berries. It’s summer, and there are berries in season. So I set everything up on the kitchen table, just in time for you to arrive home from the other store. And we drink wine and eat cheese and we tell each other all about our days. The sun is setting, and the light is all golden,” David said.

“I like this story,” Patrick replied. “Then what happens?”

“Eventually we move to the sofa. Maybe watch some TV or listen to some music. We put our feet up and finish our wine and you remember something funny that you saw on the internet and you tell me about it. And then when we get tired, we go to bed.”

“What happens then?” Patrick asked as their server set their pizza in front of them and David grabbed a slice.

David’s mouth twisted into a crooked smile and he waggled his eyebrows. “The rest of the story is very interesting, but you’ll have to wait to get home to hear that part.”

“Hmm, okay.” Patrick reached for his own slice of pizza.

“Hey,” David said, drawing Patrick back to looking at him. “I love you. I can’t wait to see what the next year brings for us.”

Patrick smiled. He felt bolstered, lifted up by David’s support and for once, he allowed himself to feel good about it. “Me either, David.”

[timehealsfanfictionbka]

Time Heals.....Chapter Fifty-Four Pt. 2

“I knew they’d be excited but I was not expecting that,” Robyn said as she pulled on her underwear. Chris walked out the bathroom while wrapping a towel around his waist, “I wasn’t expecting that either. Has everybody been planning our future and not telling us about it?”

“Apparently so.”

Chris chuckled lowly as he sat on the bed and grabbed his lotion. He frowned at the emptiness of the bottle, “Babe, can I use some of your lotion?”

Robyn chuckled, “I told you that you were out yesterday. You didn’t go to the store?”

“I forgot.”

“I don’t use lotion, it’s shea butter mixed with coconut oil. It goes on like a cream.”

“That’s why you always smell so good.”

Robyn handed him a plastic container and he scooped out a dime size bit to rub in between his hands, “what you think?”

“It feels good. I like that it stays solid at room temperature too.”

“I bought it a natural food market. It’s an African lady that sells it, Ms. Ogri.”

“We’ll have to get some more then. I don’t wanna use up all your stuff.”

“Not worried about it. What’s mine is yours.”

“Thanks Babe.”

“No problem. You finish with your towel?”

“Yup. You can take it.”

Chris slipped on his boxers then handed the towel to Robyn. She dropped it into the clothes hamper by the closet door then turned off the bathroom light, “you need anything while I’m up?”

“No. I’m good. Come lay down.”

Robyn turned off the bedroom light and climbed into the bed. Chris wrapped his arm around her shoulder and she laid her head on his chest, “you ok? I’m still getting a really weird vibe from you.”

“Do you think there’s something wrong with me for not wanting to have a ceremony?”

“No. Why would you think that?”

Robyn shrugged and Chris pushed up to sit up against their pillows, “Sit up with me.”

Robyn sat up and pressed her head against the headboard.

“Talk to me, Baby. What’s going on?”

“I was telling Mel and Lele about the whole proposal and they just made me feel like I was wrong for not wanting a ceremony. Like it was crazy to skip it.”

“Robyn, you’re the one getting married. Why does it matter what they think?”

“I don’t know but its irritating me.”

“Listen, I do not want you to feel like you have to do anything you don’t want to do. This is our wedding and it needs to be for our comfort. And I love our families but fuck them if they have a problem with the way we want to do this. My concern is you. And if worrying about what they want is gonna have you feeling like you are right now, I don’t want you to be worry about it. If it was up to me, I’d marry you tonight, ok. Don’t give nobody that kind of power over you, ok?”

“Ok. I’m sorry. I really didn’t want to be bothered by it but it was just-“

“Baby, you care about your family and their opinions, even if you don’t really listen to them. I’m no different in that aspect but what I really care about is how you feel. Your opinion is the only one that holds weight here. You are not crazy or wrong for not wanting to have a ceremony. That’s your right.”

“Do you want one?”

“No. Especially if you don’t want one.”

“Babe, I don’t want to be selfish and take the experience away from you either.”

“You aren’t. What I want to experience is right here with me. What I’m concerned about is that piece of paper declaring us legally connected. Wedding ceremonies are cool, don’t get me wrong but they aren’t the end-all be-all. There’s nothing but death that would keep me from marrying you whether it’s at an altar or standing in front of a  court clerk.”

Robyn smiled and gently palmed the side of his face, “Thank you. I really needed to hear that.”

“Robyn Baby, don’t let anybody get you down or make you question yourself. You know what you want and I have no problem giving that to you.”

“What if we elope?”

“Really?”

“Yea, just me, you and the girls.”

“We’ll need witnesses.”

“We’ll get two people we trust not to say anything then.”

“Is that what you really want to do?”

“Chris, I need my sanity and trying to plan a wedding is gonna ruin it. I hated it the first time I got married and I really don’t want to go down that road again.”

“Robs, you don’t owe me an explanation.”

“You are the only person I owe one to. I really appreciate you being so sweet about this.”

Chris smiled and pecked her lips, “I love you and I want you to be happy. That’s all that matters to me.”

“I know. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, let’s just brainstorm a way to make this work. How about we go to the court house and get married? The girls can still get to carry flowers and stuff but we skip all the other hoopla.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am absolutely sure.”

Robyn smiled as she hugged him tightly, “You’re incredible.”

Chris laughed, “you getting soft on me, Ms. Fenty?”

“I can take it back, Christopher.”

“No, that’s fine. I’ma shut up.”

Robyn laughed as she leaned into his chest, “seriously this means a lot.”

“You mean a lot to me.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Baby.”

“Wait, we can’t tell the twins what’s going on though because they will snitch.”

“We’ll make it a surprise for them then.”

“Good.”

“Good. Can we sleep now?”

“Did I tire you out in the shower that bad?”

“You gotta stop with those tricks, Woman. It be taking days before I feel like my dick works again.”

Robyn laughed out loud as she wrapped her arms around his waist, “but you’re a quick study. It makes it fun.”

“I bet.”

“Goodnight Christopher.”

“Goodnight Bajan Girl.”

                                               ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Knock. Knock.”

Robyn looked up from her computer screen and smiled, “Hey you.”

“How’s the love of my life doing?”

“Much better. What you doing here?”

Chris held up a large cardboard box, “lunch.”

“Thanks Babe, I had a taste for some BBQ too.”

“I figured that. Save whatever you doing and come with me.”

“We not eating here?”

“Nah, it’s pretty outside plus I want to run some stuff by you real quick.”

“Oh ok. Let me change my phone to out of office and grab my purse.”

Robyn saved her work, locked her computer and changed her phone setting before grabbing her purse from the locked bottom drawer of her desk. She turned off her lights and met Chris at the door, “there’s a really nice set of tables in the pavilion downstairs.”

