#or maybe this extra sugary coffee will save me

[makenna-made-this]

Oof absolutely clucked up my sleep schedule(again lol) so prompt 11 might be a little late but it has the whole flock in it so it'll be a good one<3

[oldjane]

Trick or treat!

“What will it be for you, gentlemen?”

Nicky prays his smile is natural, and his voice doesn’t sound as tight as it feels.

Joe is beaming at him, his smile wide and warm as always, as he introduces the buff guy with him. Nicky doesn’t listen. He’s not interested in the guy’s name, not in anything else about him, except maybe how he managed to get a date with Joe.

“My usual mocha frappucino, Nicky, extra shot of pumpkin spice”, Joe grins, “and what have you baked today that I should totally sink my teeth into?”

Nicky refrains from rolling his eyes at Joe’s innuendo. It’s just Joe, flirty and charming, and here on a date.

“I made lemon cheesecake,” he says drily. “Or we have raspberry tarts.”

“Raspberry! My favourite kind of tarts!” Joe gasps dramatically. “You should try them, Marc, Nicky’s raspberry tarts are divine. I’ll have one, please, Nicky.”

Nicky carefully selects the prettiest tart, the one he’d saved in the hope that Joe might pop by, and puts it on a plate.

“Not for me,” Joe’s date says, when Nicky reaches for another one. “Gluten mess with my workout routine.”

Joe grins sunnily.

“Marc and I met at the gym,” he tells Nicky. “I’d been staring at his abs for a while,” he adds, in a stage whisper loud enough to be heard across the street, “and finally he asked me out. Lucky me, huh?”

Nicky grimaces. His abs are nothing to write home about. He’s not fat, but he owns a coffee shop. He’s bound to snack on pastries and drink too much coffee with extra shots of sugary goodness, just to be awake every morning at five-thirty.

“Do you have anything that’s gluten-free and vegan?” Joe’s date interrupts, clearly not too impressed by Joe’s theatrics. “And just a plain espresso, please.”

First and last date, Nicky decides, as he hands a plain espresso and the least appealing looking item on the menu over, and swipes Joe’s card. Joe is too exuberant, too fond of life and all the good stuff it offers, to stick with such a plain, boring, strict guy. Abs or not.

Besides, Nicky’s become a bit of an expert on Joe’s dating life. He seems to bring all his dates here the first time. And then he often pops in the next day to chat over it with Nicky, as if Nicky hasn’t been staring at it the whole time – watching for any sign that Joe is really falling for the guy of the week, this time. Is Joe leaning over just a tad more than usual? Is he listening just slightly more enraptured? Are his eyes sparkling just that fraction brighter? Are the lingering brushes of hands when coffee cups are being set down and picked up again longer than other times? Is Joe laughing louder than last time?

It’s driving Nicky insane, truly.

“Just ask him out, fuck’s sake,” Booker mutters from behind his paper at the seat at the far end of the counter, reaching out a hand with his tiny cup without looking at Nicky. “Guy’s nearly begging you to.”

Nicky refills Booker’s cup with the darkest, strongest brand he has. It’s a miracle Booker’s stomach lining still exists.

“What would you know about anything, frog,” Nicky retorts, but there’s no heat to it. Booker may be French, but to his credit, he knows Nicky has the best coffee in town, and he is almost a part of the furniture by now.

“Seriously,” Booker says, sipping his coffee. “Haven’t you noticed how – Bit weak, innit?” He eyes the cup critically, and then folds up his paper.

Uh-oh, Nicky thinks. This must be serious.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” he gulps back the rest of the coffee, and then looks Nicky dead in the eyes. “Joe’s always making a point of telling you the other guy asked him on a date. Never the other way around.”

“Does he?” Nicky can’t say he noticed anything of the sort, and he commits every syllable coming out of Joe’s mouth to memory.

“Italien de merde,” Booker grumbles. “T’es vachement trop con.”

“Hey!”

Nicky’s protests are lost when Booker holds up a hand.

“Two weeks ago, the photographer, what was his name? Danny? Joe said he asked him out when Joe met him in a museum. The week before that, the guy with the ponytail, asked Joe out after he met Joe at his sister’s birthday party. And then the American,” Booker shudders on purpose, “asked Joe out when they both tried to grab the last bag of frozen Brussels sprouts in the supermarket.”

“Well.” Nicky’s going over Joe’s last dates, and maybe Booker is right. But that’s understandable, isn’t it? “It’s just that everybody thinks Joe is amazing, so of course he would be asked out.”

“Putain.” Booker slaps his palm to his face. “Remember that one guy, about two months ago? Joe said he asked Joe out on the tube. On the tube, Nicky. What do you have in common with people on the tube? Except for a death wish? There’s nothing romantic about the tube. It always smells of wet dog and pee, and there’s always an old lady looking at you as if you’re gonna steal her purse. If Joe’s accepting dates from people on the tube, he’s desperate.”

“He is not desperate,” Nicky automatically counters, counting the seconds Joe’s hand is lying on the table top, his pinkie just brushing Marc’s. “He’s just too nice to say no.”

Booker groans.

“You’re being obtuse on purpose. Just ask him out, idiot.”

Nicky doesn’t answer. Joe moves his hand after four counts. Not good, but not bad either. There is still hope.

***

True to form, Joe stops by two days later.

“Nicky! A sight for sore eyes!” He looks at the display. “Oh! You have those chocolate cigar thingies! I’ll have two, please. And a hot chocolate, extra whipped cream, extra vanilla.”

Nicky smiles as he sets to work.

“So,” Joe says, waiting patiently for Nicky to whip up his drink. “What did you think about Marc?”

“Not your type,” Nicky says immediately, and then he almost slaps himself. He always finds something vague and diplomatic to say about Joe’s dates.

Joe notices too, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh?” he says. “I mean, you’re right, but – how do you know what my type is?”

“I, uh, I don’t,” Nicky says. “Not really, I mean. You’ve been here with so many guys – not that there’s anything wrong with that,” he adds hastily, when he sees Joe frown. “They just were all very – different. Not one type that comes to mind.”

“I do have a type, though,” Joe says, looking at Nicky intently. “It’s just that I’m not sure my type is interested in me.”

“Oh!” Nicky exclaims. “I’m sure they are! You’re, uh, kind and funny and – very handsome.”

He blushes deeply, and starts fumbling with the ties on his apron when Joe doesn’t reply.

“Hmmmm.” Joe takes a sip of his chocolate, and when he lowers the mug, a thin layer of whipped cream sticks to his upper lip. Nicky’s tongue darts out almost instinctively, wanting to lick it off. He thinks he stops breathing for a second when Joe does. “So what you are saying, Nicky, is that if I was into a man, but that man is not asking me out…”

“He might be just shy,” Nicky says. “Or, uh, not sure you like him.”

“I feel he should be sure, though,” Joe adds critically. “I flirt with him every time I see him.”

Nicky shrugs helplessly.

“Maybe you should ask him out, then.”

Another hum, another sip, another swipe to get at the cream. Nicky might spontaneously combust, if he has to stand here much longer, watching Joe being the sexiest man alive, helping him get a date.

“You think I should?”

Nicky nods.

“Maybe you are right,” Joe finally allows. “Okay, well, in that case –”

He takes a deep breath, and suddenly Nicky regrets all his life choices.

“Actually, wait,” he blurts out. “No.”

“No?” Joe asks, deeply suspicious. “You don’t think I should ask him out?”

Nicky shakes his head, and Joe lowers his eyes.

“Oh. Oh, okay, then I won’t –”

“I think you should go on a date with me,” Nicky rushes out, before he claps his hands to his face, mortified.

It is silent for a while, except for the rustling of Booker’s paper when he lowers it enough to peer over it to the spectacle Nicky’s making of himself.

“Well,” Joe says. “Good thing you are exactly my type, Nicky.”

[pascalpanic]

Caffeine Rush: Chapter Three / Cappucino

Summary: Javier shows up to your coffee shop again, at an ungodly hour.

W/C: 3K

Warnings: food/eating, coffee, implied age gap (reader is about 25)

A/N: I don’t have anything to say I just hope you guys enjoy :)) OH JK YES I DO: I’ve decided that Caffeine Rush will come out on mondays or tuesdays, alternating every week!

previous chapter || next chapter || masterlist

Cappuccino: two-thirds frothed milk, one-third espresso. Light and airy, full of fluff. Has a stronger coffee flavor than a latte.

As you drive him back to the hotel, you smile over at him. He looks so gorgeous, his dark hair dampened from the snow, his lips soft and extra pink from being pressed to yours. “How long did you say you’re in town for?” You ask him.

“A month,” the man tells you with a nod. “There’s a whole policy with vacation time. Use it or lose it, basically. They told me I had to use it now, so I told them to give me a month. I really have about… three months saved up now,” he chuckles.

The thought makes you grin. Javier will be here for Christmas. He’ll be here for New Year’s- that is, if he’s staying.  “And what are your plans for it?” You ask softly. You hope whatever they are, they won’t take him away from you.

Javier is eating the second red velvet cake in the passenger’s seat, and you giggle at the sight before turning back to the road. Crumbs gather on the top of his shirt and in his mustache, flecks of red in the warm brown.

He smiles at your laughter. “I have none. I have no work to do. I can’t go back to Colombia early- well, I could, but I won’t be working so it wouldn’t be worth much,” he sighs, thinking aloud. “I could go home and visit my father, but I couldn’t stay there for very long. My hometown is a place you only want to stay for two or three days, at most.”

Your eyes watch his face, that surprisingly soft skin and how it moves with his expressions. Your eyes are holding a question, even if you don’t ask it aloud. Javier can read it without your words as he turns to look at you. “I’ve heard D.C. is nice over the holidays,” you offer softly. It’s less of an offer and more of a silent question: please stay. I want you to stay.

Turning back to you, there’s cream cheese frosting in his mustache and an adorable smirk on his face. Just when you thought it was impossible for this man to be any more beautiful. “I think that sounds like a wonderful idea. Then, like I said earlier, I have time to properly romance you.”

You grin and stare at the road. “I don’t normally kiss on the first date. I don’t think it’ll be hard for you to romance me,” you tease. “I can be your personal tour guide to the city. I only work mornings, so we can do whatever we want all day and night. Which is good, because the Smithsonians are only open during the day, and I want to take you to all of them.”

You ramble when you’re excited. Javier can already tell, can see you slowly leaving that shell you’ve hidden yourself in through all of your time in D.C. Your eyes glimmer in excitement as you consider the things you can do, the places you can take him.

Javier smiles back. “You’ll have to show me everything. I’ve never been here for anything other than work.”

“Oh, trust me,” you laugh. “I know all the best parts of the city. You’ll never be bored with me around.”

Javier’s immediately certain that’s true.

-

You told Javier last night that you work from 5:00  to 10:30, and he told you he’d swing by for a coffee. What else did he have to do without you?

What you didn’t expect was for the door chime to jingle at precisely 5:34, and for the customer that enters to be none other than the newest head of the DEA’s investigations into the Cali Cartel.

Rushing around the counter, you laugh and throw your arms around him. “Hi, Javi,” you chuckle and bury your face into his neck. He wears a warm red flannel and dark blue jeans, boots beneath them and a thick black coat over it all. He smells like soap and aftershave.

“I’m starting to like the fact that you’re a hugger,” he laughs as he hugs you back, resting his head on top of yours.

You break away and brush off your apron. “When I said you should come visit me, I meant, like, at normal human functioning hours. Like, maybe 9 or something.”

Javier frowns a little as he looks at you. “This is when I normally get up. Later than normal, actually,” he shrugs and puts his hands in his pockets. “You got a dark roast this morning?” He asks as he nods his head to the side, gesturing to the big vats of brewing coffee.

You smile at the question, chuckling a little. Of course he’s observant and remembers little details- it’s his literal job. “We do. Large redeye?” You ask, already heading behind the counter and back to the ceramic mugs.

The man tilts his head. “Actually… I think I changed my mind. Can I do another peppermint mocha?” he asks, a shy look on his face.

Looking up at him, you bite your lip at his expression. He’s so goddamn cute, really, even when he’s being ashamed for something stupid. “You don’t have to be shy about it,” you tease and nod. “There’s nothing less manly about you for ordering something sweet. In fact, most of the sweet drinks we make here are ordered by the business guys or Congressmen.”

Javier chuckles and leans forward on the counter on his elbows. “Oh, yeah?”

You nod and laugh at the memory of other customers. “Matthew, he works at the senators’ offices downtown, he’s a regular. He orders a caramel frappe with marshmallow and vanilla. Full shots of both.” As always, you happily chat as you make the recipe you know by heart.

Javier’s brow furrows. You’ve known the man maybe 24 hours, but you’re starting to get a good read on him. You can tell when he’s confused or worried or happy or stressed by the way his eyebrows position themselves. This one is a lighthearted confusion. “What’s a frappe?”

Your eyes glimmer with uncharacteristic excitement for so early in the morning. “Wait. So you’re telling me you’ve never had one?”

He shakes his head, pulling his leather jacket tighter around him. The shop is cold this early in the morning, before the body heat of customers and the steaming espresso machines warm the building. “No. What is it?” He asks again.

“It’s delicious, oh my god,” you grin. “It’s kind of like a coffee milkshake. It’s frozen and creamy, blended with ice and coffee. It’s my favorite in the summer, when hot drinks just feel too much.”

“So it’s light?” He asks, gratefully accepting his ceramic mug when you hand it over. It’s peaked with foamy white cream and pieces of candy canes. Javier thinks it reminds him of you. Soft, warm, sweet and indulgent. Energizing. Not like anything he’s ever had before, but he’s already addicted.

“Not really. Like I said, it’s really creamy. It’s like a milkshake, really. That’s the best way to describe it. Do you want me to make one and you can try some?” You offer as you stir the spare espresso shot with a little cream and sugar in a to-go cup for yourself. The warm sugary scent rises and you smile to yourself.

Javier shakes his head. “Not if it’s a cold drink. It’s too cold outside anyway. And in here. You do have heating in here, right?” He asks dryly as he sips the hot drink. You can see his broad shoulders soften, the tension rising into the air with the steam from his mocha.

You roll your eyes but shrug. “It’ll get hot in here later. I just appreciate that it’s cold now,” you chuckle and chug the espresso shot, tossing the paper cup into the garbage. “What can I get you for breakfast?” You ask as you nod to the pastry case further down the bar.

He shakes his head. “Don’t eat breakfast.”

You frown. “That’s going to have to change. You seem like the type who doesn’t take care of yourself, thinks he’s too good for it,” you tease and fold your arms on the countertop, leaning into it.

Javier scoffs. “I am not too good for breakfast,” he says, amused.

“Then eat.”

The mustached man rolls his eyes. “Fine. Maybe I don’t take very good care of myself, but I don’t need you to take care of me.”

That makes you frown. “Well, that’s too bad, because if you want to kiss me like we did last night, you’re going to have to let me take care of you, Javi.”

Javi. No one ever calls him that. He’s always Agent or Agente Peña, usually just Peña for the sake of convenience. Those who know him better call him Javier, people like Steve or Trujillo. True, he asked you to call him Javi, but the name is like a song from your lips, as soft as calling him baby. He absolutely fucking loves it. Can’t get enough of it.

You begin to babble on about the baker here and his skills, talking about the various treats beneath the glass case. There are muffins and scones, donuts and sweet breads, croissants and various puff-pastry delicacies. Javier is overwhelmed. He normally doesn’t eat many sweets, even though he loves them.

A cinnamon-sugar sprinkled pastry twist calls to him. He asks for one of those and insists that he pay for it, even as you wander away from the cash register to prove he can’t pay.

Javier stands at the bar as you make yourself your own hot drink, chatting as you stir the syrup with the espresso. God, you love that mustache, you think as you smile to yourself and look down. “So. How did the mustache come to be?” You ask him, smiling and tilting your head to the side in question.