“We can eat there the I want to take you somewhere for a bit.”

“After you.”

Robyn locked her office, left a note on her assistant’s desk then followed Chris to the elevators.

“How has work been?”

“Pretty good. We had this long ass virtual conference this morning so my boss let us go early. I figured why not spend the extra time with my favorite girl.”

“I’m already marrying you, you know.”

“I know, doesn’t hurt to work for security.”

Robyn giggled as they got inside the empty elevator car, “talk to Mama lately?”

“Both of them actually. Nothing out of the ordinary. You?”

“Yea. Mama Fenty is already planning for the reunion this year. I guess my father’s side of the family wants to show up this year and my Guyanese folks do too.”

“That should be fun. Have I met them?”

“You met some of them when you came there as a teenager but most of them will be new to you.”

“Cool. You doing ok?”

“I’m good. Had to take the twins to their doctor’s appointment yesterday.”

“They told me they went. I could’ve taken them, you know.”

“It’s not a huge deal besides the office is right down the street from my dentist office so I still made my appointment in time.”

“Oh ok. You know you still should be telling me about some of these appointments. You don’t have to take them by yourself.”

“It honestly slipped my mind.”

“Not a problem. Which way are we going?”

Robyn pointed to sparsely filled area a few yards in front of them, “did you get something to drink? We can stop in the little convenience store on the first floor before we go that way.”

“Drinks and cups already in here.”

“You do plan for everything?”

“Always prepared for you.”

Robyn rolled her eyes and they continued walking until they came to a back picnic table. It was shielded by a set of trees and bushes but there was just enough sunlight peeking through.

“You’ve been out here before.”

“A few times but not often and not in the last two years or so.”

“You like being cooped up in that office?”

“No, I like being alone and being out here during lunchtime when it’s warm, too many people.”

“Ah ok.”

They sat down and Chris doled out the food.

“So what did you want to talk to me about?”

“I wanted to take you to see about a dress.”

“Oh.”

“I know we haven’t set a date yet for our wedding but if it’s just a court thing, I still want you to have a beautiful dress.”

“You know what I didn’t even think about it.”

“Oh.”

“Not like that. I was so focused on the girls’ dresses and what flowers they could carry, my dress completely slipped my mind. I want it to be nice for them, you know?”

“Yes and I want it to be nice for you.”

“Are we going to a store?”

“Actually I got two dresses sent to a nearby showroom for you.”

“From where?”

“New Orleans.”

“Christopher.”

“Don’t say my name like that. I swear it wasn’t a lot of money and they aren’t super extravagant so you could definitely wear them for a fancy date or something.”

“What dresses did you get sent here?”

“Those two white gowns I saw you sneaking looks at when we went shopping there.”

“What white- you saw that?”

“I absolutely did. I was gonna ask if you wanted to go into the store to try them on but you tried to act like you didn’t know what I was talking about.”

Robyn chuckled as she took a sip of soda, “it wasn’t that deep.”

“No but you clearly really liked them.”

“How did you know they even had my size?”

“I called and asked. I’m always paying attention even when you think I’m not.’

“Wait- so you bought them even though I haven’t tried them on yet.”

“Yea. If you don’t like them for a wedding dress, we’ll just find another one. They can always be used at a later date.”

“Christopher, that’s a lot of-“

“No, it wasn’t. We are not discussing finances. I will give you my accountant to talk to if you think I’m wasting money.”

“That’s not necessary. Dramatic.”

Chris laughed, “you the one always worried about my pockets. I’m good, Babe.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“That ‘for now’ is silent, I guess.”

“Oh shut up.”

They laughed and Chris kissed the back of her hand, “you sure you’re ok?”

“Life’s changing but I can handle it.”

“You’ll let me know if you can’t?”

“I will.”

“Good. What else you got planned for today?”

“Nothing. Come back to the office, finish up a presentation then home since the girls are still at your house.”

“You decide when you wanna move in?”

“Haven’t thought about it. I gotta sort though and see what stuff I’m taking with me, selling or putting into storage.”

“Are you gonna have a hard time with that?”

“What you mean?”

“I know you still have a lot of Michael’s stuff packed away in your garage. I imagine it might be difficult to go through it again.”

“You know, thinking about him doesn’t make me as sad as it used to but I guess I won’t really know until I start.”

“Do you want me to-“

Robyn started shaking her head before Chris even finished his sentence, “I’m an adult, a few tears won’t kill me.”

Chris twisted up his lips in skepticism before taking a sip of his drink, “we’ll see.”

“You don’t think I can do it.”

“I absolutely think you can but I also think it’s gonna be really emotional for you. Robyn, you haven’t dated at all since he passed which means you haven’t given much thought about what it’d be like to fully move on. You literally turned your master bedroom into a storage closet rather than sleep in it again. You’re gonna feel some kind of way.”

“And I will deal with it when it happens.”

“Well, I’m always available for support.”

“I won’t need it but thank you.”

Chris nodded his head as he finished off his macaroni and cheese, “what time do you need to be back?”

“By 3. I have a budget meeting at 3:15.”

“Cool, we have time then.”

  Robyn turned on the lights in her former master bedroom and looked around the untouched space. She hadn’t stepped foot in here since the day before Michael’s funeral. That day she was just in a rush to pack everything away so she wouldn’t have to look at it, she can’t even remember what was actually in here. She sighed as she looked at the stacked boxes, “I guess now’s a good time as any.”

There wasn’t as much stuff as she initially thought as she started removing the tops. Many of the boxes were in fact empty; those she placed inside each other and gathered away in a one corner. She pulled a large plastic bin from against the wall and her breath caught as she looked at the label. It was everything from her wedding day. Opening it, right on top was her wedding dress encased in a plastic garment bag. Holding up the bag, she unzipped it and pulled out the gown. It was still pristine white. She chuckled at the size on the tag. When she was pregnant, she had gained about 60 pounds, so she went from wearing a size 6 to a size 14. Lucky for her it was mostly baby.

She sat down on the floor with the dress in her lap as she started digging through more of the items. Next was the guest signing book and photo album. She flipped the photo album open and the first page was her and Michael posing together and he was cradling her belly. They had decided to do the photo session before the wedding as a precaution. As she started flipping through more photos, she didn’t feel the sadness she was concerned about. It was more of a relief than she anticipated. The sense of finality, that she was finally, officially moving on washed over her as she held her wedding dress in her hands. She didn’t need a ceremony. She didn’t need the extravaganza or anything of the noise. Her journey here had been enough. She just wanted peace for her and Chris and there’s was no better way to ensure that than to do things the way they wanted to.