Javier raises an eyebrow. “This?” He laughs, smoothing it down with his forefinger and thumb. It brushes out some sprinkles of cinnamon and sugar from his pastry and you bite your lip to hold back a laugh.

You both have to talk a bit louder as you begin steaming the milk for your cappuccino, but it hides your giggle as you say your next words: “Yes, the porn stache.”

“Hey,” he frowns and sips his drink, setting it back down and smiling again. “It was a thing with my father. When I turned 30, he told me I was a real man now, and real men wear mustaches. He always had one, so I said okay. He shaved it for me and taught me the right way to do it and everything. I liked the way it looked, and it stuck, I guess,” he shrugs and chuckles.

“Really? Because that thing looks straight out of 1975, but I don’t think you’re old enough for it to be that old.” You giggle. The mustache is very retro, certainly behind the times and the fashion of ‘93. “You can’t possibly be… what would that make you from ‘75… 45?”

Javier shrugs. “Well, you’re not far off. I’m 40.”

Your brow furrows. You certainly hadn’t expected that. He looks so young, really. 40 wasn’t even a thought in your mind- maybe a stressed-out 30. “Really?” You ask, though you doubt he’d lie and make himself seem older. He should probably know that you’re around the proper age you are, seeing as you’ve told him about just finishing grad school.

He frowns too. “Is that a problem?” He asks hurriedly, standing up straight from his hunched position, where he leaned over the counter to be closer to you.

“No, no,” you shake your head, and his body relaxes. “Of course not,” you smile and put your hand over his. “You just look really young for 40.”

Javier shakes his head, smiling a little at the compliment. He doesn’t get many of those, the ones where people tell him he looks young or he’s cute or any non-sexual compliments in general. “No I don’t. You’re just being cute.”

“No!” You laugh happily. “You saw my face. You’re a special agent of the D-E-A,” you say, drawing out the letters. “Head of the Calí Cartel investigations. You can read me like a damn book, Javi,” you smile at him. “Tell me, do I look like I’m lying?”

Javier shakes his head, the smile growing wider and his cheeks turning a slightly warmer shade. These kind of honest, pure and uncomplicated compliments make him almost embarrassed. “Yeah, yeah,” he sighs, brushing it off.

You’re absolutely beaming by now. “You’re not used to this, are you?” You tease as you scoop the foam from the milk pitcher into your ceramic mug, with chocolate and almond syrup in the bottom already. Mandy’s in the back stocking something, and no one else is in the shop yet. With this privacy, you lean across the counter, and Javier matches your position.

His face is painfully close to yours. You can feel his coffee breath, and you giggle softly. “Hey. Javi.”

“Yeah?” He asks teasingly.

“I like you a lot.”

Javier laughs genuinely, kissing you softly for a moment before breaking away and standing up straight again. “I like you too, abejita,” he says and finishes off his peppermint mocha.

“What does that mean?” You ask him. You’re nearly fluent in Spanish, from having studied it for years, but the word is unfamiliar.

“Little bee,” he chuckles. “You’re fluttering around this coffee shop like you’re on an adrenaline rush and it’s 5:30 in the goddamn morning.”

Little bee. It makes your heart race in your chest like a bee’s wings, a million beats per second. Goddamnit, this Javier knows what he’s doing, you think to yourself. He must be doing this for the sole purpose of stealing your heart; why else would he be this fucking sweet and sexy and flirtatious?

“It’s the caffeine rush,” you shake your head and wave a hand dismissively. You’ve already chugged a few shots of espresso, and your chocolate-almond cappuccino is about halfway gone now. Either way, Javier makes your resting heart rate double just from looking your way.

“Sure,” he teases and raises an eyebrow. “I’m gonna hit the bathroom. Be right back.” He sticks his hands in the pockets of his heavy wool coat as he heads to the restrooms, near the front of the store.

You take his mug back and Mandy wanders out from the back. “Wow. Who’s got you so chatty?” She asks out of genuine curiosity. She didn’t see Javier come in or go to the bathroom.

You’d talked with Mandy while you prepared the store, filling her in on all of the details of last night’s date with Javier. “It’s, uh, Javi, actually,” you laugh softly as you pull more espresso shots to make him another peppermint mocha.

“You’re kidding,” the woman squeals, her curls flipping over her shoulder as she tosses them back. “Why is he here so early?” She asks in confusion, making herself a drink on the machine next to you.

Your foot taps out a quick rhythm against the tile floor beneath you, the energy already flowing through your body. “Beats me. He says he wakes up this early normally. I don’t know if I believe it, but…” you shrug and stir the shots into the peppermint syrup, scooping chocolate chips into a steaming pitcher with milk and putting it under the steaming wand.

“He’s in the DEA, isn’t he?” She asks. “Maybe they start work really early in the morning. I’ve heard they work really long hours.”

“Well, he did say he works a lot,” you nod. “I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. He’s here now and he’ll get to see me cry my way through the morning rush,” you say sarcastically.

Mandy nudges your shoulder. “Says the most competent barista who works here,” she scoffs. “You have everyone out the door in under three minutes. That’s no easy feat.”

“Okay,” you roll your eyes and pour the chocolate milk into the syrup and espresso, stirring it with a long, twisted spoon. “I doubt that, but thank you.” You swirl a perfect peak of whipped cream on the top, then sprinkle the candy cane pieces on.

“I think she’s right,” you hear Javier’s voice from the other side of the counter.

“Stalker,” you tease and put his mug in front of him.

“Am not. Just think you’re good at what you do.”

“I made you a refill,” you say, ignoring his compliment. “Oh, Javier, this is Mandy. You might remember her from yesterday. Mandy, this is Javier.”

She nods and shakes the hand that Javier offers. “Nice to meet you- well, again,” she says with a bright smile. “You got the prettiest girl here.”

“Mandy,” you roll your eyes. She just laughs as she makes her way to the back of the store again.

Javier watches her then turns back to you with a smile. “I think she was right on both of those,” he comments with a smile on his face.

“Go sit down, stop flirting with me, and drink your damn coffee, Javi,” you teasingly scold him with a smile, turning away to go wash the steaming pitcher and spoon you used to make his drink.

Another customer walks in the shop. You can tell from the jingle of the bells on the door. With that, Javier finds a table in the lobby and sits at it, reading the daily newspaper and sipping his peppermint mocha. He’s starting to see why you’re so addicted to these. To him, they taste like you. -

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @yooforia @oceanablue @sara-alonso @pedrosmustache @feelingmadclever @hnt-escape @radiowallet @obsessivelysearching @sugarontherims @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @linnie0119 @1800-fight-me @autumnleaves1991-blog @toilet-keeper @evelynseventyr @metalarmsandmanbuns @shannababyy @sambucky21 @princess76179 @starless-eyes-remain

[whataboutmyfries]

Russian Roulette

Hello hello!!!! I finished this chapter at 1.30 am and was too tired to put it up then, but AHHHH I’m so excited for you to read this one ;) lots of pining, a little magic and the boys generally being idiots.

All credits to @lumosinlove​ Thank youuuuuuuu <3

tws in the tags!

~

Chapter 3

Logan sighed, his hair still damp from his shower. He’d always showered after a job. It helped him feel cleaner somehow. He kicked his feet up onto the table, texting Finn about his whereabouts and what he wanted for dinner. He paused, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. 

He received Finn’s reply a few minutes later; Meet me outside, there’s something I want to show you. 

Logan perked up at that, shopping his gun into the back of his jeans, tugging the oversized hoodie down over his ass to cover it up. Hr grabbed his coat, snagging Finn one of those cola lollipops he liked so much. 

He met Finn by the car, a sleek black Lamborghini. The redhead leaned against the matte black door, his red curls slipping over his forehead as he texted somebody on his phone. 

“Wanna tell me where we’re going yet?” Logan asked, quirking an eyebrow as he sauntered over to his….friend. Finn’s head snapped up, his expression melting into an easy smile when he saw Logan walking over. 

“Not yet. Get in.” Finn said, ducking into the driver’s seat. Logan walked over to the other side, his lips quirking up in a ghost of a smile when he saw the milkshake Finn had got him. The man in question looked over, huffing a small laugh when he saw Logan looking. 

“It’s chocolate. With extra whipped cream and chocolate sauce on top.” 

Logan’s heart stuttered. Finn had noticed. Not just noticed, but memorised his order. He shoved away the wave of overwhelming feeling that threatened to swallow him whole and picked up the cup. His eyes fell shut at the first sip of cold against his throat. 

He’d always gravitated towards the sickly sweet. Tooth-rottingly sugary cakes and coffees and pancakes. Maybe it was to fight the bitter darkness that roiled inside him, maybe it was because he liked the juxtaposition of a vicious criminal digging into a tub of ice cream, or maybe it was simply because he’d liked the sugar. 

He was glad to be the one sitting in the passenger seat. He had a perfect view of Finn, a hand resting casually on the wheel, the other resting on the windowsill, scarred fingers tangled in the mess of curls. Maybe Logan liked sweet because of the way the sunlight hit Finn’s eye’s the brown looking like molten chocolate and warm coffee, the way the rays danced through his hair making it look like spun sugar, those lips gleaming like— Logan snapped out of his thoughts, choking a little on his milkshake, He turned away resolutely, turning to fiddle with the radio instead. He leaned forward, reaching out for the volume button when he felt something jab into his thigh. 

Logan frowned, leaning back to pull the lollipop from his pocket, nudging Finn’s shoulder with it until he laughed and plucked it out of Logan’s fingers. 

“Thank you, Tremz, I love these. Unwrap it for me?” Finn chuckled, the infernal candy hanging between his fingers like those cigarettes he occasionally smoked. 

Logan rolled his eyes, grabbing it and ripping the plastic off. “A Big boy mob boss, but he still can’t unwrap his own lollipops. What would your associates say?” He teased, putting the candy into Finn’s waiting mouth. The slight brush of his fingers against his friend’s lips made his heart clench, and he pulled away quickly, his cheeks heating up. 

Finn laughed, flicking his tongue around the sweet, pulling the car into an underground parking lot. Logan raised an eyebrow, turning to look at Finn. His eyes crinkled as he pulled the keys out of the ignition, straightening his sweater as he stepped out of the car. 

“Wait and watch.” 

~

As it turned out, Finn had taken Logan to a park, the easy winds of spring spreading the smell of churros through the air. Logan smiled as Finn walked them both to the churro truck, grinning at June as he ordered their usual— churros drowning in Nutella. 

Logan zoned out of Finn and June’s animated conversation, choosing to ignore their not-so-subtle flirtation in favour of looking around the park. It was a gorgeous day; people walked their dogs or lounged on benches, and Logan idly mused about what life would be like if it were so bloody normal. 

He sighed, blocking out June’s tinkling laugh as he ran a hand through his hair. Sometimes he wondered what his life would’ve been like had he not been thrust into this one. It was his father’s fault, really, taking loan after loan after loan from the snakes to keep his family alive. Logan almost scoffed aloud; family? More like drinking habit. Marius had tried, he really had, but it hadn’t been enough. What little savings they’s had after Marius had lost his job had quickly sputtered out, leaving them with little to no choices. And damn him if Logan were to ever allow his sisters to sell their bodies on the streets. 

And when money from the loans had run out, well, the snakes had come to collect a debt. 

Logan rubbed unconsciously at the scar tissue on his thigh, cringing a little at the memory of Crouch junior’s knife tearing through his leg, skin and muscle ripping under the vicious blade. Logan carried the scar proudly. He had fought like hell to keep his sisters and his mother safe, and damn if he wasn’t proud of the badge he wore as a testament to the fact. 

“Thanks, Junebug! We’ll see you around!” Finn called, nudging Logan with a shoulder. “Shall we?” 

Logan swallowed the hurt that rose in his throat, smiling at Finn as he grabbed a churro. 

“Tell me where we’re going yet?” Logan asked, licking a spot of Nutella off his pinky. 

Finn smiled. “Almost there.”

Logan’t interest piqued when Finn led him to a crowd gathered seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Logan raised an eyebrow at Finn.

The redhead winked. “Consider it an early Christmas present”

“Harz, it’s May” 

Finn waved him off, shoving a dripping churro into his mouth “Go see” he said, the words a little muffled through the food. 

Logan skirted through the crowd, finding his was to the front. 

Oh.

Oh.

Logan’s heart all but dropped out of his chest. He’d never been so glad for his penchant for subtle disguises. His baseball cap pulled low, the aviators hiding most of the top half of his face. He was almost positive he wouldn’t be recognised. 

But then Leo looked up.

And the whole world stopped. 

Leo didn’t stop his movements for even a second, his fingers flipping the cards swiftly, his lips never stopping the sweet sweet illusion he was spinning for the poor bastard about to lose his money. 

But he looked Logan dead in the eye and conned the man out of a full 150 dollars, grinning like the devil as he did it. The man walked away down 150 bucks and a watch. 

“How about that gentleman there? Would you like to try, sir? Maybe lady luck will favour you this fine evening” Leo grinned, nodding in the capocrimine’s direction.

Logan smiled, letting a little of the lion show as he eased his way out of the crowd to join Leo in the middle. 

“How much would you bet, sir? 50? 100? 150?”

Logan slapped 200 dollars on the table. 

“Well well well,” Leo raised a brow. “Let’s play.” 

~

Logan tried very very hard to keep his gaze on the cards, but how could he when Leo’s nimble fingers darted around them looking ever so tantalising. Logan was utterly mesmerised, and by the time Leo asked him to find the Lady, he hadn’t the slightest clue as to where she was.

Logan picked the card closest to his hand. He’d never had a chance in hell, anyway. 

Needless to say, by the end of it, Leo had an extra two hundred dollars to his name. As Logan got up to walk away, he heard Leo call out from behind him.

“Sir! You forgot something!”

He turned to find Leo holding his wallet up with two fingers, a mischievous glint in his eye and a shit-eating grin on his face. 

Oh he was good.

Logan smiled, stalking back to him. “Ah, stupid of me. Thank you.”

Leo just winked at him as he walked off, their fingers brushing for the fraction of a section when Logan took his wallet back.

He spotted Finn amongst the people immediately, grinning like a damn fool as he walked over to him. Logan opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again. 

“I know.” Finn said. “I know” 

The quiet joy in Finn’s eyes damn near killed Logan, and it was an effort of self-control to not kiss him right there. No. He was impossible. Logan could never have him. They were mob bosses. It would be hell to pay if the world ever found the one thing he’d save above all others. 

Logan ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the brown curls. He frowned at the scratch of paper under his sleeve and pulled the fabric up to find a card underneath. His breath caught, and he turned it over to find the queen of hearts sitting there.

Oh, this was going to be fun .

Logan’s grin widened at the message scrawled across the lady with thick black ink. In Leo’s slanting script it read;

Better luck next time.

[whumpinggrounds]

Don’t Like Her

aren’t isabella and miss mara charmingly domestic :) things are fine :) definitely no problems here and especially no jealousy :)

tagging @shapeshiftersandfire​ and @killtheprotagonist - lmk if you want to be added/removed!!!

CW: lady whump, pet whump, aftermath of conditioning, fucked up power dynamics, intimate whumper

Miss Mara’s in a good mood, Miss Mara’s in a good mood, and that makes Isabella smile. Miss Mara’s laughing, and opening a bottle of wine, and making a mischievous face at Isabella as she pries out the cork. “It doesn’t count as drinking alone if you’re here, right?” she asks, and Isabella can recognize a rhetorical question now, so she just laughs. More good news at work, she surmises, from the phone call that Miss Mara immediately makes to her maybe-girlfriend Violet, wherein her owner pretends to be far more disinterested than she actually is, and says things like yeah, well, it still sucks, and, I guess, it just hardly feels like something to be proud of.