 Just as she left the room, her phone rang. Robyn slid over the answer key, “Yes Christopher.”

“You ok?”

“I’m fine. You really don’t have to keep checking on me.”

“I know but I’ll do it anyway.”

“Clearly. How’s our babies?”

“They are good. Getting ready for bed. You coming back this way?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Always.”

Robyn giggled, “I have a preposition for you that might make life easier for you.”

“And what’s that?”

“Let’s get married this weekend.”

“This weekend?”

“Yup. In New Orleans. They only have a 24 hour waiting period and I don’t see any reason to wait any longer than that.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then I’m in.”

“Good. See you in an hour.”

“Ok. Be careful.”

“I will, Baby.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

                                                 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Chris handed Robyn a bottle of juice as he sat next to her at the gate, “I was surprised we got the day off on a Thursday.”

“It always help to have a good relationship with your supervisor.”

“That’s true, “ Chris looked over to Erin and Erica who were sitting at a table coloring, “you think they’ve figured anything out yet?”

“Nah, I just told it was a quick vacation. I think we can make a room for some fun over the weekend.”

“You thought about a honeymoon?”

“Not really. You?”

“Not really either.”

Robyn laughed, “I mean we don’t have to take one right after. We can hold off for whenever.”

“Works for me.”

“Nervous?”

“More so anxious. We have a meeting with my realtor next week.”

“You’re ready to sell already?”

“Yea. I don’t see the purpose of waiting.”

“How’d the room cleaning go?”

“It went really well. I got rid of most of the stuff, whatever his mother didn’t want, I either threw away or donated.”

“I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you, Babe.”

Chris pulled her close and kissed her temple, “was it hard?”

“It wasn’t as hard as I thought it would’ve been. It was more relief than anything. I think the time was just right, you know? After 9 years, I think it was time to move on”

“Ever wish you would’ve done it sooner?”

“Honestly, no. I didn’t really have a reason to do it sooner. It gave the girls some connection to him and I got to keep my memories.”

“Do you think it removes any of those things?”

“No. His things being there was just my comfort, you know. Kept my life familiar. Now I realize, my memories and the twins memories of him aren’t going anywhere regardless of whether I kept his things or not. I don’t think I would’ve been receptive enough in the past to even consider that. Besides I wasn’t ready to move on.”

“Who are you? What have you done with my Robyn?”

Robyn laughed as she playfully shoved his shoulder, “stop it especially since you the one made me confront all this stuff.”

“I did do that, huh?”

“Would you have made me get rid of his stuff before I moved in?”

“No, I would’ve waited until you were ready. It would’ve had to be in storage, of course but other than, no problem here.”

“You’re sweet. Where’s my Chris?”

“He grew up.”

Robyn smiled and pecked his lips, “you ready for this?”

“I’ve been ready.”

About fifteen minutes later, they were boarding the plane to New Orleans.

  “Mommy, you look so pretty,” Erica said as Robyn walked into the living room of their hotel suite.

“You think so?” Robyn gave a quick turn, “thank you, sweetie. You look beautiful.”

“Thank you. Daddy said we’re going out to dinner later.”

“We are. We might be going on a haunted house tour this weekend too.”

“Really? That’s so cool.”

“I’m glad you think so. We’re gonna try and find as much fun stuff to do for our little vacation.”

“Yay!

Robyn carefully patted the top of her head to make sure she didn’t flatten her curls before directly Erica to sit down.

“Chris, Babe, are you ready yet?”

“We’re coming,” Chris replied as he and Erin walked into the living room. He stopped short as he looked up at Robyn, “wow.”

Robyn blushed as she brushed a stray hair behind her ear, “don’t look at me like that, you’re making me nervous.”

“I’m sorry. You just look incredible.”

“Thank you.”

“You wanna tell them now or wait until we get to the courthouse?”

“Now if you want.”

“Is something wrong, Mommy? Daddy?” Erin asked.

“How about you sit down next to your sister? Mommy and Daddy have something important we want to tell you, “ Robyn replied.

Erin sat down next to her sister as Robyn and Chris sat across from them on the ottoman, “Mommy is it bad news?”

“No, it’s very good news. Chris, do you want to do the honors?”

“Well me and Mommy didn’t want to wait so we’re getting married today.”

“Yay!!” Erin and Erica exclaimed as they jumped up to hug their parents.

“Do we still get to be flower girls?”

“Absolutely. We have your baskets and bouquets in the car downstairs.”

“Is anyone else coming?”

“No, we just wanted it to be us and our girls. We’ll surprise them later.”

“Oh ok.”

“So you ready for the wedding?”

“Yes, can we go now? I wanna drop some flowers.”

Chris and Robyn chuckled as they stood up, “let’s go get married.”

[iwantthedean]

A New Fall

Graphic courtesy of @atc74.

Part Three: Granny Smith. Tart and crisp. 

Summary: Jensen spends more time around town. Y/N makes an effort to keep the farm in the family name.  Pairing: None … yet. Word Count: 2198 Warnings: Set post-Season 15, which I know makes a lot of people sad to think about. Square Filled: This entire series will fill my proposal square for BTZ Bingo.

A/N: Thank you for the continued support! I am loving writing this series :)

Masterlist

You spent the weekend more or less not speaking to anyone, just baking away your frustration. Jensen’s deceit hung heavy in your mind and sent you through a maze of emotions: sadness, disappointment, anger. Sad because someone was actually going to make an offer on the farm -- one you probably wouldn’t be able to match, let alone beat. Disappointment because, at your age, you thought you were past being played by guys. Finally, anger because the man had swooped in, handsome and charming, but turned out to be a complete fake.

By Monday morning, the anger part of all of that had more or less taken over. You slammed a coffee cup down from the cupboard in the teacher’s lounge. You poured your coffee, then slammed the pot back down onto the burner. Everything was getting slammed around, and you were mumbling under your breath about the jerk who had come to your farm only to steal it away from you.

“Jerk? More like an ass,” you grumbled, turning to leave as you sipped your coffee; you gasped when you saw your friend Taylor standing there, arms crossed over her chest and brow raised.

“Rough weekend, Y/N?” she asked.

You sighed and cleared your throat. “Yeah, a little. You getting coffee?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I’ve got to go set up for my morning lesson. Meet me in my classroom?”

“Deal.”

You made way for your classroom, and Taylor was only a few minutes behind. She took a seat at the horseshoe-shaped table you used to work with student groups, and you took a seat in your chair across from her while you stapled activity packets.

“I have to sell the farm, for starters.”

“What? You’re kidding!” Taylor exclaimed.

You nodded. “Yeah. The money’s just -- it’s not a good situation. Anyway, after our half-day, I was going to do some work around the place, and this handsome stranger pulls up. Tall, sandy brown hair, green eyes. A little older than me, probably. Anyway, he tells me he’s just visiting and wanted to check out the farm. So we went apple picking and went to the pumpkin patch. We had all these flirty moments and cute looks --” You paused to groan at your own stupidity. “-- and then I went inside to get him a bag for the apples he picked, and Mr. Kemp pulls up in the driveway because this ass was there to see the farm to potentially buy it!”

“And he didn’t tell you? What is that about?” Taylor frowned. “We could figure out where he’s staying, get into his room, and … I don’t know. Do something … horrible.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You know, T, I bet if I give you enough time, you could maybe finish that plan.”

“Shut up,” she said, laughing along with you. “Look, don’t let him get to you, okay? The more important thing, it seems to me, is how you’re going to keep the farm. Let’s focus on that. Have you talked to the bank?”

“Yes. Mr. Kemp helped me get all the paperwork I need, and I take it all to the bank tomorrow after school. I won’t get a decision right away, which means I’ll be anxious as all get out until they give me an answer.”

Taylor nodded. “What did your dad say?”

You licked your lips and sighed, stacking the finished packets in front of you. “I haven’t called him yet. I will when I have more concrete information.”

“Maybe he could help …” She trailed off when you shook your head before the sentence was even done. Noting the first bell was going to ring soon, she put a hand on your arm. “Just keep your chin up, okay? Everything’s going to work out. I know it.”

You gave her the ghost of a grateful smile. “Thanks, Taylor. Go ahead, get to class. I’ll talk to you at lunch.”

“I’ll try to have a plan to get back at Mr. Handsome by then,” she teased, winking at you as she left the classroom.

* * * * *

For the third day in a row, Jensen was visiting The Farmer’s Stand. Just as planned, he had stopped there after leaving the orchard and purchased a jar of applesauce. He went back the next day for apple butter and a package of cookies that hadn’t been on the shelf the day before, as well as a loaf of homemade bread. Today, he was here for another jar of applesauce.

There was only one on the shelf, so he snatched it up before anyone else could. He perused through the market, also selecting a loaf of pumpkin bread marked from Y/N’s farm. At the register, Ms. Kitty rung up his items with a kind smile.

“Are we going to be seeing you every day, Jensen?” she asked. He appreciated that she remembered his name, though he would venture a guess that she remembered just about everybody who came through the market.

He chuckled. “Keep selling all this yummy stuff and I probably will. You know, food at the hotel is pretty good, but is there anywhere else you’d recommend in town?”

She nodded earnestly. “Midge’s Cafe, over on Ninth. Today’s beef stew day, actually -- comes with mashed potatoes and a freshly-baked roll. Their pie is great too, but I think you’ve got plenty of sweets here.”

“That I do,” Jensen agreed. “How much do I owe you?”

Ms. Kitty gave him a total. “Have you visited the apple orchard yet?”

Why did that question feel like a trick? “I have, yes. Met Y/N while I was there.”

The older woman sighed. “Such a shame she’s got to sell the place. This town was two-bit until their family came in and planted the orchard. They were plenty well off, but they started the pumpkin patch so the kids could have somewhere in town to go on field trips -- not because they had any need.”

Jensen took the bag of things he had purchased from her. “She said she’s the fourth generation to own the place.”

“She wasn’t lying. I’m sure you would have guessed, but I went to school with her grandfather, and my kids went to school with her father. Let me tell you -- that whole family is as sweet as Y/N. Every single one of them. Honest, hard-working, kind. When my son took over this place after my husband passed away, he wanted to stop doing business with them, for whatever reason.” She waved her hand, not worried at all about the particulars of that situation, it seemed. “Anyway, I wouldn’t allow it. You just don’t do that to good people, and Stephen doesn’t understand that. Whoever takes over the place, we’ll see if they want to continue to do business with us, I suppose.”

“They’d be crazy not to,” Jensen offered. “Thanks for everything, Ms. Kitty. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She smiled and waved goodbye. Jensen enjoyed visiting with her, but today, he was happy to get out of there. Hearing about Y/N’s family and how much they meant to the town only made him feel worse about potentially buying the place. Nevermind that he couldn’t get the glare Y/N had given him out of his mind -- a look he well-deserved.

As he drove over to the diner, he passed the elementary school. He smiled a little as he watched the kids play while he waited at the red light. This town was idyllic, a simple respite from the hustle and bustle of the last fifteen years of his life. His smile faded some when he spotted Y/N supervising the playground. She was zipping up the jacket of a little boy who was grinning wide while she talked to him. Once his jacket was zipped, the little boy hugged her leg before running off to join his friends again.

The driver behind him honked his horn; Jensen snapped his attention back to traffic. The light was green, so he proceeded through the intersection toward the cafe.

* * * * *

You honestly weren’t expecting an answer from the bank until the following week, so when you saw a missed call from them after school ended on Thursday, you heart immediately began to race. The message from the bank manager was asking you to come in and see her, so you went straight there once the parking lot cleared out.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” she smiled, motioning to the chair across from her. Please, have a seat.”

Sitting. That was good, right? That meant you’d be there for a while, potentially. Going over loan documents and signing papers, maybe? Oh for Heaven’s sake, Y/N. Just sit down.

“I’ve gone over all of the documents you brought over, and I spoke with Bartholomew Kemp -- he spoke very highly on your behalf.”

“He’s a very good friend to our family.”

She set her elbows on the desk. “Unfortunately, Y/N, you simply don’t have the financial background we like to see in our loan candidates. I even tried for a smaller amount, the minimum of what you would need to keep the farm for a while longer, buy you some time -- but it was a no-go.”

You forced yourself not to cry in the bank office. “But … I don’t understand. We’ve been banking with you all for years. My first auto loan was through this bank. My father kept my college fund here. My grandfather --”

The bank manager held up a hand. “Let me stop you there. Your family has history in this town, I’m well aware. And, if this was fifty or sixty years ago, maybe that would hold. It just doesn’t work like that anymore.”

“I understand,” you replied quietly. “Thank you, for the update. I’ll -- okay. Thank you.”

You took a deep breath, put your jacket back on, and shouldered your bag. In the car, you told yourself it was okay to cry, but you couldn’t even force the tears. You were just … numb. If you couldn’t get a bank loan, you didn’t know what else you would do, or could do.

“Guess it’s time to call Dad,” you sighed. As soon as you got home, you dialed the number and settled on the front porch swing to break the news to him.

* * * * *

Jensen sighed and hung up the phone. Bartholomew Kemp had just called to let him know that the owner of the farm was taking offers, and if he would like to place one, he just needed to email it over to Bartholomew. He wasn’t the only one making an offer, so if he was going to throw his hat in the ring, he needed to do it soon.