Miss Mara is proud. Isabella can see that. And Violet tells her she should be, on the phone, and Miss Mara drinks the wine straight from the bottle and giggles as she listens. Whatever conversation they’re having devolves and devolves, as Miss Mara slips more into teasing, more into murmuring sweet words down the telephone line. Isabella busies herself with dinner. Miss Mara shouldn’t be drinking on an empty stomach. She’ll make breakfast for dinner, Isabella decides, scanning through the scant supplies left in their fridge. It’s Miss Mara’s favorite.

By the time the food is ready, Miss Mara has hung up the phone, and now all her praise is directed to Isabella, who blushes until the tips of her ears are pink at the words her owner points her way. You’re so good this is so good you’re so smart thank you so much – it all blends together until Isabella isn’t sure when to thank her master, when to blush prettily, when to turn the sweet words aside. A pet can get stuck in a trap like that –

But Miss Mara isn’t in a trapping mood. “You know, wine and pancakes taste kind of okay together,” she giggles, the wine in one hand, her fork in the other. She’s finally acquiesced to using a glass, and she smirks at Isabella over the rim. “Who would’ve thought?”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I’m glad you made it,” Miss Mara quips back, and Isabella grins again into her pancakes.

“I know you like them,” she tells her owner shyly, and Miss Mara ruffles her hair.

“You’re a good girl, Isabella.” Pleased with the praise, with all the compliments she’s getting, Isabella gazes at her owner almost rapturously, and Miss Mara looks just as happy. “It’s just so much money,” she marvels, stabbing another strawberry and swirling it through syrup. “It’s more money than I’ve…I mean, than I’ve ever had at once…”

“That’s good,” Isabella nods, sticking to small, careful bites. The syrup is sweet, definitely sugary, and Mara likes her on the smaller side. Her owner has never said it, but she has a look she gets when she sees Isabella taking bigger portions. It’s not a happy look. “That’s really good.” She aims a smile at her owner, but Miss Mara isn’t looking at her.

“It is good. It is.” Miss Mara shakes her head, shuts her eyes as if she’s picturing it. “And this is just the beginning. They want me at another meeting, can you believe that? Another meeting at headquarters, with all the, all the people in charge…”

Isabella nods along, pretending a normal amount of interest, but her heartrate has suddenly changed in her chest. “Does that mean I’ll stay here?”

“Yeah, yeah, um, you’re going to have to stay while I’m gone…”

“So, will…will Jamie come stay?”

Immediately, Isabella knows she’s done something wrong. The joy on Miss Mara’s face starts to sour, the sweetness shifts into something rotten. Isabella darts a glance at the wine bottle on the table and sees, with a sinking feeling, how much her owner has had to drink.

Not that it’s Miss Mara’s fault. It’s Isabella’s fault, all Isabella’s fault. Her voice sounded too eager, too excited, too something. Whatever it is, Miss Mara makes a discontented little sound in the back of her throat and scans her pet with a gaze full of something like suspicion. “What are you so obsessed with Jamie for?”

Miss Mara spits the name, and Isabella swallows, backpedals, tries to save herself. “I was just…just curious who would stay with me.”

“What, do you like her?”

“I like her f-fine,” Isabella tries, and hates the awkward way the words fit together, how she’s certain she’s said something wrong. “She’s fine.”

“Well, I hate her.” There’s a certain amount of relish in Miss Mara’s voice as she says it, and a certain amount of expectation. Isabella knows she should hold the same opinions as her owner, so she nods slowly, but that doesn’t satisfy Miss Mara. “She hurt me you know. She broke my heart.”

“Jamie did?” Isabella can’t hide the confusion in her voice, the question that borders on disbelief. Luckily, Miss Mara doesn’t seem to pick up on it.

“Yeah, she did. She lied to me. A lot. We dated for…for a little over three years. And she lied, and she hurt me.”

Isabella nods, fixing her face into something like sadness. On the inside, she feels fine, impervious, and she knows she’s being bad, bad, bad, but can’t bring herself to care. The only thing she feels is relief, for the way she’s deceiving her owner, because she can’t pretend she hates Jamie when she…she doesn’t. Isabella doesn’t know why she likes Jamie, just that her heart jumps when Miss Mara talks about her and sinks when Miss Mara says something mean or angry. The idea of Jamie hurting someone, the idea of Jamie being cruel…it’s so confusing as to be almost funny. Jamie, awkward nervous tentative sweet Jamie, hurting cool and confident Miss Mara? It doesn’t seem possible, doesn’t seem real. The realest thing about the story is Miss Mara’s anger, which she’s more than happy to indulge.

“She’s not, like, very smart, either.” Isabella’s owner says it with satisfaction, dropping her tone in the way people do when they’re revealing a secret. “I mean, she flunked out of undergrad when we went to school together. She’s been working the same minimum wage job for what, four years? Five? So, I mean. It’s not like she has any ambition, either.”

“I didn’t know that.” Miss Mara seems to be expected to say something, so Isabella puts in the blandest thing she can, focusing her gaze downward, on the pancakes she’s now hardly picking at, despite her constant growling hunger.

“Yeah, well. She watches you for free, and that’s nice, but I don’t know, Isabella.” Miss Mara frowns at her pet, eyes assessing. “I don’t trust her. You don’t think you could be on your own for a few days? There’s food in the fridge, and you know how everything in the apartment works…”

Heart racing, Isabella keeps her eyes fixed on her plate, so Miss Mara won’t see how frantic those words make her. “I don’t believe it’s a good idea to leave me alone for several days,” she informs her owner with unnecessary politeness. It’s her fallback, when she starts to panic, and though it turns the corners of Miss Mara’s mouth down, it doesn’t fail her now.

“Probably not,” her owner sighs. “So Jamie it is, then.” Isabella’s heart brightens treacherously. “But I still don’t like her, and I don’t trust her. Especially around you.”

That’s okay, because maybe Miss Mara’s right not to trust Jamie around Isabella. Maybe Miss Mara shouldn’t trust Isabella around Jamie, either. Isabella’s having all these disloyal thoughts, after all. Isabella isn’t hating Jamie when Miss Mara so clearly wants her to hate Jamie.

Trying to atone, Isabella is extra good that night. She does the dishes quickly and then she kneels by Miss Mara’s feet as her owner does her work. Later in the night, as Miss Mara watches TV on her laptop, she puts the computer on the coffee table and pulls Isabella into her lap. She runs her hands down Isabella’s sides, twirls a lock of hair around her finger. Isabella leans into the touch, relaxes into the touch, but it doesn’t feel the way it normally does. It doesn’t feel like she’s doing it because she loves it. Suddenly, for some reason, it feels the way it did in the Facility – like Isabella is doing this not because she wants to, but because there are stakes and strings attached. Miss Mara doesn’t notice, just keeps petting her, stroking her, pulling her back closer and closer, possessively. Isabella tries to focus on the movie. She tries to turn her brain off, tries hard not to think. This is good. This is a reward. She should be thinking about how happy she is, how lucky, how much she loves her owner.

She should not be thinking about Jamie.

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 66 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Katya decided that parenthood might be in the cards after all, Pearl couldn’t get Dahlia out of her head, and Violet worried that Sutan’s friends would never be able to respect her.

This Chapter: Brunches, presents, an announcement, a trip to the champagne room, and a new hire.

***

Sutan opened the door to his apartment, a smile blooming on his face at the fact that the light was still on, which meant Violet hadn’t gone to bed yet.

It was after 8, Sutan spending the day with Gigi and then going to a Christmas reception in the evening with Tamisha, his boss pleading with him to please come with her and make sure no one she hated talked to her, Sutan guarding her for the entire cocktail hour.

“Violet?” Sutan called out, hanging his jacket up and toeing his shoes off.

“Bathroom!”

Sutan walked through the apartment, the door to the bathroom open. Violet was standing at the sink, her fingers braiding her hair into French braids.

“Hey,” Violet smiled and gave him a quick kiss, her lips tasting faintly like sugary lip scrub. “I didn’t know if you’d be home, but I got dinner for you too.”

“What are we having?” Sutan leaned against the sink, watching Violet who unscrewed the lid on one of her face creams, scooping out a dollop and rubbing it into her skin.

“Lentil soup.”

“Yum.” Sutan drawled, his tone bone dry.

It wasn’t that he hated lentil soup, but he’d never understand why Violet ate it voluntarily when the entirety of Manhattan's takeaway options were open to her.

“Don’t act like that,” Violet huffed, holding up her hand with a bit of leftover face moisturizer, silently asking him if he wanted it and Sutan nodded, Violet’s fingers gliding over his cheek seconds later. “It’s good for you.”

“Do I at least get bread this time?” Sutan had to bite his lip not to smile, Violet looking at him like he had grown a second head when he had complained about the distinct lack of bread on his plate the last time she had ordered dinner.

“Yes,” Violet rolled her eyes, but she continued rubbing in tiny circles, even dipping her fingers again to make sure she had enough to cover his entire face.

“Lucky me,” Sutan wasn’t sure if he was talking about the bread, or about the strange little things Violet always tended to do for him, this little traditions of theirs starting in Paris when Violet had needed to get rid of some extra hand moisturiser and had ended up massaging it into his skin.

“Did you have a good day?” Violet ran a finger down his nose, the pressure weirdly comforting, her never ending attention to detail carrying into this as well, the finishing tap on his nose a sign that she was done.

“Very good.” Sutan smiled as he watched Violet wipe her hands, her bedtime routine done for now even though she was still in her work clothes. “Been all over the city. Shopping, dinner, the whole shebang since I’m training a new model.”

“Great.”

Violet wasn’t fully paying attention because she had already heard of days like that before, instead grabbing her crutches to get to the kitchen, but Sutan didn’t mind.

In past relationships, he would have been interrogated if he had said he had spent the day with a model, Kahmora in particular, always keeping an eye on him.

He hadn’t thought much of it then, hadn’t even considered that there could be anything wrong with it, after all, it showed that they cared, but he had to admit that it felt amazing that Violet trusted him to do his job and just his job.

“I put your soup in the fridge,” Violet made her way to the kitchen table, sitting down to keep him company while he ate his dinner. “Sorry that it’s cold.”

“I don’t mind,” Sutan pressed a quick kiss to her temple, walking over to the fridge. “Oh. Speaking of.” Sutan looked over his shoulder. “I got you something.”

“You did?”

“It’s on the table.” Sutan grabbed the container of soup, an order of bread lying untouched on the counter. “White plastic bag!”

Just like with the ring dish, Sutan hadn’t actually realised how often he just dumped his stuff on his kitchen table, the quick pitstop he had taken at home to change into evening wear just enough time to add to the ever growing pile that Violet patiently stacked against the wall every single day.

Sutan dumped the soup into a bowl, opening the cabinet that hid the microwave to pop it in.

“Sutan… What…” Sutan turned around, looking at Violet who was holding the iPhone 6 box he had picked up at the Apple store. “What’s this?”

“A phone?” He leaned against the counter, the microwave humming away. “I’m sure you’ve seen one before.”

“I understand that it’s a phone, but why are you giving this to me?”

Sutan paused, that question not at all the one he had expected. He was thankfully saved by a ding, the microwave telling him that his food was ready so he had time to think.

“Well, isn’t it obvious? They had the newest model in stock,” Sutan took his bowl, grabbing a spoon before he walked over to the table, Violet’s brown eyes following his every step. “And your phone is barely working.”

“I don’t think-” Violet pursed her lips, clearly swallowing her words. “I can buy my own phone.”

Sutan smiled. Of course. He should have seen it coming. You wouldn’t know it just looking at Violet, his girlfriend so prim and proper from the outside, but she was adorably non-materialistic if it didn’t concern clothes.

“You could, but you haven’t, and I happened to be at the Apple store.”

“I-” Violet looked at him, her brown eyes searching his face. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome lovely eyes,” Sutan captured her healthy foot under the table, holding it between his own. “I’m here for whatever you need.”

***

Bianca picked up the French press and poured herself a second cup of coffee, inhaling the fragrance as she lifted it to her lips. She and Courtney had been in bed all morning, but finally decided to wander downstairs for a very late breakfast.

She looked up to where Courtney stood at the stove, concocting some kind of tofu scramble.

“How’s it going over there?”

Courtney had insisted it was one of the few things she knew how to cook, happily chopping tomatoes, zucchini, shallots, and pretty much every other vegetable Bianca had on hand before dumping it all in a sizzling wok. Bianca was frankly unconvinced that she knew what she was doing, but told herself she’d eat it regardless.

“It’s great! Almost done!” Courtney chirped, adding what Bianca noted was a respectable amount of hot sauce for a white girl.

“Sounds great,” Bianca said, opening a cabinet to grab some plates.

“It’s so nice having a stove,” Courtney commented. She said it in a breezy, offhanded way, but it gave Bianca pause, turning towards her with a furrowed brow.

“You don’t have a stove?”

Courtney bit her lip, suddenly embarrassed, and explained, “Well, my place is a studio, and...uh, there’s not like a full kitchen.”

Bianca nodded, doing her best to keep the judgment off her face. No stove meant that whatever place Courtney was renting was not a real studio, and likely an illegal sublet. She shuddered to think of all the potential safety violations in that kind of set-up. Nevertheless, she decided to drop the subject, putting the plates down and slipping an arm around Courtney’s waist, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Thank you for making breakfast, baby.”

“Anytime…” Courtney gave the pan another stir with a wooden spatula before leaning back against Bianca, letting her hold her even tighter.

“So listen...I, uh...have a proposal for you.”

“Oh?” Courtney tilted her head back, one eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, so, there’s this big fucking board meeting scheduled for January 6th, so I’m probably gonna stay in town over the holidays. I was thinking that maybe you could stay here, while Galactica’s shut down. With, uh, full stove access. Would you like that?”

Courtney whirled around, her beautiful face beaming, throwing her arms around Bianca’s neck and exclaiming, “I’d love it!”

Bianca leaned forward to capture her lips in a gentle kiss which soon grew deeper as Courtney arched against her, backing her up against the island. Bianca smiled against her mouth, unable to stop the dimples from piercing through as she thought about how lucky she was.

They stayed like that, blissfully wrapped in each other, until Bianca lifted her head to ask, “Is something burning?”

“Shit!”

***

“Mmh,” Trixie had to bite down a moan, his mouthful of waffles and bacon like an explosion of flavor. “Holy shit!”

“So?” Katya grinned, looking at him with her blue eyes. “Are they up to the standard?”

Their entire Sunday brunch crew, and even Violet, was gathered in their living room, Katya cooking for everyone, the table stacked with hearty and filling winter recipes like ginger and peach pudding, spiced sweet potatoes, apple pancakes and baked chickpeas.

“They’re amazing!” Trixie smiled, shoving another forkful down, the salt and the syrup perfect together.

“Awh thanks sugar butt,” Katya pressed a kiss against his cheek, which made Kim produce a retching noise.

“Take it to the bedroom you two!” Kim threw her napkin at them, which made Shangela snort and Ivy giggle.

“Be careful what you wish for Kimmie,” Pearl drawled, a stack of apple pancakes largely untouched on her plate, “because you really don’t want them to take it to the bedroom.”

“Everyone,” Max rolled his eyes, even though he was still smiling and Trixie snorted, a sense of pride welling up in his chest at Pearl’s words.

Sure, he and Katya had a tendency to be loud, but how could he not when Katya was the hottest woman alive, her innovation, commands and demands in the bedroom so fun and rewarding to follow.

“Actually,” Katya sat up straight, Trixie mourning the loss of her heat for a moment, until he recognized the serious expression on her beautiful face. “Trixie and I have an announcement.”

Everyone grew quiet, all watching them as Katya stood up.

“I’m pregnant...and we’re keeping it.”