His lawyer sent over the written offer; Jensen printed it in the hotel’s business center, and walked it into Bartholomew’s office himself.

“I know you said to email it, but I wasn’t doing much anyway,” Jensen explained, letting go of a nervous chuckle. “So, is -- is Y/N pretty upset?”

Bartholomew looked up, brow raised. “Uh, yes, I suppose she is. Rightfully so.”

Jensen nodded and thanked the other man for his time. He left the office and sat in the car for several minutes, contemplating his next move.

The front office staff at the elementary school was kind enough to tell him how to find Y/N’s classroom, and informed him she was on her lunch break. No doubt the modest bouquet of Autumn flowers piqued the secretary’s interest, but he just made his way out of the office and down the hallway.

She was sitting at a table in the room with another teacher, and her eyes grew wide when she spotted him just inside the doorway of her classroom.

“Um, hi. What are you doing here?” The greeting and phrase fell out of her mouth in a panic as she stood. “Oh, um, this is Taylor. She teaches here, too. And she’s my friend. Taylor, this is Jensen Ackles. He -- yeah. This is Jensen.”

“Nice to meet you,” Taylor greeted, giving him the kind of tight smile that told him Taylor knew about his omission of the truth when he first met Y/N.

He cleared this throat. “This all seemed like a better idea in my head, honestly, but since I’m here … um, I am trying to learn from my mistakes and I thought I would come here, offer you the flowers to apologize for not telling you the entire truth when we first met and also to … let you know that I made an offer to Mr. Kemp today.”

Her surprised expression transformed to the anger he had expected. She took the flowers from him and set them on the table. “Well, thanks for the head’s up, I guess.”

“Yeah, I thought you should probably know, in case I’m around the farm again, so it doesn’t take you by surprise.”

“Great.”

Y/N sat back down and resumed her lunch. Taylor kept her back to Jensen. The silence was uncomfortable. He stumbled around his words for a few more tries, then exited the room. He sarcastically and silently congratulated himself for such a smooth interaction.

* * * * * * * * * *

The Whole Shebang: @illisea @ashleymalfoy @busybee612 @mrswhozeewhatsis @sherlock44 @ravenesque @feelmyroarrrr @atc74  @theplaidshirtmadness  @blacktithe7 @moonlessnight14 @kitchenwitchsuperwhovian @smoothdogsgirl  @melbrandes  @xtina2191 @spnbaby-67 @emoryhemsworth @goldenolaf25 @gabriels-trix @applesugar88 @rainflowermoon @deansgirl215 @thisismysecrethappyplace @calaofnoldor @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @sleepylunarwolf @chances-and-miracles

Jack Attack: @tiffanycaruso @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk

Two for the Money: @jayankles @akshi8278 @jensensjaredsandmishaslover @supernatural-jackles @adoptdontshoppets

A New Fall: @marilynnlew @backseat-of-deans-67chevy @traceyaudette @ellen-reincarnated1967 @maddiepants @littlewhiterose @tftumblin @monkeymcpoopoo @pinknerdpanda @thatgirl1456 @deangirl7695 @foxyjwls007 @woodworthti666

[glitterslag]

Strip Tease.

So this was on my mind for a few days and until I cracked and did blurbs for everyone! I’m super into Warren lately, and I haven’t done anything for Ben in a while so that’s what imma do

summary: Warren the master mixologist, sad, divorced Roger and Ben on a stag-do straight out of The Inbetweeners. And you, a stripper.

warnings: strip club, divorce, cheating, alcoholism, difficult sexual themes. References to sex and some light smut at the end.

word count: hella

A/N: This came out as more of a character study than anything else. Also, I’m seeing a lot of fuckboi ben HCs on my dash lately so I needed to remedy because i can’t handle the cold truth. So I wrote 2k words of lovely conscientious ben walking you home safe x

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Thanks for nearly 1k followers!! I’m celebrating by writing a ton of blurbs, headcanons and oneshots! Y’all are keeping me busy with the requests so far, but if you did want to suggest something, feel free! I hope I’ll get round to it

Warren.

The bar staff were nearly always female. 

Recruit a pretty young girl to work 8 hours on her feet for minimum wage, while dancers make hundreds a night more than her wearing only a little less - you can pretty much guarantee the rest. She’ll be dancing in no time. 

That was the idea, anyway. They would hire you to wait tables, but what they were really after was another stripper. A cash grab. In fact, that’s how most of them start. Turns out, customers aren’t really that bothered about the standard of the drinks they’re being served - not when they’re already drunk and distracted by everything else that’s… going on. 

It does, however, mean you’re left with a high turnover rate, and a distinct lack of male bodies on the staff. It could be useful, your manager muses, to have someone there other than the bouncers, standing at the back of the room, keeping an eye on the floor. Looking after the girls a bit. Making sure nothing untoward was going on. 

Plus, the boy’s a professional. He’s worked in bars before - high end ones - and he’s got a trick or two up his sleeve. It might be nice to bring a sense of class about the place, everyone agrees. Bring in a real mixologist. Maybe it would increase sales. 

Warren used to be an alcoholic until he started working in bars.

It might seem contradictory, but really it makes perfect sense. It was only being around other drunkards 40 hours a week that made him realise how much he didn’t want to be one anymore. 

Now he rarely drinks at all. Just mixes the cocktails. He’s really fucking good at it, too. Watching him skilfully tossing the bottles around - fingers so dexterous as he juggles with ingredients like it’s easy. It’s really sexy. 

He causes a bit of a fuss when he first starts. People wonder whether he isn’t a stripper himself, wandered into the wrong club by accident. He’s certainly got the physique for it. Or is he going to be a bouncer, with that fearsome set of wings and his hard, hard expression? 

 Rumours swirl about him leaving his last job because he broke up with one (or, depending on who you talk to, several) of the waitresses. He was sleeping with one of your coworkers by the end of the second week.   

That’s how it had started with you, too. A one night stand quickly escalated into twice, three, then four times. And then the next thing you knew it was A Thing. 

They tell you not to date someone from the club when you start. If you guys fight, you’ll be bringing that into work. If you guys break up… well. The next few shifts are going to be awkward for everyone involved.It’s hard to resist each other, though, and perhaps against both of your better judgements, you fall in love. 

Casual hookups with girls from the scene are Warren’s bread and butter, but getting into a relationship with one is a different thing all together. He’s crazy possessive, and the thought of being forced to watch you, having fun with other guys night in, night out - he had thought it would be torture. 