At once, the table erupted in cheers, Ivy hopping up off the chair she was sitting on to go hug Katya, while Pearl made a beeline for the kitchen, yelling over her shoulder that she was getting the champagne.

“Congratulations!” Violet smiled, her hands clasped together. “That’s amazing!”

“It is,” Trixie smiled, warm happiness filling his entire body as he watched Katya laugh, Shangela joining in on the hug.

“Mama! I can’t believe you're gonna be a Mama!” Shangela grinned, holding Katya’s elbow and shaking her. “I thought you were completely set on never having kiddos?”

“I thought I was, but-” Katya looked at Trixie, their eyes meeting across the table. “It happened and, I mean. What’s the worst case scenario? That we fuck up and they become a serial killer?”

“Shit, that would be fucked up,” Kim snorted, her eyes widening. “Not that killer isn’t a cool name.”

“Now that’d be something!” Pearl grinned, returning to the living room with a bottle of champagne and several glasses, the stems between her fingers. She bent down, pressing her cheek against Katya’s stomach. “Hi Killer! We can’t wait to meet you!”

“Pearl!” Trixie swatted his best friend's shoulder, but Katya was laughing, holding Pearl’s head and pressing it against her stomach, and while Trixie seriously hoped his child wouldn’t become a serial killer, he had to admit that it was a little bit funny.

“Seriously,” Shangela looked around. “All y’all need Jesus. Stat.”

***

“Courtney,” Tyra said, rapping on the glass jewelry case to get her attention. “Courtney…”

“Court!” Morgan cut in sharply, and at that she finally looked up.

“You ready to take a break?” Tyra asked. “There’s a pho place right around the corner that we could try.”

“Oh, uh...yeah, just give me a couple of minutes.”

Tyra exchanged a put-upon look with Morgan, who returned her look with an exaggerated eye roll. When they’d suggested meeting up, neither of them were anticipating following Courtney around as she scoured antique stores to find the perfect Christmas present for Bianca.

She’d already found a huge book of 1960s fashion photography, as well as a vintage Hermes scarf, but apparently that wasn’t enough for her precious girlfriend. And worse, she’d been talking about nothing except Bianca all afternoon.

Tyra didn’t care if Courtney was gay or bi or whatever, but this slavish devotion to her brand new relationship was extremely tedious, and it made Tyra long for the days when Courtney would date men whose names she forgot three days later.

“Ooh, look at these!” Courtney exclaimed, pointing to a pair of earrings. “Aren’t they beautiful?!”

“Nice,” Morgan said, barely looking up from her phone.

They were nice. As annoyed as Tyra was, she had to admit that. They looked like brass, cut into art deco shapes and adorned with garnets, exactly the right style for Bianca, at least from what Tyra could tell from seeing her on TV.

“Excuse me,” Courtney asked the sales clerk, “How much are these earrings here? I can’t see the price tag.”

The clerk took a key and opened the case, pulling out the earrings to examine the price tag before declaring, “$279.”

Morgan whistled softly under her breath and the clerk raised one eyebrow, just barely but enough to be noticed.

“Shall I ring them up for you?” he asked drily, clearly expecting her to say no, already moving to put the earrings back into the case.

“Um…” Courtney bit her lip, fingertips resting on the edge of the glass.

“Court, you’re not seriously gonna spend that much are you?” Tyra asked, appalled. She’d seen Courtney’s apartment. That girl did not have a damn penny to spare.

“Yeah, she knows you’re poor, there’s no way she’s expecting some expensive gift,” Morgan added.

“No, I know, but…” Courtney squared her shoulders and looked at the sales clerk, saying, “I’ll take them.”

Tyra looked at Morgan behind her back, scandalized, shaking her head. Morgan smothered a laugh with her hand and gave a little shrug as if to say, ‘It’s her credit card debt.’

***

Pearl was back at the club again. At 4 pm on a Sunday. Which was totally normal, right?

Right.

She sighed slightly, swirling the whiskey in her glass, unable to hear the clink of ice cubes over the pounding bass. She should definitely leave, she knew that, and told herself that she would… She wasn’t going to say that she was obsessed, wasn’t going to give in to the fact that she couldn’t stop thinking about Dahlia, but she was leaning on the side of pathetic, and if there was one thing Pearl Liaison didn’t do, it was pathetic.

She probably had to rethink that though, as she handed one of the managers 200 dollars in cash, the man taking her to a small enclosed room, a heavy red curtain blocking out the rest of the club.

Her stripper alias was “Sin,” which was both absurdly simple and painfully fitting, Pearl drawn to her dangerous beauty like a spell, hungry for even the smallest taste of her.

Pearl tapped her fingers against her thigh, her lip between her teeth, when she heard a voice come from the doorway.

“Well well well,” Dahlia smirked, pushing the curtain aside.  “Look who’s back.”

Pearl felt her heart skip a beat as Dahlia gave her a slow once-over, her bedroom eyes even sexier when she was so close. Today’s outfit was a sinful (fitting) red set, a garter belt digging into Dahlia’s soft tan skin.

“Mmmh.” Pearl tried to keep her face blank and expressionless, tried desperately to hang onto the last bit of control, but she couldn’t stop her heart from speeding up as Dahlia made her way across the room, her palms getting sweaty as she swayed her hips to the music.

“So,” Dahlia smiled, swinging a leg over Pearl’s lap. “You know the rules right?”

She smelled like peaches, and Pearl had to dig her fingers into the velvet of the couch she was sitting on.

“No touching,” Dahlia reminded her, full lips twisted into a smirk.

“I’ve never been a fan of rules.”

“Good thing that isn’t up to you then,” Dahlia sat down, and Pearl had to bite back a groan as she took her weight, the woman an insane tease. “Promise me that you’ll be good?” Dahlia tilted her head, her lips slightly separated, “or I promise you that a bouncer will kick your ass to the curb.”

“Shit, right, right.” Pearl nodded, and Dahlia grinned.

“Good girl.”

Pearl swallowed. Dahlia reached out, grabbing a remote from behind Pearl, a small speaker inside their room powering up, and Pearl was in heaven as she began to move.

To call it a dance would be generous, but Pearl didn’t care. She was mesmerized by her curves, watching her with rapt attention as she swayed her hips, bent down to slowly unhook the garters, leaving them dangling. Dahlia was sin personified, her bra holding her perfect tits in place, the promise of hard nipples just underneath the lace.

Dahlia turned around, and Pearl knew instantly that she worked out, her ass round and firm, the kind of deliciousness that only came from discipline and hard work. A quick motion and her bra was now unhooked. She let the straps slide off her shoulders, finally dropping the bra on the ground.

“Turn around,” Pearl whined, unable to help herself, and Dahlia looked back over her shoulder, dark eyes flashing with amusement.

“You really want it, huh?” she asked, and Pearl nodded vigorously.

“Uh huh.”

Dahlia turned back slowly, hands demurely covering her chest, lashes fluttering.

“Please…”

She kneeled on the couch, straddling Pearl’s thighs before removing her hands, arching up forward to display her glorious tits, brown nipples hard and so, so close.

Pearl bit back a whimper, and Dahlia began to roll her hips slowly, inching closer and closer until her perfect mouth was right up against Pearl’s ear.

“What are you thinking about, baby?”

“How much I hate rules,” slipped out of Pearl’s mouth before she thought better of it, and Dahlia laughed.

“Poor thing...” Dahlia clucked, taking Pearl’s hand from the arm of the sofa and inching it towards her body. First her thigh, skating her fingertips higher and higher up her beautiful tan skin, flashing the naughtiest smile as she got closer to her lace, barely-there panties.

Pearl’s chest heaved, and Dahlia laughed, right in her face, redirecting her hand higher and higher, palm very nearly brushing against one of her pert nipples, finally letting it rest on her bare shoulder as Dahlia ran her own fingers teasingly across Pearl’s.

She arched forward again, those incredible tits grazing Pearl’s own chest. Pearl squirmed painfully on the sofa as Dahlia body-rolled against her, not daring to move her hand from where it was placed, fingers digging into the smooth skin.

She was close, could feel herself on the edge, and orgasm so close just from this, and then suddenly the song had ended, and Dahlia hopped up off her lap, re-clipping her garters, picking up her bra from the floor.

Pearl tried one last hail Mary, hoarsely saying, “Give me your number.”

Dahlia laughed, shaking her head. “No way. This...this is business.” She gestured to the room around them. “That would be...not. And anyway, what would your girlfriend say?”

“She-” Pearl swallowed. “We broke up.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

“We did!” Pearl sputtered. “It’s true.”

“Yeah, well, even so...you do know I’m her friend, right?” Dahlia asked pointedly.

“Well…”

“Exactly,” Dahlia said, shaking her head again. “You’re asking for trouble.”

“I want to see you again,” Pearl said.

“You can see me anytime,” she said sweetly, adding pointedly, “As long as you bring cash,” before leaving, shutting the curtain behind her.

Pearl let her head drop back against the sofa, a deep sigh leaving her. Fuck.

***

“So,” Trixie tried not to tap his fingers or look at himself as he watched his computer screen, Skype pulled up.

Trixie didn’t like doing job interviews, the process tedious and draining each and every time, living up to Fame’s expectations and wishes difficult on a good day.

Interviews, however, were especially draining when it happened digitally, trying to act natural hard enough on its own when on screen, but as the manager and department head, it was his responsibility to feel out potential hires, to figure out if they’d fit with his team or not, but he had a decent feeling with this one.

“Are you interested?”

“Fuck yes!”

Trixie had to hide a grin, Aurora practically beaming through the screen. She was very pretty with tan skin, white blonde hair and full brows, the striped shirt she was wearing fashionable and fun.

Aurora had an impressive portfolio, her references were decent, and most importantly, she seemed like someone Fame could be impressed with if given time and guidance.

“Oh fuck-” Aurora grimaced, the enthusiasm gone for a second before she recovered, trying to play it cool. “I mean yes. Yes I’d love that.”

“Great.” This time, Trixie couldn’t hold back the laugh, Aurora probably fitting right into his department if she could keep the attitude in check.

“Our legal department will take care of your visa,” Trixie jotted down that he’d have to talk to Rita, work permits always a massive pain in the ass, “but you’re starting January 10 either way, and hopefully you won’t have to work remotely for long.”

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

I’m Always Curious Part Nine

Previous Part | Next Part |  Masterlist Notes: Not beta-read. Synathehol is a TNG thing I think, so. On Earth in this story they drink alcohol, thank you. I hope everyone is well :) Thank you to everyone that’s read/liked/reblogged/replied! I really appreciate it! Summary: I’d become too engrossed in an argument with Spock (albeit a friendly one) on the effects (and logic) of using time travel to go back and change certain events. My idea was, if two totally separate events weren’t known to have any impact on one another, what would it matter which order you visited them in? 

Shock of all shocks, I didn’t sleep well. “What are you listening to?” Thira asked as I pulled my headphones out. “Oh, it’s...” I floundered before waving her off, “Don’t worry about it, I can only understand, like, some of it.” “What are you up to?” “I’ve got a lecture in--” I glanced at the time, “Like an hour, so I have got to run.” “Are you coming to Liquara tonight?” Thira asked, watching me gather my things. “Ah... I think so?” I glanced back at her as I packed my PADD into my bag. “You can take one night off,” Thira said, “Loosen up, have a couple of drinks...Maybe meet somebody?” She waggled her brows at me, and I laughed, unable to help it. “I don’t think that’ll be happening,” I said, pulling bag onto my shoulder. “Come on, when was the last time you dated?” Thira asked, folding her legs up under herself. “I don’t know, my last year of the Academy?” I shrugged. “...Yikes,” Thira muttered. “Thank you for that-- I’m leaving now!” I tacked on before hurrying out of our room. -- I did manage to make it to my Dominionese lecture on time, with a very large coffee (loaded with extra espresso and additional caramel drizzle). I got to the lecture hall just on time and took the only available seat left - right next to Captain Pike. I couldn’t help my stiff posture as I sat down, taking out my PADD and putting on the virtual display sensory headset that was left out for me. As the instructor began to lay out what we’d be working on, I felt Pike lean over, his bicep pressing against mine as he murmured, “Late night?”

I hummed the affirmative, picking up my coffee and taking a sip as if to prove it. I heard Pike chuckle beside me, and I fought the urge to turn my head, see the waiting smile. I kept my eyes on the instructor, then on the Dominionese that appeared on the headset. I could still feel Pike’s arm pressed to mine; that didn’t matter, right? I could focus on something other than contact. I zoned in on the text on the headset, letting my fingers move over my PADD as I worked through the first few rows of translations. Now and again, the instructor would interrupt us, calling on students to read their translations aloud, correcting for grammar and syntax. Pike and I escaped the questioning; I’d found that unless the workshops or classes were geared specifically toward alumni, instructors tended to leave visiting students alone. Pike didn’t lean over to chat anymore throughout the rest of the class, which was a relief, but he didn’t lean away, either. He was close throughout, arm still resting against mine, thighs occasionally brushing, or our feet would knock against one another under the desk. Every single time I’d tell myself that if this was Una, or Thira, it wouldn’t be making my heart jump the way it was. If this was Spock-- Actually, no. Spock would keep his limbs to himself.

Nevertheless, class passed without incident. I removed the headset as it ended, closing my eye for a moment to help it readjust. “Well, that was informative,” Pike piped up. I glanced over at him, nodding, and was more than a little relieved to find him focused on packing away his things. I turned back down to my PADD, saving the notes I’d taken as I saw Pike’s head turn back to me, presumably as a result of my lack of verbal response. “You heading back to the ship?” He prompted. “Ah-- No. There’s a language panel on Iconian in...”  I glanced at the time on my PADD, “Like ten minutes, so, I’m just gonna hang out here.” "Packed morning,” Pike commented, brows raised. I shrugged. “I just--” “Like to keep busy?” Pike finished knowingly, smiling. I returned the smile in spite of myself, nodding. “Exactly,” I confirmed. “Well, try to get some rest some time this week, lieutenant,” the Captain said, standing and patting me on the shoulder as he passed me. I returned my eyes to my PADD, unthinkingly answering, “Yeah, you, too.” I heard Pike’s steps falter, but I didn’t raise my eyes to meet what I was sure was a questioning gaze. I just reopened my Dominionese and reviewed my answers until I was sure he was gone. -- I did not want to go out. After the last 24 hours I’d had, I just wanted to take an extra long, extra hot shower and curl up in bed with my PADD and a bottle Risian wine. But I also knew that if I didn’t go, I wouldn’t hear the end of it from Thira -- and possibly from Una. I got to Liquara a little while after everyone else (the panel on Iconian had run long and delayed my getting back to the ship; I’d taken longer to get ready because I’d had to re-talk myself into going every five minutes). “You’re alive?” Thira teased as I settled into a seat beside hers and across from Una. There were a few others at the table - Spock, Nhan, and Connolly, as well as a few people from engineering that I vaguely recognized. “I was just telling everyone how you had your headphones on this morning and you were listening to something that sounded so harsh, but kinda...Lyrical. What was that?” Thira asked. The surrounding party looked at me expectantly and I answered, “Klingon poetry.” “I wasn’t aware there as an intensive on Klingon poetry this week,” Una commented, brow raised. “This was more of an independent study situation,” I admitted. “Is there anything in particular that sparked your sudden interest in such a topic?” Spock asked. I shrugged, reaching for a menu and skimming it in favor of meeting anyone’s eye. “Just had the urge, I guess,” I excused before looking around, “I haven’t been here in a while, so, someone refresh my memory: are the slush-o mixes worth the hangover?” -- I stayed out later than I had anticipated. I didn’t partake in many sugary alcoholic drinks on the Enterprise, so it didn’t take long for a decent buzz to kick in. People peeled off as the night wore on, until it was down to myself, Thira, Una, Spock, and Connolly -- practically the ready room crowd.

I should not have stayed out, though. I should’ve had one drink and then ducked out gracefully. But I’d become too engrossed in an argument with Spock (albeit a friendly one) on the effects (and logic) of using time travel to go back and change certain events. My idea was, if two totally separate events weren’t known to have any impact on one another, what would it matter which order you visited them in? “My point is, if I chose first to go back and stop T.S. Eliot from writing Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats and then subsequently traveled forward in time and stopped Oppenheimer from designing the atomic bomb--” “Why would you choose to halt the writing of a book rather than the creation of a catastrophic weapon?” Spock asked. “Okay, two reasons: One - It is a time machine, Spock, I’d have literally nothing but time. Two-- No, actually, three reasons-- two, that book came out in 1939, the Manhattan Project didn’t start until 1942, so I think it is safe to say that despite its historical significance to mankind, I would not be doing the world a disservice by visiting those events in chronological order.” “And the third reason?” Una asked. "The movie CATS was the first step to the subsequent tanking of Universal Studios in the 22nd century, so that’s my first priority if I ever get a personal time machine,” I said simply. His laugh joined in with the others-- my ear caught on that sound, the way it had the night before. My eyes darted to the other end of the table, and I felt my smile falter a little. I had been so engrossed in my conversation with Spock that I hadn’t even noticed the Captain settled on the other side of Connolly. Pike’s eyes met mine as the laughter settled, and I gave him a quick smile before averting my eyes. I could feel Una looking at me, and when I raised my eyes to hers, I found her brow quirked. She peered around Connolly at the Captain. “What kept you?” She asked. “I was speaking with Admiral Cornwall about our next mission. Nothing for us to discuss tonight. How was the lecture?” He asked. When silenced followed the question, I realized it had been directed at me. I met Pike’s eye again. “Informative.” I left it there, picking up the menu again and looking it over. Part of me already know I was going to be switching to water, though. -- I remembered why I’d liked being called to the ready room so much at the beginning - when there were so many of us, before I was better acquainted with the Captain, it was easier for me to hang back; I didn’t feel as pressured to speak up. And at Liquara, with Una, Thira, and Connolly there to steer the conversation, and Spock to interject (heavily), I didn’t feel that the conversation lagged anywhere. And I was being good - keeping my eyes to myself, only looking at the Captain when he was speaking; smiling and laughing an appropriate amount, and definitely, definitely not thinking about that sigh of his name and the giggle I’d heard the night before. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving.” Thira had managed to catch what I had assumed was a subtle shrugging on of my jacket, but what to her was apparently a beacon of retreat. I gave her a small, regretful smile. “I just realized how late it is.” “You’re not going to the long-range sensor lab again, are you?” Spock asked, watching me. Unbeknownst to me, he’d been there himself the night before, and had actually left shortly before I had. I laughed a little, shaking my head. “No, not tonight. I’ve got an Exoarchaeology and the 22nd Century intensive that I’ve gotta be up for,” I excused, “I already settled up at the bar.” “I thought you were going to ask about their drink special,” Una pointed out, raising a brow. I shrugged as I stood. “And I did. Right before I settled up. Have a good night, guys,” I cast a quick smile around, careful not to let my eyes linger on anyone for too long before I turned and left. That had been good, right? Natural. I had contributed to the conversation, I hadn’t hung on the Captain’s every word like some giggling schoolgirl. I’d more than earned that extra long, extra hot shower. And maybe one Klingon poem. “Headed for the shuttles?” Every single instinct told me to walk faster, pretend I hadn’t heard him. I turned in spite of this. He wasn’t too far behind me. I stopped walking, giving him the chance the catch up. "Sort of our only way to get back to the ship right now, so, that was the plan,” I nodded. Pike pulled his communicator out, raising it to his lips. I was a little tipsy, but I was looking at the communicator, I swear, not at Pike’s mouth. “Pike to transporter room. Two to beam up.” “But--” Before I could finish my sentence, we were in the transporter room. “But?” Pike asked before nodding to the crew. I gave them a quick wave before stepping off of the pads behind Pike. “But I thought the transporter room was out of commission until the Enterprise’s diagnostic was complete,” I said, following Pike to the turbolift. “Diagnostic was completed this morning, Enterprise was cleared,” Pike reported, brow furrowing, “I mentioned that earlier.” Maybe he had; I had been making an active effort at the bar to not listen too intently to what he was saying, and apparently I’d done too good of a job. I nodded once. “Right. Sorry, I must have slush-o mix in my ears,” I muttered. We stepped onto the turbolift, each reaching for the control panel. Pike and I both lowered our hands, and I heard Pike murmur, “Go ahead.” I entered my destination before Pike entered his. There was a pause before the lift hummed. “...Lieutenant, may I ask you something?” “‘Course.” “Please don’t take this unkindly, but,” Oh god, “Is everything alright?” I turned a frown up at Pike, confused. “Why do you ask?” “You seem to be burying yourself in work. Between the lectures yesterday and this morning,” How did he know about yesterday? “The long-range sensor lab last night, your lecture tomorrow-- I’ve been told you took Onafuwa’s one-day intensive?” Una. Blabbermouth. “All compelling evidence, but need I remind you, Captain, that we are in the same turbolift right now because we just left the same bar?” I pointed out. Pike’s brow quirked. “Be that as it may, I just wanted to ask the question on the off-chance it needed asking.” I turned my head again to face the turbolift doors. “I’m alright, Captain.” “...Then why couldn’t you look me in the eye and say that?” “Is that why you left?” I asked, looking up at him then. “Excuse me?” “The bar. Is that why you left the bar? To ask me this?” He blinked once, twice, then pursed his lips, shook his head once and said, “No.” I couldn’t help the smug look that overtook my features as the turbolift doors opened on my floor. Looking back, I’d pass the boldness off on the copious amount of slush-o mix I’d had at the bar. “Never join the Starfleet poker league, Captain. You don’t bluff well,” I said before stepping off of the lift and leaving him behind.

[omniswords]

Chronicles of a Parisian Dumbass 14

Happy Chronicles Update! I promise I'm still trucking along on this baby. I think?? We've also officially reached the halfway mark on this installment, which is kind of. Wow. That's WILD.

anyway, I hope you enjoy!

welcome to today’s episode of Luka’s Word to the Wise: whatever it is, it doesn’t have to be perfect. it just has to be good.

thanks, I.

Ivan is right. And technically, so is his Ma, who’s been telling him and Juleka this for as long as he can remember. But Luka will give them the gratification of saying I told you so when this is all over. Even though he could take a stab in the dark and guess that only one of them would take him up on that offer. And it wouldn’t be Ivan. And it wouldn’t be his Ma.

In between messaging back and forth with Bubbles over the next couple of days, Luka puts together a flyer. It’s not exactly the best—just something he threw together on one of those free graphic design websites, definitely nothing like a Gabriel billboard. But it’s punchy, and it fits the vibe, and it gets the overall message across. And more importantly, Juleka doesn’t give him The Look for it. In fact, she smiles over his shoulder when it’s done, and she rubs her fist in his hair, and she affectionately says, “Now can you chill?”

Luka only grins and throws her into a fireman’s carry for another round of ping-pong. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t know how to be totally chill any more.

They pool pocket money, leftovers from past paychecks, to put in an order for copies at the local print shop. Only Rose has ever been; she tells them she’s tagged along with a couple of old friends from an art club to print issues of the comic they’ve been working on together. It’s nice to see her take the lead, point out the best paper stocks and finishes and spot colors, whatever those are, based on what she’s overheard. It certainly beats the alternative: four barely-adults standing awkwardly at the counter, pretending they know what they’re doing.

Even if, according to Luka’s Ma, that’s most of what adulthood is, anyway.

They decide on something glossy because it makes the colors pop, and admittedly Luka has to thank his lucky, anxious stars for saving the file in every format imaginable because he wasn’t sure which one they’d need. Before he leaves them and heads to work on his bike, Juleka gives him another smile, and Ivan manages a single, subtle nod, and Rose’s eyes sparkle. And it’s starting to feel a little less like a thing he needs to do. It’s a thing he wants to do. With them.

And, well. Any bonuses are just that. Bonuses.

These days, Luka’s made it a point to bike past the bakery on his way to work, because if he’s as much of a regular as the Dupain-Cheng family claims, then he might as well act like it. To be fair, he doesn’t always stop in to talk or buy something; in fact, most times he doesn’t. maybe it’s some silly sense of hope that he’ll be seen. That Marinette really did talk to her parents about picking up an extra shift or two behind the counter. That there’s still room on the bulletin board for him—them. And most times, it is just Mrs. Cheng at the storefront, organizing displays or chatting with a friendly customer.

But sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes it is Marinette, idly staring at the window with what he can only assume is her sketchbook at her side and her apron tied around her waist. And sometimes, she looks up at him. And sometimes, she waves and smiles with all the warmth and none of the sweat of July.

That’s why he does it. For the sometimes.

The flyers, once they’re printed, are nothing short of gorgeous, but Luka can’t bring himself to take any of the credit for it. More than anything, he’s just happy to see his bandmates all in on this, even if he did jump in with both feet. Even if they do still rib him during practice about how he’s way too invested in this. (At least Mylène has only nice things to say. He’ll have to remember to order a few extra pastries just for her.)

They split the flyers into four stacks, because of course Mylène insists on helping and of course Rose and Juleka insist on going together. They run or pedal off in different directions once they’ve put a game plan together, and at least Luka can credit them for not teasing when he offers to take the third and fourth arrondissement. They all know it’s where the bakery is, in spite of how he talks up the Place des Vosges. They know, and they don’t have to say anything.

He’s still trying to figure out whether it’s a blessing or a curse to have your real-life friends on your social media accounts.

Even as he’s hanging the flyers in downtown coffee shops, in libraries, on signposts and public bulletin boards, Luka can’t stop staring. With every flyer he pins or tapes up, he finds something new to love about it. A splash of neon color in the top left corner. The jagged, cutting edges of the lettering. The blurred glow of a spotlight. Every time he looks, he gets the feeling that he’s already there. Music pounding in his ears, stage lights burning so bright and hot they make him sweat, fresh calluses on his fingertips that he’ll regret and adore later. He doesn’t think of stardom often, but he imagines this is something close to it.

At the very least, it’s what he would want to make of it.

It’s close to closing by the time Luka arrives at the bakery-patisserie; the usual lingering smells of fresh bread and sugary frosting and the easygoing music are both conspicuously absent when he walks in. But Mr. Dupain and Ms. Cheng are both missing from the storefront, and he has to double check the time on his phone to make sure he didn’t accidentally arrive too late, or that he’s not interrupting some closing routine. It shouldn’t take long; he spent almost the whole bike ride over rehearsing what he needed to say. He looks around cautiously, even clears his throat in case it gets someone’s attention.

It does. Marinette pops up from behind the counter with a squeak, and it startles him so much he nearly drops the stack of remaining flyers in his arms. And that would’ve been a pain in the ass as much as it would’ve been straight out of one of Rose’s cute romcoms for Marinette to round the counter and help him pick them up until their hands brushed over the same one.

Jesus. He really needs to get out of the house on his sister’s date nights.

He really needs to have a date night.

He also really needs to stop thinking about date nights when the person he’d actually consider a date night with is right in front of—

“Luka?”

He blinks to attention, standing awkwardly in the quiet. God, he really hopes he wasn’t staring at her when he zoned out like that. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

Marinette shrugs it off with an apologetic smile. “We’re fresh out of napoleons, you know,” she says casually, slipping past him to flip the sign on the door. “Guess you’ll just have to come first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah, I guess I will—wait—” He shakes his head. “No, that’s not why I’m here.”

Marinette pauses at that. Even seems to stand a little taller, intrigued. Hopeful? “Oh…? Then why…  are you here?”

Meekly, Luka holds up one of the Kitty Section flyers and nods toward the bulletin board. Here’s hoping he—it— isn’t too much of a disappointment.

Marinette squints at the flyer for a second, and then her eyes widen and spark in delight. She looks… impressed, at least. which isn’t to say she’s never seemed impressed by him before. It just makes all the things he’s been working for a little more worth it. “Wow,” she says. “You really weren’t kidding about being in a band, huh.”

“You know it,” he says with what he prays is a casual shrug; this… wasn’t part of the script. “I don’t wear this thing on my back just to look pretty.”

She stifles a laugh, then claps a hand to her mouth immediately. “Sorry, I didn’t—I wasn’t implying that you’re not handsome—pretty— “

Oh God. She’s stammering. And it’s adorable.

Marinette composes herself with a deep breath and her arms folded over her chest. “There are pushpins in the corner,” she says. “Hang it up wherever you want.”

Except Luka can’t help feeling like she’s got her eyes on him the whole time. Either she’s coming to terms with the fact that he was telling the truth all along, or she’s… judging him. Or the flyer. And honestly, he can’t tell which is worse. “What’s wrong?” he asks once he notices she’s still staring. “Did I put it up at a funny angle or something?”

“No, just… thinking…” Her voice sounds distant, perhaps somewhere he might never find her. But then she snaps her fingers, and she says, “That’s it!”

“Uh.” Luka’s brow furrows. “What’s it?”

“Oh, just… sorry, my thoughts just ran away with me, I guess.” Marinette steps toward the flyer, brushing her fingers over it and wincing. maybe it’s just from the finish; his nails have scraped over then more than once, and it felt just as bad as a chalkboard. “I was just thinking, well…  you’ve been good to my parents and all. Why don’t we help you with promotion? You know, put postcards in the boxes or bags. It couldn’t hurt, could it?”

Luka nearly spotters, but the only thing he can manage to say is, “Where am I gonna get postcards?”

“I can make ‘em.” She says it like the simplest, most obvious thing in the world, and looks him up and down when he falters. “If… you and your band are okay with that, I mean. Cause I, y’know… dabble, in graphic design. But I don’t want to impose, if you’re okay with this. It’s your band and all.”

“I can,” he starts to say; then he stops himself, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “I can ask them?” Idiot, he thinks. That wasn’t supposed to be a question. “I’ll let you know what they say. Have to come in bright and early tomorrow anyway, right?”

Marinette only smiles. It’s faint, almost absentminded, but that sweet little tug at the corner of her mouth is hardly lost on him. “You don’t have to.”

“Ask them?”’

“Come by.” Her bag is hanging on a peg by the register, and she’s off rummaging through it before Luka can ask what she means. He gravitates toward her more than he actually walks to her, and by the time he reaches the counter she’s fishing a card out of her wallet. It’s pink and black, decorated with the same spray of flowers and monogram as her apron. when he turns it over, there’s her name at the top, and below that, two email addresses. And two phone numbers.

He looks up, wide-eyed.

“So,” Marinette says. “Unless you’re coming all this way for a napoleon, a pear tart, and my pretty face, I think you’re good.”

“I—” Luka turns the business card over and over as though it will teach him now to speak again. “I guess so.” Does she know he thinks her face is pretty? Wait—of course she does, he gave her that note. Oh, Jesus, does she still have that thing? It’s been weeks. “Well,” he says, scuffing his heel against the tile. “Who knows. Maybe I’ll come anyway.”

Okay, that was definitely not part of the script.

But then, neither is the way her eyes are sparkling. “Well,” she murmurs. “Maybe you will.”

“I should, uh—” He jerks a thumb toward the door. “Go, um. Happy closing?”

She laughs behind a hand, glancing between him and the tacked-up flyer before she grabs a broom and sends him off with a delicate wave. And to be honest, Luka’s never been angry with nature before, but he curses the wind for being so loud that he can’t hear that giggle in his head, over and over. Almost as much as he thanks it for drowning out all the stupid things he said, and the lingering questions of why she offered at all.

Luka’s Word to the Wise, Part 2:

Progress isn’t linear but it sure as hell doesn’t mean you can’t stutter your way through getting a girl’s number and succeed.