Actually, it’s not like that at all. It only reinforces that this is only a job, it’s only money. You don’t like kissing the men, or letting them grope you. Some girls do it, and you have done in the past, too, but you had decided not long into the relationship that it wasn’t worth the extra tips. 

Customers will often ask you if you have a boyfriend, and sometimes, if you’re feeling really cheeky, you’ll nod towards Warren behind the bar. It’s always a satisfying experience for both of you to watch a man’s eyes flicker to the back of the room, turn pale as chalk and take his hands off you quick-sharp. 

He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t hard not to get distracted by you during a shift. Yes, he’s one of the only men in the world who are unfazed by sex workers, spending six days a week surrounded by semi naked women. But he’s only a man, and watching you up there, working the pole in nothing but a thong and six inch heels, your eyes always fixed on him at the back of the room - let’s just say he’s thankful the bar is at waist height. 

An underrated perk of the relationship is working the same hours. You’ve never had that in a boyfriend before, and it’s so nice to be able to spend time with each other in the day. To leave for work and come home at the same time, sometimes even driving in together. Some couples would find it smothering, spending so much time together like that, but you two don’t much care for other people anyway. You only need each other. 

Underneath the dark and edgy exterior, Warren is a big softie. He’s a vegetarian who loves animals, and is the owner of one blue eyed husky named Shadow. When not at work he can be found in the gym, or curled up on the sofa with you, his pup, and something good to watch on netflix.

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Roger.

The first night he comes in and you’re all over him like a rash.

 You’ve been doing this a couple of years now, and you’ve learnt to tell the different types of customer by sight. You dance near him to get a closer look - yep. Just what you suspected: 

Recently divorced. Lonely. Rich. 

How do you know?

No wedding ring, for a start. There’s a tan line there, though, on his fourth finger, indicating it was taken off recently. He hasn’t just shoved it in his back pocket to come here, though. He’s not unfaithful. Or at least, he isn’t being right now. He’s lonely. He’s been dumped.

There’s a five o’clock shadow on his neck that he doesn’t normally let grow. It doesn’t match the colour of his bleach blonde foils. He’s in his mid thirties, and his clothes look expensive. He orders a whiskey, neat. A sad man’s drink. 

You watch him dig for his wallet, a cigarette hanging from between his lips. He slaps it onto the table. Roger isn’t a particularly tall man, but if he sat on his wallet, maybe. 

You watch Katelyn swaying towards him, offering him a lap-dance which he politely declines. It could be that he’s just here to watch. That happens, sometimes, with divorcees. The younger, more excitable men are kids in a sweet shop, just wanting to touch everything they see. But men his age - men who should be home with their wives on Tuesday nights instead of nursing a whiskey in this seedy establishment, they sometimes won’t buy anything at all.

The other alternative is that he’s waiting for you. 

You decide to hedge your bets. 

You walk over to his table, praying no-one on the way catches your eye, and you manage to make it uninterrupted. You give him a sweeping look, pausing just a moment while he makes his decision, and sure enough he’s pulling out a twenty. He tucks it into your bra as you take a seat on his lap, and you get to work.

There’s a no contact rule here, but sometimes you let them touch you, especially if they look anything like him. You take hold of his hands and place them on your waist as you roll your hips against him in time to the song, dropping down in between his legs a moment before wiggling back up, hands gripping his thighs for support. You sink down onto his lap again and you hear him groan just a little, breath tickling your bare shoulder. You grind down onto him harder, gyrating around lazily until you feel him stuffing more bills into your knickers. 

You grab them discreetly, rolling them up and tucking them into your garter instead. It’s more secure in there. 

You decide to up the ante. 

You get up momentarily to shimmy in front of him, before spinning around and straddling his lap again, facing him this time. You loop your arms around his neck, swaying your hips against him as you look into his eyes. Making him feel like he’s the only man in the room. 

“Where’s your wife?” You lean forward and murmur into his ear in a smokey voice, playing with the fingers on his wedding hand. 

“Haven’t got one.” He says in a strained tone, groaning again as you slide over his hardening bulge. 

“Girlfriend?”

“No,” He forces out. 

“Poor baby.” 

You don’t break eye contact with him as you lift his hand up to your lips and suck his index finger into your mouth. He curses under his breath. The song finishes, and it’s probably a good job, because you wager he’s about to make a mess of his jeans.

He doesn’t pay for another one. But he does call you over again later that night and you just talk. He’s really nice, not to mention easy on the eyes, and for the first time in a while, you can honestly say you’re having a good time. You’re almost a little sad when it’s time for him to leave, and not just because the cash stops coming. 

“Come back, won’t you?” You whisper into his ear, lips trailing over the skin ever so slightly. He just laughs.

He does come back, though. A little over a week later. And again, a week after that. You learn his name is Roger, he’s got two kids, and he’s been divorced a month, though his relationship broke over a year ago. He never tells you what it is he does that makes him so rich. 

Most of the time, you just sit on his lap and talk. He’ll hand you pound notes every once in a while, or stuff them into your garter belt - large, warm hands running tantalisingly up your thigh. 

He wants to know if you let the other men touch you like he does. 

“Only you, Rog.” You whisper, and he almost seems taken in by it, just for a second, and then he laughs. 

“Christ I’m an old fool.” He says, shaking his head with a sad chuckle. “I bet that’s what you say to them all.” 

–

As the weeks pass, he becomes a regular face. He always politely declines the other women’s advances, preferring to wait until you’re available to come and sit on his lap, stealing a drag of his cigarette before looping your arms around his neck and gazing into his eyes to listen to him talk. Tell you about his day. 

You always look forward to the nights he comes in, but you’re not sure when exactly it had stopped being about the money for you. Probably about the time you’d started letting him kiss you. You’d never let a customer do that before. 

You start giving him private dances. They’re timed sessions off in a side room, where a bouncer will stand outside the door and knock at intervals to tell you how much time you have remaining. So not exactly private. But it’s still you and him, alone. Getting heated.

“We could have this in real life, you know.” You whisper to him one night, head flung back and voice breathy as he sucks at one of your nipples. 

Roger laughs. He’s always doing that.

“And what would you want with an old creep like me, hm?” He murmurs, lips trailing up the valley between your breasts to land at your throat. 

“I’m serious, Rog.” 

The bouncer knocks on the door. 

“Five minutes remaining.”

You sigh. 

You feel Roger slipping more notes into your thong and for once, you halt stop his hand. 

“Don’t.” You reproach, and he blinks up at you in surprise. “I hate it when you do that.”

“Do what?” He asks in disbelief. “Pay you for doing your job?” 

“Remind me that this can’t be real.” 

Your voice is small.

“Remind me that you don’t seem to want me. Not outside of here, anyway.”

To Roger’s utter dismay, you’re welling up. He can’t believe his eyes. He’d never once considered that any of this could be real for you, never dared to believe that you might want him the way he wants you. Longs for you. That you cared about anything more than taking his money. 

His voice is soft and contrite when he reaches up to cup your cheek in his hand, thumbing away at your tears.

“Darling, I- I had no idea-” 

The bouncer knocks again and you both breathe out a shaky laugh, foreheads coming to rest together.

When he asks Roger if he wants to extend the time, needless to say there’s only one answer he can give. 

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Ben.

Ben’s designated driver for a stag-do.

You decide it’s a stag do, and not a “taking our friend, who just got dumped, out on the piss” do, even if it is a rather sad one.

It’s the first weekend back after New Year, and you’ve been expecting the turnout to be dismally poor, and to be fair, it is. Other than the fat old man on his own in the corner who’s here most nights, they’re almost the only ones here. It’s 2 o’clock in the morning, and you’re not sure if originally there had been more of them, but by the time they walk in, the party has dwindled down to about five.

Girls are getting sent home left and right because the place is so dead, and you’re gutted to be one of the few left on the floor. In fact you’d nearly taken the night off, knowing nobody ever has money to spend in January, never mind throw around on strippers.

You sigh and wait for them to hand over their phones and get their drinks from the bar. 

Ben looks uncomfortable. He’s never been to a strip club before, it’s written all over his face. Probably doesn’t agree with the principle. Just begrudgingly here to do lifts, and make sure nobody chokes on their own vomit, or anything.

He’s attractive, too. You’re quite tempted to make a bee-line for him, watch his fair cheeks flush red under the fluoro lights as you make him an offer he can’t refuse. Given the choice between a group of lairy stags and their visibly uncomfortable, decidedly more attractive sober driver, you’d rather have the latter. Honestly, you can get a really good conversation out of the sober ones sometimes, especially when it’s quiet. Plus, you love the nervous ones.

But you’re also painfully aware of how slow it’s been, so you sigh and mark out the pathetic one and go and sell a lap dance to him instead, taking his money while you watch your co-worker smirk and shimmy over to Ben out of the corner of your eye. And you don’t know why, but it gives you a very small but very there sense of satisfaction when you see that he’s not into it.

Some girls will let any handsome face become a distraction, and it’s exactly what you’ve been told not to do but he’s gorgeous; so very out of his depth, politely clapping and nodding his head along with the music while he nervously sips his diet coke. And it’s not like he’s the only sober driver ever to walk in, neither is he the first person who’s been uncomfortable. But it’s so obviously his first time and there’s just something so reassuring about that. Working there can make you lose a little faith in humanity if you aren’t careful. 

It’s not as if all customers are rude, but the reality is a lot of them are. You get asked out multiple times a shift, see married men every day who insist that they love their wives one minute and are taking off their wedding rings and begging you for a private dance the next. It’s refreshing to see someone like Ben in here every once in a while.  

Your manager says you can go home at some point before the close up, so you go through the back to get changed and wait for your lift. It’s always a bit warm in there after you’ve put your sweater and leggings back on, so you go and wait in the bus shelter outside. It’s a well-lit street, and when you’re back in your trackies you feel relatively safe to wait there.

After a while, your brother hasn’t come to get you (yes, your family know what you do and no, they haven’t disowned you) so you ring him. He doesn’t answer.

You see Ben and co drive past and you smile to yourself, wondering if they’d even recognise you now, with your makeup off and your clothes on. He sees you standing there, sheltering from the drizzle in the plastic bus stop, and he reverses the car back past you and rolls the window down.  

“You got a lift, love?” He enquires politely.

You can hear his drunken mates heckling from inside the car.

“Yes, thanks.”

 “Want me to call you a taxi?” He presses. 

 “No thanks.” You say. “They should be along soon.”

He looks at you hard. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes.”

Just then, one of them has to get out of the car to be sick all over the pavement and you recoil, taking it as your chance to escape. You walk 50 or so metres down the road until you’re out of earshot of the retching, but you can still hear the rest of them hooting and hollering and slapping him on the back, egging him on.

Just then, one of them has to get out of the car to be sick all over the pavement and you recoil, taking it as your chance to escape. You walk 50 or so metres down the road until you’re out of earshot of the retching, but you can still hear the rest of them hooting and hollering and slapping him on the back, egging him on.

Ben isn’t pushy, though.

“Look,” he says. ”I’m going to drop these idiots off and then I’ll loop back afterwards just to check you’ve been picked up, ok?”

“Look you really don’t have to-”

“It’s for my own peace of mind,” he cuts in. “And if you’re still here, then I'm.more than happy to see you into a taxi.”  

You want to protest again, but his friends are shouting “Give it up, Ben”, mocking him. His neck is turning red and you’ve been annoyed with them all night and so you say yes. Ok. You thank him and then he drives off into the night, the car full of drunks cheering and yelling as they recede.

You don’t like getting in taxis at this hour, or getting on the tube. It’s late and it’s London, plus you don’t want a lift driver seeing you near to the club and figuring out what you do and thinking they can just…

Anyway. 

Your brother still isn’t answering. He works late shifts as a hospital porter, and this sometimes happens. You sometimes get a lift with one of the other girls, but with there being hardly anyone in tonight, you’re rather stuck. You go back inside and try to scrounge a lift. It’s annoying, the couple who are still on shift live far out of your way or get public transport. Your manager says he’s happy to give you a lift, but only after he cashes up and closes up. It could take ages, but you’re content to wait inside while you wait for your brother to answer. You stand by the window, interested to see if Ben really will come back.

And he does.

You wander outside to speak to him, more out of boredom than anything else.

“Want me to wait with you until your boyfriend arrives?” He asks, and you’re a little touched at how considerate he’s being, so you tell him ok.

You don’t bother to correct him about the boyfriend – perhaps if he thinks you’re taken it’ll make you safer.  You’ve got this deep feeling that he isn’t dangerous, but it would be insanity to get into a car with him nevertheless – he’s a complete stranger. Still, you’re bored and you want to chat to the nice man, because it might be the first charming, intelligent conversation you’ve had all week. Was that so bad?

So you make him switch the engine off and take the keys out and put the keys where you can see them, and then you get in the car but keep the car doors firmly open so you can escape if he tries anything. He’s a little bemused, but he understands your justifiable caution.

You chat and he’s really kind, and doesn’t ask you the normal dumb stripper questions (“aren’t your family ashamed of you?” “Are you doing this to fund a crack habit?” “How do you not get turned on on the job?”). He’s genuinely interested in you. Like, outside of work you. And yes, naturally he is a little curious about the job, but it’s quite cute watching him struggle to phrase the questions in a way that isn’t rude, and you do your best to answer truthfully. He seems satisfied with the answers, if a little thoughtful.