[lluvguts]

extra sugar // reddie

pairing: modern! richie tozier / eddie kaspbrak

warnings: none!

word count: 1964

summary:  Richie has been going to the same coffee shop for a week now but the barista still won't get his name right.

Richie’s stomach did a little flip when he opened the cool glass door into the coffee shop. Not because of the menu, showcasing their outrageously priced drinks, but at the young barista behind the counter. Richie couldn’t seem to shake that jittery feeling, he got his coffee from the same place every morning and still that kind face smiling back at him sent a new shiver of want every time.

The first time they’d met was a week before. A Friday, filled with Richie scrambling to get his stand-up act written on time in the early hours in that secluded coffee shop before his theatre class started. Richie had noticed between sips of a sugary mocha latte that the barista was sneaking careful glances at his hunched, furiously typing frame from behind the bakery display case. An older woman had taken Richie’s order before he sat down, but that didn’t stop the younger boy from hiding behind the large glass of pastries so Richie might be led to believe he wasn’t staring. But today, it was him taking Richie’s order, like it had been ever since he’d decided to return for some good coffee over the weekend—and to see those warm brown eyes again.

The barista did a small wave, inviting Richie into the comforting blanket of coffee smells and churning espresso machines that he’d grown to appreciate. Richie’s wallet, however, was not as happy. Each drink was eight dollars or more.

When he’d stepped up to the register his heart did that annoying jumpstart again, almost surprised to see the familiar face. The name Eddie was written with a practiced hand on one of the pins tied to his apron, among other buttons and colorful patches. Of course he knew his name , but he’d never stopped to examine the array of shiny pins across his chest. Richie took note of the newest addition to Eddie’s pin collection: a rainbow pride flag nested under his name tag, its colors glinting bright and well, happily in the golden house light.

“What can I get you?” Eddie’s voice brought him out of his head. He flashed a grin, making Richie’s heart lose it. “The usual?”

“If by ‘usual’ you mean whatever sends me into heart failure the quickest, then yes ,” Riche replied, gaining enough of that on-stage confidence to smirk back, earning a blush from Eddie.

“How about I surprise you?” Eddie turned to the screen in front of him, punching in a few details to the order, giving Richie the perfect amount of time to realize how many freckles spanned across Eddie’s softened features. And maybe even imagine how delicate his fingers would have to be if he’d let his hands brush across those flushed cheeks. Or what else his long fingers could brush over...

Nope. He saved those thoughts for when his classes were over and for nights spent in bed alone, after rehearsing his lines while inhaling microwaved instant ramen. Not right now when he was standing in front of him.

They’d only made small talk at the register, and every time Richie’s hands touched Eddie’s to get his coffee (knowing now was really the only time to say something) his mouth wouldn’t open. He’d remain frozen in place, the only sign of life chugging through his sleepy system being his wide eyes as he read the name on the cup. Or rather, the misspelled name . He had been keeping track of Eddie’s butchered attempts at writing Richie Tozier, finding it to be a constructive use of his free time—and a wonderful reason to flirt back.

Just Rich. Chee. Mr. Toziér. Richi Tozeer.

At that point he wanted to yank the coffee cup from Eddie’s hands and write his own damn name for him. Just to have an excuse to see if his palms were calloused and weathered, or warm and plush like he fantasized them to be.

Richie dug into a pocket of his skinny jeans for his wallet. “Go ahead, surprise me. But extra sugar .” Eddie nodded at this but was still focused on the register.

“Roger that. I’ll bring it to your table,” Eddie said with a wink.

“Thanks Eds,” Richie said back and handed over the money. Eddie lost all of the teasing glint he’d had before, instead he fell into his repertoire of shy little smiles. He was flustered and Richie found it very adorable.

“Oh, it’s just Eddie.”

“I know, I just like seeing that look on your face.”

Eddie stiffened, ignoring the other customers waiting behind Richie. “ What look?”

He chuckled and went over to an empty couch. He plopped down with his backpack while Eddie scooped a shaky cup of coffee beans into a grinder, trying not to blush and look his way.

Richie watched Eddie make his drink, peering down the edge of the counter to see that despite the growing overcast outside he was wearing shorts—ones that hugged his upper thighs and made Richie curse him to the depths of hell for even thinking of wearing them. His mind started to go south so he quickly slipped his backpack over his lap to hide his excitement at the sight of Eddie crouching down to rummage for new coffee syrup in a low cupboard—it was a serious effort to tear his longing gaze away from those painfully visible legs. He got out his phone instead, opening up some mindless puzzle game with a pounding heart so he’d stop thinking about the stupid barista with the cute ass only a few feet away. But that stupid barista was all he could think about ever since he saw him...

A to-go cup was set before him on the little rustic table, followed by a voice. “Mind if I join you? I’m on my break.”

Richie stopped sorting bright, pixelated candies and looked up at Eddie’s hopeful smile and the waft of steam peeking out of the plastic coffee lid. Before he said anything back he turned the coffee cup around until he could see the name scrawled in sharpie.

“‘ Riche Tisher ?’ How are you further off than yesterday?” Richie laughed, then nearly choked. Written after this was a phone number. Eddie’s phone number.

Eddie shifted on his toes, blinking nervously at the floor. “I know your name. I just liked seeing your reaction every time. It was um, kinda cute.”

Richie cleared his throat and hoped his next words didn’t sound too idiotic. “ Oh . Well, thanks, I guess.” Richie made room on the couch then hesitantly lifted his backpack off his jeans to set it on the floor. He kept his eyes level with the table so he wasn’t too tempted to glance down at Eddie’s bare legs dangerously close to his. He screamed at himself to say something other than his default of: a flirty insult or half-heard blubbering, but Eddie pointed to the cup.

Richie almost visibly sighed in relief and reached for his drink. “What‘s in it?”

Eddie smirked. “Surprise, remember? You tell me.”

Richie stared at that shiny rainbow pin on Eddie’s apron as he took a sip, consumed with the sweetness of honey and lavender.

“It’s my favorite thing on our menu. And the least pricey,” Eddie said.

“Well that’s good, cause I’m going to go broke after all these coffees.”

Eddie pondered over this. “You do come here often. Do you live in the area?”

“Actually, I go to the college a few blocks down. But the dorms suck.”

Eddie’s brown eyes livened at that information. “What’s your major?”

“Performing Arts. I wanna do comedy, but for now I’m stuck doing acting.” Richie said and returned that interested stare.

“Yeah, the dorms really do suck.”

Suck was an understatement. Half the time Richie’s roommates only showed up at the crack of dawn, tripping over themselves they were so wasted, to collapse onto—usually—Richie’s available bed and wouldn’t move for the rest of the morning. Even if Richie was still under the covers, fighting to breathe under their immense weight.

“You go there too? How come I never see you?” Richie tried not to sound overly eager.

“I take night classes...So I can still work,” He said with a tentative smile.

His face fell. “Oh. Sorry, I don’t know why I didn’t realize that.”

“You know, to be a great comedian you have to be able to pay attention,” Eddie teased.

Richie had been paying attention, but maybe not to all the right things.

He exposed the side of the coffee cup with Eddie’s number on it. “Well, if I’ve been reading my audience, it looks like someone is trying to get me to call them.”

Eddie let his eyes wander to Richie’s backpack, where he too had a rainbow pride flag pinned to its front. His eyes widened and the color faithfully returned to his cheeks.

If Richie thought he had it bad, Eddie outshone his awkward attempts at conversation in the very attractive, breathless, asking-a-guy-out category. “Yeah, you definitely hit the mark on that one. Maybe, if you want to, of course...We could um, get dinner sometime? If you’re not busy— or if you aren’t seeing anyone! I totally didn’t realize. Well, if you want to?...”

Richie hadn’t really been listening, ironically enough. He was too caught up in that warmth on Eddie’s face, almost able to feel the heat of his embarrassment from across the couch. Eddie sat waiting for a reply, and in place of one Richie leaned forward with a delicate hand, just to let his fingertips touch the curve of Eddie’s jawbone. Only briefly, the slightest feel of his cheek, his racing heart, trailing a finger down to his chin, then hesitantly returning to his lap. Though bold, it was the only way to communicate with his actions what his stammered words had failed to say for the last week. Hey, I think I like you. You’ve got a cute face, too. See how soft it is?

Eddie’s breathing was reduced to a short little stutter in his throat, eyeing Richie’s hand with surprise as it was no longer against his cheek.

“Y-You certainly a put on a good show,” Eddie said when he could use his lungs again, shifting to stare at Richie’s dark eyes. It was like the rest of the coffee shop fell away, and Richie found himself stuck in a scene he didn’t know the lines to, with no stage directions to rely on. There were no wings, no gaping audience—only his own feelings to drive him forward. Only Eddie next to him.

Richie took the empty cup, swirling around the last dregs of honeyed coffee before examining the number so he could type it into his contacts. “This is only the first act, Eds. You could come by my dorm before your classes start? We’ve got pizza. A five star meal, of course.”

He grinned. “It’s Eddie . So is this... play, a comedy or a tragedy?”

Richie pretended to be deep in thought. “I was thinking something along the lines of a romance , but it’s totally your call. We could Romeo and Juliet this bitch and both die in the end.”

Eddie playfully bumped Richie’s shoulder, then glanced at his phone for the time.

“I gotta get back to work, but...dinner? Around seven?”

“Perfect.”

“And, if this is only the first act, ” Eddie toyed with one of the bracelets on Richie’s wrist. For a shy little barista of a man, he sure could flirt. “How many scenes are we talking here?”

Richie gave him a knowing smile. “You’ll have to wait and see. And thanks for the coffee, Eds.”

He frowned at Richie’s expectant grin, fighting the urge to smile through his irritation. “That’s not my name.”

“‘Riche’ isn’t mine either!”

[soft-glitch]

Through Thick And Thin

Fandom: Sonic the Hedgehog

Type: hurt/comfort, platonic fluff

Word count: about 2700 words

Author’s notes: this year was a mess. But I’m grateful for a few things that happened to me in 2020. One of these things is getting into the Sonic fandom, which helped me find joy in being creative again. Another is a budding friendship with someone really cool, that I can only hope will last for a long time.

This fic is kind of a gift to that person for New Year’s Day. To everyone, but especially to you O, I wish a happy new year and many good things to come.

- - - - -

It was not an easy morning.

Shadow had always been an early bird. He never needed much sleep compared to other mobians, thanks to his bio-engineered origins. This was both a blessing and a curse, depending on the days.

Being able to stay up most of the night during missions proved useful more than once. On the other hand, when ugly thoughts would assail him and sleeping them away was not an option, well… It was suddenly much less interesting.

On this last day of December, the hedgehog could not shake uneasy feelings. Between Eggman’s plotting and his own personal issues Shadow always had rough times, but this year had been… a lot.

Walking silently in the empty corridor, careful not to wake up anyone in the household, the dark mobian reached the kitchen and started preparing hot chocolate. Since most of his friends knew about his sweet tooth he didn’t bother hiding it anymore, and Rouge always made sure they were stocked up on cocoa.

While waiting for the milk to warm, he glanced at the clock on the wall. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The eerie calm of early hours often made Shadow slightly uncomfortable. Despite his introvert side enjoying the peaceful solitude, it was also a moment where his thoughts would simmer in his mind, either awoken by confuse dreams or simply emerging as the day started. He would often put some music or read a book to avoid thinking too hard about it.

Didn’t always work, though.

Taking a deep breath the hedgehog felt some relief at the sweet scent of chocolate. He took a small sip before moving to roll himself in blankets on the large couch. With a long and noisy yawn he reached for the remote and pointed it at the large TV screen in front of him. Maybe there was something nice to watch while waiting for his roommates to get up.

- - - - -

When Shadow opened his eyes again, sunlight was gently glowing through the translucent curtains of the living room. Which meant it was probably kind of late already. It seemed he fell back asleep at some point.

With a frown, he rubbed his dishevelled quills and took a look at his phone. Almost 11am, and no sign of Rouge or Omega... This was odd, especially since they planned on spending the New Year’s Eve together.

That’s when he noticed an envelope lying on the small coffee table, next to his now empty mug. It was plain kraft, with a small card inside that only offered an address and the words “At noon, don’t be late hun”.

Obviously from Rouge. She loved putting mystery and drama in everything she did. Shadow huffed and shook his head.

Irredeemable.

Did that mean his friends got up without waking him and prepared some kind of surprise? However silly it was, this simple envelope brought some warmth to the hedgehog’s heart. He got up to take a quick shower and prepare for the day, a small smile peeking at the corner of his lips.

- - - - -

The location was one Shadow didn’t particularly recognise, a small intersection in a popular part of the town. Since Team Dark lived in a suburban area and their job at G.U.N was usually all over the world, his knowledge of the city was lacklustre. Right as his phone displayed 12pm a text popped up on the screen.

Rouge Right behind the shoes store, a cafe.

The striped mobian rolled his eyes with a hint of amusement. Even for something as simple as a New Year between friends, the bat couldn’t help making some kind of fun game to play. Shadow would gladly proclaim it futile and childish, but he actually enjoyed these quirky adventures his best friend always peppered in his life.

What he saw next filled him with pure joy. Of course Rouge wouldn’t choose a random cafe to meet. She had to make it extra one way or another, and she just knew how to please him.

The Gentle Garden Chao Café & Flower Shop

Almost giddy at the idea of having some sweets surrounded by chao, the ultimate lifeform stepped into the small establishment. A quick glance around made him happy beyond words: soft muted lights and warm colours complemented vintage furniture, large potted plants adorned all sides of the place, and —most importantly— chao of every kind were all over the place, either walking, being cuddled by clients or sleeping on small pillows.

In the back of the room was a large counter, behind which a massive chalkboard displayed both the cafe menu and prices of various flower arrangements.

Before Shadow could go and talk to the barista, a familiar face caught his attention. Rouge was there, sitting nonchalantly and sipping some drink in the most ostentatious way possible.

The hedgehog smirked and sat in front of her.

“So...?” he started with a raised brow. “So what? Did you think I’d let you stay home for this special day?” Rouge huffed between two exaggerated sips. “It’s just New Year’s Eve, not an anniversary or something...” Shadow said, glancing at the table.

He realised an order of white chocolate cappuccino —his very favourite drink— and forêt noire —one of his favourite sweets— were set in front of him. For a second he felt something rise in his chest. A mix of gratitude and that odd yet pleasing vulnerability he could only feel with his closest friends.

“I know it’s just the new year.” the bat leaned on the table, her eyes both tender and serious. “I also know you haven’t been doing great lately. It’s been a difficult time, and of course it won’t magically be over as midnight comes, but...”

She looked in the distance, her eyes piercing through the windows and their cold winter lighting. Shadow could very clearly feel the bittersweet essence of her expression. This year had also been hard on her.

“We’re in this together, y’know.” she resumed, turning a gentle smile towards him. “And while I can’t resolve every problem we have, I can at least invite my emo bestie to enjoy some chao and indulge in sugary treats!”

The hedgehog chuckled at this, then raised his cappuccino mug. “Let’s have a good time, then. To us bitches.” he said with a knowing grin. “To us bitches!” she exclaimed happily. ”Now drink that ‘ccino, we have chao to cuddle.”

Some laughs and friendly banter later, two chao had found their way on Shadow. One was sleepily nested on his legs while the other was playing on his head, brushing his quills curiously.

“You really have your way with them, just like Omega...” Rouge remarked. She loved the little creatures very much, but she never seemed to attract them as easily as her two partners. No one really knew why and she honestly didn’t mind. It was fun enough to observe them from a distance: no risks of ruined haircut or having one mess with her wings.

“This is the best.” the hedgehog whispered, his voice full of emotion. His friend chuckled. Shadow was endearing in many ways, but his love for plants and creatures was unparalleled in an extremely wholesome way.

“Did you ever consider adopting one?” she asked before biting into her remaining pastry. Shadow’s expression became slightly somber as he looked at her. “I…” he sighed and scratched the sleeping one’s head. “I always wanted to, I guess. Even on the Ark, once we learned about them with Maria, we used to pretend having one. There was a plush, I don’t remember its name. We would play parents, bring it along for walks across the Ark, this kind of things.”

Rouge nodded sympathetically. Maria was less and less a sensitive subject as years went by, but Shadow was still defensive about these memories. Sharing them was one of the most intimate things he would do, and she felt honoured every time it happened.

“Maybe one day.” the hedgehog shrugged with a tired smile. ”Right now our lives are too dangerous. I can’t raise one properly as long as we keep fighting and going on missions Chaos knows where. – Let’s hope we get Eggman and his clique once and for all, then!” Rouge said with a grin. “Can’t wait to have you pester us with photos of your ugly little baby.”

The genuine laugh that followed made the bat beam with happiness.

- - - - -

The very specific atmosphere of New Year’s Eve was not lost to the two mobians as they strolled in the city. Streets were bustling with activity, but in a way that felt distinct from other winter holidays. The ambient anticipation was less frantic, almost… solemn. Instead of rushing for gifts and food, people seemed determined to enjoy the final hours of this year.

Shadow found it interesting, not without its charm. He was more used to strolls in mountains, lonely forests and small paths undulating through fields. The buzzing activity of the city was something else —very nice, though. Plus Rouge knew every neighbourhood surprisingly well, and offered him little fun facts and stories about all sorts of buildings and places.

“It’s a real shame we don’t get more free time between G.U.N and Eggman.” the bat lamented. “There are so many nice spots I’d love to visit with Omega and you. – We do have vacations once in a while.” Shadow replied. “Yeah, but they’re either ruined by some apocalyptic event or by an intense need for rest.” she sighed. “We can’t enjoy the Museum of Arts if we’re falling asleep every two paintings.”

The dark mobian nodded. Technically Omega and him didn’t need a lot of sleep, but being world-saving heroes brought its own kind of mental fatigue. Moments of calm and respite were too few and far between.

“Well. Next time we have some days off we’ll organise a Team Dark afternoon.” Shadow offered. “An exhibit or two, some games at the arcade. Maybe a small concert at a cafe. – Oh my. Hun, I’m impressed to see you take this kind of initiatives.” the bat replied.

The hedgehog gave her a friendly nudge. “Shut up, can’t let you make all the decisions. – I don’t see why not.” Rouge shrugged with a knowing smile.

They suddenly stopped. Without really realising it, the duo had reached the large avenue leading back to their house. As they exchanged a glance, Rouge winked. “Omega must be waiting for us. Let’s move!” she said cheerfully.

- - - - -

An immediate wave of relief filled Shadow as soon as they passed the front door. “Finally some warmth.” he sighed, removing his large coat and thick scarf. “I was expecting your lowered body temperatures.” Omega’s robotic voice answered from the kitchen. “Hot tea and biscuits are ready for immediate consumption. Made with love.”

Rouge snickered and Shadow repressed a chuckle.  Both knew Omega was absolutely unable to cook anything without setting fire to it, so the biscuits were probably store-bought. They still appreciated the gesture greatly.

Everyone gathered around the table, remembering stories about the now-ending year and its numerous developments. Adrenaline-filled fights, obscure investigations and exhausting assignments went alongside hilarious mistakes, glorious teamwork… and even celebratory moments with all the other heroes of Mobius.

“Okay, but the award for the best party of the year still goes to Knuckles’ surprise birthday.” Rouge said confidently while helping Omega put on a colourful crochet beanie. “Ughh please. Let’s not talk about it.” Shadow groaned, knowing exactly where this was going. “It was extremely fun. The fireworks accident made it over 200% better than any other celebration.” the robot insisted. “Oh right, I almost forgot about that!” the bat laughed. “Poor Knuckie, having to deal with a fire hazard on his cherished island…”

Memories of the furious echidna shouting frantically brought a grin to Shadow’s face. “But!” Rouge added, ”I mostly remember someone having a few drinks too much and— – NOPE!” the hedgehog exclaimed as he brandished his hands. “No talk of this specific event shall happen in this house. Ever.”

Omega tapped his fingers on the table as he eyed his smaller friend. “It is a shame I did not record it for ulterior viewing.” Shadow’s glare was so intense the former badnik recoiled slightly.

“Oh well, it’s all in the past now.” Rouge mused teasingly. ”Good times, good times...”

- - - - -

The closet was absurdly full of useless trinkets and Shadow was very, very close to “fix” it with a Chaos blast.

Of course he wouldn’t, knowing how preciously Rouge kept all those odd items from her past. Jewels, foreign souvenirs, postcards, old plushies, photographs… All her memorabilia was kept there, in a mismatched mess mixed up with cleaning supplies, spare beddings and various tools.

“They should be somewhere near the bottom!” the bat shouted from across the flat. The hedgehog growled, his eyes desperately scanning the clutter in front of him. Finally he found what he came for.

Fairy lights. The essential accessory to any LRCS —Living Room Camping Session.

Shadow walked back to the main room, where a drying rack and several chairs formed a structure covered by sheets and blankets. Omega was evaluating whether the improvised tent was big enough for him. “It is perfect, Rouge. We will be able to fit within the designated comfy area.” he said before crawling underneath the colourful construction.

The hedgehog carefully hung the string of lights around and inside the tent before plugging it. Rouge grabbed some snacks and scuttled against the large robot, who fiddled with the remote until a title screen showed on the TV.

“Are we really watching this?” Shadow asked hesitantly. “Shadow. We all know your inclination for romance between organic beings. Please come cuddle so we can start the movie.” Omega said. “Don’t tell me you suddenly decided to hate cheesy fiction, sweetie.” Rouge added. “I would rather perish than lose your snarky remarks and teary-eyed spee— – Alright, I get it, I’m coming.” the hedgehog replied with a frown. “This better be good, though.”

It was everything but good. Outbursts of laughter and incredulous stares followed one another as the movie —a romantic parody of the famous blockbuster Attack On Mobius— kept getting more and more absurd. Omega threatened to turn himself off as he struggled to find any reasoning behind what was happening, and Rouge almost choked on her pop-corn near the end of the second part.

When the credits started rolling, the three buddies snuggled together. The winter night cold was no match for a group hug and thick quilts. Shadow eyed his phone and hummed.

“It’s almost midnight. – Does that mean we have to prepare a wish?” Rouge asked in a sleepy voice. “We don’t have to.” the hedgehog replied, glancing at his two friends.

Has to be an odd sight, he thought. A haphazard team with so many differences, united by pure luck in a challenging world. Chilling together in a makeshift tent in the middle of a flat like nothing else mattered. He closed his eyes and took a moment to appreciate the warm feelings. Being surrounded by such amazing souls for whom he really mattered. Knowing all the affection and dedication hidden behind that seemingly cold name, “Team Dark”.

“I wished for a pony.” Both Omega and Shadow looked at their bat friend with tilted heads. “What? They’re cute, I dunno.” she shrugged with a shit-eating grin. “What would you guys wish for? – Dual plasma swords.” the robot replied. “Maybe I should ask Miles when we cross paths again.”

Rouge rolled her eyes, then shouted curse words as she realised midnight was mere seconds away. Omega startled, making the whole tent fall on the team. The striped hedgehog quickly covered his muzzle with his hands, trying to suppress an irresistible laugh. No matter how hard life was, no matter the obstacles in his way, one thing was certain as the year came to an end.

Friendship was all he could wish for.

[barsformars]

Ice Cream

//

g - fluff, comfort

p - bestie!jongho × reader

w.c - 2.8k

t.w - food mention

c - jongho is never one to have sugar cravings, but for you, maybe he could do with an ice cream or two. and oh? you want donuts too? he could do that too.

a.n - something sweet for our gummy bear 💕 jdjsjs the ending do be a little rushed but ay

//

playlist 🍦

- ice cream by oceanfromtheblue

- yellow hearts by ant saunders, audrey mika

- candy by baekhyun

[ 쫑 🐻 ] im at the food court

Swallowing a sigh, you slid your phone back into your pocket before adjusting the backpack that was slipping from your right shoulder. Your left was already occupied with a canvas tote bag used for your laptop and thicker lecture notes. Look, it wasn't that you didn't want to meet Jongho. It's just that you had a really draining week — mentally, emotionally and physically. And every step you took was made heavier with the countless things you had to bring to school today. The humidity and the heat didn't help at all; even now in the evening, it wasn't that much cooler. God, you can't wait for autumn to arrive.

You got off the escalator and dragged your feet towards the food court, mentally hoping that it wouldn't be crowded. It always is during dinner times on weekdays, Friday excluded, with most office workers looking for a cheap yet nutritional meal. And for the first time this week, life was treating you right because apart from a few tables of young adults and teenagers, the food court was pretty much empty. This meant that you didn't have to search high and low for Jongho, not that it was very hard in the first place.

Jongho was wearing a black cap, an oversized black crew neck tee with black sweatpants and black boots so heavy you sometimes wonder how he even dances in them. You know, the usual 'celebrity in disguise' outfit. You can't tell if he's standing out from the rest because of how ridiculously covered up he is or because his black face mask was the only thing that wasn't branded.

"Sorry I'm late, Professor Cha extended the lecture," you apologised as you set your bags on an extra chair, finally relieving yourself of the heavy load.

"It's fine," Jongho said cautiously, studying your facial expression and body language. It didn't seem like it was a good time for banters. "I have plenty of time anyways."

"Any idea what you wanna eat?" Your best friend asked, to which you shook your head in response to. There were a wide array of cuisines and food for you to choose from, but frankly you didn't have the appetite. This earned you a concerned frown from Jongho, food was always the best way to cheer you up. Yet here you were, not interested in anything the food court offered. Whatever's bothering you this time round must be really serious. He made a mental note to ask later on if you want to talk about it, but for now he's just going to make a suggestion for dinner. "I'm in the mood for makguksu, the weather is pretty gross these days. What about you?"

"Yeah, that sounds good."

Jongho gave you a tight lipped smile as he silently cheered for his own little 'victory', he only suggested that because he had wanted you to eat something cooling. Surely it would help you relieve some stress and negative feelings.

"Alright, I'll go order." You gave him a nod of acknowledgement and muttered a 'thanks' as he stood up to go to the front counter.

As soon as Jongho left the table, you pulled out your phone again, which maybe you shouldn't have because you physically felt your facial expressions drop even further than you thought was possible. You pressed on the message notifications and stared at your screen for a good minute, not knowing how to go on from here. Flipping your screen down onto the table, you pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes, letting a hefty sigh escape from your chapped lips. You didn't want Jongho to see you like this, idol life was exhausting as it was and he didn't need something else to worry about. But you couldn't bring yourself to sit back up and pretend that you weren't about to burst into tears any moment now. You can only hope he doesn't turn back to look at you now.

"School's been tiring, huh?" Jongho stroked your back gently when he came back with the receipt and order number, and you wished you could stay like that for a little while more but you forced yourself to get back up.

"What's new?" You gave a half shrug and a faint smile. Jongho can't believe you think he would buy that but he doesn't press further, only humming in agreement. But even that alone was enough to bring the tears out again, and you had to turn away for a second to blink them away. You felt so pathetic.

"Oh, the food's ready. That was fast," Jongho lied so that you could have the privacy and space you needed right now, even if it's only for a little while. No words could ever express how grateful you are for your best friend, how he always knew how to read the room so well and act accordingly. It was no wonder his members always brag that their youngest in the team was so mature and reliable.

You took the few minutes you had alone to hold yourself together, telling yourself to push everything to the back of your head for now and to just enjoy dinner with Jongho. It wasn't an everyday occurrence that you could meet him, and you weren't going to let your bad mood ruin it. This was what Jongho admired about you, how you're always able to put up a strong front. He learnt it from you, but he wishes you would learn from him too, to let your walls down comfortably whenever you're with him.

"Let's eat, honeycomb," Jongho said affectionately as he set the two trays on the table. Honeycomb was a nickname Jongho had given you because he said you had a sweeter tooth than all his other members, which was kind of scary to hear but you couldn't disagree. At least you knew better than to indulge in sugary foods all the time.

You picked up the chopsticks and stirred your noodles sloppily, not quite feeling like eating it. Recalling the meals you've had this week, you only ever manage to down a quarter of the food, and even after that you still feel so nauseous. Not eating might save you from that horrible feeling for the rest of your time with Jongho tonight.

"Here, take my bowl. I already mixed it well." Jongho lifted your hand up so that he could trade bowls with you before you could even reject his offer kindly. You knew he was doing that as a way to tell you to eat up.

You stared at him with a pout on your face, not knowing whether to thank him for being so caring or to hate him for being too caring.

"What? I already mixed it for you, you want me to feed you too?" Jongho teased now that your eyes weren't as dim as before. "Come on, eat up."

"I will, if we can get ice cream later," you bargained, hit with the sugar cravings again when Jongho called you by your nickname.

"Sure, I'm craving some too," he agreed, much to your surprise. He was never one to crave ice cream, always saying that it was too sweet. In fact, Jongho never let you get it either, knowing that you would go overboard with the sugar by picking the sweetest flavours. And even if he did, he would just sit and watch you eat, which was a total mood killer for you because you felt like you were wasting his time.

"You better not be lying just t-"

"You're such a baby," Jongho sighed with his gummy smile plastered on his face, shaking his head in disbelief as you extended your pinky finger out. "I promise," he said as he linked his finger to yours.

With that, you forced yourself to take mouthfuls of the noodle. If not for the taste, at least do it to stay alive, was your rationale. Jongho smiled to himself proudly as he watched you eat, slightly more relieved now though it still broke his heart to see the faint smiles instead of the usual ugly laughter at his lame jokes. On top of that, Jongho was used to you ranting about your struggles over meals or phone calls but it seemed like you still needed some time before you were ready to talk about it this time round. But it's okay, he will wait patiently for you as long as you're still looking after yourself well.

After dinner, you both found yourself gawking at the 31 different flavours on display at your favourite franchise ice cream place. It was basically heaven on earth, your favourite flavours calling out to you to pick them. But how do you choose when there's 10 you want and only-

"How many scoops are you getting?"

"Hmm." Jongho thought for a moment before turning to you, replying, "I think I'm going to get two."

"Two!?" You exclaimed, your eyes widening in surprise, though internally glad because now you can get three scoops for yourself without looking too insane. "Don't you have a schedule tomorrow? What if your throat hurts?"

"It's fine," Jongho assured, going straight to ordering two scoops of coffee flavoured ice cream as you resorted to using 'meeny miny moe" to choose your three flavours.

Walking out of the store with your ice cream cones, you turned to look at Jongho, your eyes narrowed. You were too occupied with choosing your ice cream earlier on to judge Jongho for his sudden sugar cravings, but now that you think about it, it's really odd. Was he really not lying just to get you to eat your dinner then?

"Keep your eyes on your ice cream before it falls," Jongho pointed to your dessert with the hand that was carrying your tote bag, chuckling softly at the memory of that one time your ice cream tipped over because of the strong wind. You didn't think Jongho would remember that, it was such an insignificant and distant memory. Not to him though, he found you really adorable when you were pouting about your fallen ice cream and demanding he treats you to another one.

"Don't swing the bag like that, my laptop is in it!"

"Yes, honeycomb." Jongho stuck out his tongue at you before going in to lick his ice cream. He made sure to hide the cringe in his face at the sheer sweetness of the dessert, not wanting you to feel bad for 'forcing' him to eat it. If even his coffee flavour was this sweet, he doesn't want to imagine how sweet your choice of bubblegum, raspberry and caramel would be.