After about 20 minutes you get a call from your brother, apologising that he has to stay later at work. He tells you he’s happy to put you into a taxi. You roll your eyes and tell him no thanks.

“Ok,” Ben says as you get off the phone. “What’s the plan? How do we get you home safe?”

You think about it for a little while and then ask him if he’d mind accompanying you home. You could take the tube halfway and then it was a 20 minute walk to yours. You feel rude asking for all that but he just says sure, of course, no problem. I’ll just come back for my car later.

The more you’re with him the safer you feel. He carries your heavy bag all the way home and he doesn’t flirt. And you really, really appreciate that. And even though you wouldn’t even mind if he did - in fact, you kind of really wish he would - he doesn’t.

“Aren’t you tired?”  You wonder when you’re getting near the house. “No.”

You get home and you both stand awkwardly on the doorstep, and when it becomes clear he’s not going to invite himself inside you give him a kiss on the cheek and thank him and shut the door. You stand with your back up against it for a while, heart pounding, until you just bite the bullet and fling it open again, charging back out. You run after him and grab his wrist and he spins around in shock, shoulders softening when he sees it’s just you.

“Are you ok-” He starts at the same time as you ask him whether he wants to come inside. He tries to hide the fact that he can’t quite believe his luck.

You take him in and sit him down and ask if he wants a drink. 

“I could do with a shot, if I’m honest.” He says, a little shakily.

You search the cupboards and pour him out some tequila, and a beer from the fridge as well. You watch how quickly he slams the liquor, and realise he’s nervous.

You explain that you need to have your tea.

“Do you want anything?”

“No, thanks.”

You reheat some rice and come and perch on the arm of the sofa with your feet on him as you chat. The TV is on in the background, and because it’s three in the morning, American sport is on. He seems to get quite into it, so you excuse yourself to get ready for bed and leave him there.

You have a shower and brush your teeth, the hot water a tonic for your sore muscles as you scrub the sweat and grime of the club off your skin. You pass the kitchen on the way back to your room, and peep in. Ben’s texting frantically, and you have to stifle a giggle, imagining what he’s telling his friends. You wonder whether they’ll even believe him. 

You materialise in the kitchen doorway a minute later, hanging around the edge of the door with a little smirk on your face. 

Wet hair and pink Primark pajamas. it’s a stark contrast to the way you looked in your heels.

Ben turns the off the TV. He sits back to look at you. It’s silent.

“Why didn’t you give me a lapdance?” He asks suddenly. “Before?”

Barefoot, you pad across the wooden kitchen floor until you’re standing between his legs. He’s leaning back against the sofa to look up at you, half finished bottle of beer still in one hand.

“Do you want one now?” You whisper. Your voice is hoarse. 

He shakes his head, almost imperceptibly. 

“Just kiss me.” He whispers.

Not two hours ago he was looking at you nearly naked, watching you twirl and gyrate on strange men for money. You don’t know why it’s now that you’re suddenly nervous.

You plop down gently in his lap. His hand grabs for your waist automatically. Your eyes flutter closed, and you lean in minisculely until his lips are grazing yours. 

You grab the beer bottle out of his hand and set it down on the floor without breaking the kiss, and then, grabbing the material of his shirt in your fists, you push him backwards onto the sofa until he’s horizontal. 

– 

“Ben.” You manage as he pushes into you for the first time, your voice coming out as no more than a breathy moan. 

You’ve migrated from the sofa to your bedroom, and he’s got you lying on your tummy underneath him, one foot hooked around the back of his calf, encouraging him to go deeper. Harder.

Perhaps the best thing about sleeping with men who know you’re a stripper is how hard they always try to please you. It’s as if they think your job is synonymous with getting tons of action, that they’re competing with the orgies they imagine you attend every night and honestly, you’re not complaining. 

Ben’s already made you come twice at this point - once with his mouth, once with his fingers, and by the time he enters you there’s little you can do but moan and whimper into the pillow. 

“I don’t have a condom.” He’d warned as you took his hand and led him towards your bedroom, switching all the lights off on the way, the house getting darker and darker each time. 

“That’s alright.” You’d said as you’d laced your fingers through his, turning to face him on the threshold of your bedroom doorway. “I’ve got plenty.”

He’d laughed. 

Now, after he’s nudged your legs apart with his knees in order to slam into you deeper, you’re approaching your third orgasm of the night. He’s getting close too, hips starting to stutter against you as his breaths grow heavy and ragged. 

His arms pack in at some point, shaking on either side of you as he seems not to be able to hold himself above you any longer. His elbows tremble and collapse under him, and he lays out on top of you instead, doing his best not to squash you into the mattress. 

“Sorry.” 

He murmurs a breathy giggle into your ear. You shivered. 

“Are you close?” You reply, no more than a whisper in the dark. You turn your head to rest in the crook of your elbow so you can look at him. You find his face close to yours. 

“Y-Yeah.” He says with some effort. He sounds it. 

The feeling of his body weight on top of you, being covered by him - your high is coming now whether you want it too or not. 

“M’gonna..” You trail off at the same time as he says, “Me too-” and you feel the throb of him inside you. 

Ben lets out a long groan, resting his sweaty forehead against the back of your neck as he comes, and you reach around to to cradle the back of his head. 

You don’t even make a sound as you hit your peak - you’re already cried out. Only able to silently clench your teeth and your fists and your toes as you convulse around him. 

“Stay.” You tell him, after.

“What?”

“Stay.” 

It’s four in the morning, and you’ve suddenly remembered his car is still parked outside of the club. And plus, you’re not quite ready to let go of him yet. 

“Okay.” He says quietly, tentatively reaching out to stroke your bare arm in the dark. 

—

You woke late the following morning, and since neither of you had work the next day, (obviously), you decided to go to the gym together as a date. You had  asked Ben if he wanted to go to a restaurant, but he can’t right now because he’s in heavy training for a shoot next week.

Skip to a few months later and you two are happily dating, and his favourite game to play is to come in to the club on random nights and surprise you, blending in with the other customers while he patiently waits until you’re free for a lap dance. It’s amazing, but by the time the song ends he’s got you aching to finish up and come home.

He still picks you up from work (another great perk of having a boyfriend without a 9-5), and by now he’s a familiar face among the rest of the staff. Needless to say they’re all in love with him. Sometimes, he’ll come down a bit early and come in for a drink while he waits for you to get finished up. It’s not uncommon to come out of the changing rooms to find him sat on the bar stool, but you can rest assured he’s never watching the naked girls – he’s usually chatting football with the bar tender.