Jongho's always fascinated when he sees you eating sweet food. Most people he knows, even his members with a sweet tooth, would need a glass of water after eating sugary stuff. Some of them would even comment that it was too sweet sometimes. Yet when it comes to you, you could go on and on without a single complaint, and you never ask for water. And with every bite came a slightly brighter smile from you, a soft squeal and the shaking of clenched fists at chest level. Does sugar really make you that happy? If so, he can't help but want to be sickeningly sweet towards you.

"Wait," you said, catching Jongho's attention. He looks at you and you're staring at the donut store in the near distance, and he immediately knows what you want to hear.

"Should we get donuts?" The both of you suggested in unison, further surprising you because the Jongho you knew would be strongly against getting another dessert right after one. But before you could question him about his weird behaviour today, Jongho's already pulling you towards the store.

"We'll get the box of 6," Jongho told the staff, almost causing you to shout at him out loud.

"Are you crazy?" You whisper-shouted at him, tugging at his arm. "How are we supposed to finish it?"

"I don't know, but I want more than one so…."

"Okay….." you glanced at him suspiciously before he rushed you to pick three flavours for yourself. You could look past the ice cream cravings but now donuts? It was definitely not like Jongho to be so into sugar, he's literally someone who drinks their coffee black.

If you had to be honest, you were starting to get a little worried. Was he getting very stressed out while preparing for their next album? You can only imagine the pressure the boy had to bear at such a young age as the main vocalist of a rising boy group. But then again, eating so much sugar in one sitting must not be very good for his vocals.

"Your throat is seriously going to be bad tomorrow," you warned as Jongho reached for an oreo donut from the box laid out on the grass. The both of you had decided to relax and spend the rest of the night at the Han River, which was a good choice because it wasn't very crowded tonight. "Hongjoong's going to scold me for not taking care of you."

"It's fine, really," Jongho giggled as he bit into the donut. Not a good sign, he was probably going to get sugar high if he isn't already.

"You know the other day-" he laughs-"Seonghwa hyung and San hyun were working out and-" he laughs again, harder this time-"and when the-"

You rubbed your temples and sighed, "I need you to put that donut down." And Jongho just laughs hysterically at you for saying that? On one hand, it was nice to see him so carefree, but on the other hand, you really needed him to burn those sugar out or he's going to feel so shitty when he crashes. You shook your head in dismay, standing up from the ground and extending your hand for him to grab onto.

"If you catch me, I'll top up your Starbucks card with 50,000 won." That seemed to spur Jongho on, because he jumped straight up, stretching his body in preparation. Did he want that free money? Yes. But was he about to catch you to get it? No. He just agreed because he knows you need a little exercise too, it would help to relieve the negative emotions if the ice cream didn't already. Perhaps you suggested playing catching for yourself too, and so Jongho will play with you, no questions asked.

You think the both of you probably looked like drunk youngsters in the park being public nuisances with all the gasping for air mixed between the laughters that were more like screams. But it didn't really matter because you were having fun, for the first time in a while. And so was Jongho, he hasn't felt this wild and free since his trainee days. It seems like he can only allow himself to act his age when he's with you. It's been so long that maybe you think it's the ice cream and donuts that were making him this way, but it's you. You were his honeycomb.

"Truce," you panted for air as you let yourself collapse onto the soft grass, patting the space beside you as an invitation for Jongho to come lie down too. "I'm so tired."

"Same here." Jongho lays down on the grass and tilts his head to the side so that he could look at your face. Damn, even all sweaty you still look so good. You could say the same for him.

You wonder if Jongho knows that whenever you're with him, your heart turns to ice cream. You don't know when it started but your heart melts at every thoughtful action he does, and you wish it didn't because you're afraid that he wouldn't reciprocate your feelings. You don't understand why he has to be so warm towards you, it makes you want to be cold. It makes you want to not let your walls down so that you wouldn't get hurt.

"So…." Jongho pauses for a short while, studying your facial expressions before continuing, "you wanna tell me what's going on?"

"It's a long story, and I don't want to spoil this good mood right now," you said, staring up at the night sky. The city lights of Seoul were too bright for the stars to show but it's alright, you were right beside one right now.

"Alright, I'll respect that. But just wanted to let you know, once again, that no matter how long the story is, I'll listen." Jongho reached out to hold your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours. It's something the both of you have been doing since the beginning of your 'best friend' phase, and you hate yourself for wishing it meant something more.

"I hate you sometimes," you joked, earning yourself a sad whine from the red haired boy. "Stop being so sweet to me, I'll melt."

"Just melt then, I think I quite like ice cream now."

[bellakitse]

Omg please either “Wait, the tears are good tears?” or “I let you win” whichever inspires you more or you haven’t gotten yet. Thank you!!

We were meant for one another, come a little closer

TK stares at him, mouth open, and Carlos can’t help but stare back as his heart pounds loudly in his ears. He feels naked, like every feeling he’s been hiding from TK for so long is now on the surface for him to see.

*

Carlos and TK are best friends and roommates. When TK comes home from a failed date, it reveals long-time hidden feelings.

30 days of Tarlos - Day 23

Carlos is in the middle of scooping out some Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream into a bowl when his roommate and best friend comes through their apartment door, slamming it as he goes.

“Hey,” he greets him. Checking the time on the microwave, he frowns when he sees that it’s only 8:15. “I thought you had a date with that guy you met at the coffee shop last week,” he questions, turning around to face TK, he finds him scowling. “Oh-oh, what happened?”

TK exhales loudly as he takes off his jacket in a jerking motion that confirms his annoyance. “Well, let’s see,” he starts as he looks at him, placing his hands on his hips. “We can start with him trying to flirt with the waiter after he ordered for me without even asking what I wanted,” he tells him, nodding in agreement when Carlos cringes. He hates when guys do that Alpha male bullshit too.

“Or,” TK continues with an angry fake smile. “We can move on to the conversation portion of the evening that included the words, MAGA, and build the wall.”

“Oof,” Carlos winces one more time. “That’s gross.”

“Exactly!” TK growls, right before deflating.

Carlos watches as TK walks over to the couch, dropping down on it with a defeated groan as he covers his face with his arms. He looks down at his bowl of ice cream for a moment, grabbing an extra spoon before making his way over to the couch and his friend. He sits down next to TK silently, pressing his knee against his in support.

TK drops his arms from his face, and Carlos hates how defeated he looks when he turns to him.

“He seemed so nice at the coffee shop,” TK says with a shake of his head. “Charming and funny. Instead, from the moment he picked me up, it was all a nightmare. How do I keep getting this so wrong?”

“You’re not getting anything wrong,” Carlos argues, instantly getting a snort of disbelief in return.

“No?” TK chuckles humorlessly; he holds up his hand to count off on his fingers. “My last date spent the night telling me how hot my dad is. The guy before that thought that buying me a steak dinner intitled him to a blow job, and the guy before that turned out to have a girlfriend and was just using me as his gay experiment.”

TK looks over at him; his green eyes etched with pain and defeat. “The common denominator in all those dates is me. So, obviously, I’m the problem.”

“The only common denominator is that every one of those guys are assholes,” Carlos argues strongly, upset that he even has to explain this.

TK has been his friend since they were both rookies, him with the police department, and TK with the fire department. They met on a call, instantly hitting it off while dealing with a massive car pile-up. The attraction between them had been electric, and that very night, after running into each other at the local bar, they had ended up making out in Carlos’ car with their hands down each other’s pants. It could have been the beginning of something, but TK was coming off a bad breakup, and instead of needing a rebound or a boyfriend, he needed a friend, and that’s what Carlos had become.

Three years later, Carlos doesn’t regret it; he loves his friendship with TK, especially now that they’re roommates. He loves coming home knowing there is someone he cares about waiting after a long hard day, even if it’s just platonic.

Really.

Okay, so maybe he dies a little on the inside when TK goes on these failed dates, and perhaps he has to bite down on his tongue until he tastes blood to keep from asking for another shot when he finds himself sitting on the couch with his friend like right now, listening about how bad TK’s date turned out.

He’s never said anything before, and he doesn’t say anything now; instead, he pushes the melting ice cream towards TK, his insides fluttering when TK gives him a soft smile in return.

“Thanks,” TK says quietly as he takes a spoonful of the sugary goodness. Carlos feels his stomach clench when he lets out a soft happy moan around the spoon in his mouth. “So good.”

“Yeah,” Carlos gets out, his mouth going dry as TK licks the ice cream off the utensil.

They eat their ice cream in comfortable silence, leaning further and further into each other’s space. They battle it out over the last bite, laughing like idiots as they duel with their spoons.

“Ha, victory!” TK shouts, grinning happily as he eats the last bit of ice cream.

“I let you win,” he grumbles, unable to stop his own smile when it makes TK laugh again.

It trails off into a soft chuckle, TK leans his head back on the couch, looking over at him with gentle green eyes. “You always make me feel better,” he tells him, his voice low and soft. “Thank you, Carlos.”

Carlos nods, licking his lips nervously, feeling awkward from the way TK’s obvious affection for him makes him yearn for more.

“You’re welcome,” he says just as quiet, he takes a steadying breath before he continues. “Listen, Ty, forget about the idiot tonight, and the idiots that came before him.”

“I know,” TK sighs out sadly. “I just – “

“No, listen,” Carlos interrupts him, he sits up straight and places the empty bowl on the coffee table before taking TK’s hands in his. “Listen to me, okay? You, TK Strand, are amazing.”

TK scoffs at him, but Carlos can see the beginnings of a blush on his face.

“You are,” he insists, squeezing TK’s hand. “You’re brave, and kind, TK. You care so much about everyone and everything around you. You want to save the world, and you love so fiercely. You are so good, Ty. You’ve just had a bad string of luck, but you’re going to find someone that loves you as you deserve, I promise,” he tells him, swallowing hard, trying not to show how much it hurts to think of TK with someone else for real, loving them the only way TK knows how. With everything he has.

“Carlos – “ TK whispers with a slow exhale, his eyes wide as he stares at him in awe. Their faces are so close, Carlos can feel the small puffs of air across his skin.

“You’re amazing, sweetheart,” he tells him again. “You have to know that.”

TK stares at him, mouth open, and Carlos can’t help but stare back as his heart pounds loudly in his ears. He feels naked, like every feeling he’s been hiding from TK for so long is now on the surface for him to see.

He tracks TK as he moves closer, and yet he still gasps when he presses his mouth against his. They stay frozen for a moment, lips touching as neither of them dares to even breathe. Finally, TK, braver than he’ll ever be, moves, he runs the tip of his tongue over Carlos’ bottom lip, pulling another shocked gasp out from deep in his chest. TK makes a sound of his own; it’s needy as he presses his mouth against his, harder and more insistent.

Carlos reacts on instinct; he’s been dreaming for years of kissing TK again. He opens his mouth, his stomach clenching as TK makes a pleased sound, almost a purr, as he slips his tongue into Carlos’ mouth, flicking it against his.

TK shifts closer, getting up halfway from the couch only to drop back down, his knees on either side of Carlos as he straddles him before sitting on his lap. Carlos moans, his hands grabbing at TK’s hips blindly before pushing his hips up, thrusting is rapidly growing hard-on against TK’s.

“Fuck, Carlos,” TK gasps, breaking the kiss, his hands now clenching his curls, gripping them hard, and Carlos finds himself tilting his head back when TK pulls on them. He lets out a broken groan at how good it feels as he helplessly rubs against TK, the desire to come in his pants strong.

“You feel so good, baby,” TK whispers hotly against his mouth. He pulls Carlos’ bottom lip between his teeth and sucks on it in a way that makes Carlos see stars. It throbs pleasantly when he lets go. “Why the hell have I been wasting my time on bad dates?” he asks teasingly before kissing him softly.

Carlos freezes at TK’s words, it feels like a bucket of ice-cold water has been thrown on him. TK must feel him go tense all over because he stops instantly. Pulling back, he gives him a concerned look as he hovers over him.

“Carlos?” he questions worried. “Are you okay?”

Carlos shakes his head quickly, with his hands on TK’s hips; he softly pushes him back until TK is no longer in his lap. He stands, feeling his hand shake as he brings it up to his mouth, wiping away at the wonderful taste that is TK Strand.

“You don’t want this,” he starts, closing his eyes at the sting he feels behind them as he says the words out loud. “You’re upset about your bad date,” he continues, forcing himself to look at TK, his heart breaking at having what he wants so close and yet so far away. “I’m not going to take advantage of that no matter how much I want you.”

He looks down at his feet, willing the tears back.

“How much I always want you,” he whispers mostly to himself, he feels his face go red with embarrassment and sadness as TK takes in a sharp breath.

“Carlos – “ he starts softly, his green eyes looking at him with distress. “I –“

“You don’t have to say anything,” he stops him, mustering up a fake smile. “This was just a fluke. You needed something to make you feel better after tonight. Luckily we didn’t do something that you would regret in the morning,” he continues. He takes a step back when TK opens his mouth again, a severe frown on his face. “Let’s just forget about it and call it a night.”

“Carlos – “ TK tries again, his frown growing when he tries to take a step towards him, and Carlos’ takes a step back.

“Good night, TK,” he tells him before turning around. He doesn’t turn back as he heads for his room, he can’t bear to look at TK right now with his mouth swollen and tingling from their kisses. If he does, there is a good chance that he’ll get on his knees and beg his friend to love him the way he loves him.

 ֍֍֍

Carlos can’t sleep, he’s tossed and turned all night, reliving what happened in the living room hours ago.

He hears TK moving around the apartment while he hides in his room, he’s relieved and disappointed when he doesn’t knock on his door.

Flashes of their moment play behind his eyelids. TK’s mouth, the feel, and taste of it, his body pressed against Carlos, molding to him like he was the matching piece to make Carlos complete. He sighs in frustration as he gets out of bed; there is no point in trying to sleep; it’s not going to happen tonight.

He changes into running clothes and grabs his shoes from his closet before making his way out of his room quietly. Only to stop short when he reaches the living room and finds TK sitting there with the TV on mute, and only a side table lamp on, leaving the room in shadows.

TK looks over at him when he hears him, his expression miserable, and it makes Carlos’ heart squeeze painfully, hating that he’s responsible for that look on his face.

“You only go for midnight runs when you’re upset,” TK says quietly, taking in the running shoes in his hands.

“I can’t sleep,” he answers awkwardly.

TK nods, sadly. “Because I hurt you,” he sniffs, and if Carlos’ heart hurt before, now it feels like it’s breaking.

“No, Ty – “ Carlos starts, only to stop when TK shoots off the couch.

“Wait, let me speak first,” TK asks, pleading. “Please, afterwards, whatever you want to say, or whatever you want me to do, whether that’s moving out or not, I’ll do it.”

“Move out?” Carlos questions, his voice cracking, and heart racing at the suggestion. “I don’t want you to move out, TK.”

“Let me speak, and then we’ll see if you still think that,” TK gives him a humorless smile. “Please sit.”

Carlos does as TK asks, his heart still beating funny, his palms sweating with nervousness, he doesn’t know what TK wants to say, all he knows is that he can’t let him move out over this. Whatever happens, he can’t bear the thought of losing TK completely.

“Okay, first,” TK starts as he paces back and forth in front of him, his eyes wild when he stops to look at him. “I need you to believe me when I say that what happened earlier had nothing to do with my lousy date. That jerk was the farthest thing from my mind when I kissed you.”

“TK – “ Carlos says gently, only to jerk back when TK answers with a firm ‘No.’

“No,” he repeats. “If you believe nothing else, I need you to believe that. When I kissed you, the only thing going through my head was you, and how badly I wanted to kiss you,” TK looks at him, even in the half-lit room, he can see his green eyes, bright and earnest.

“And then when we kissed Carlos,” TK pauses, letting out a sigh almost to himself. “All I could think was, finally. I have waited so long to kiss you again.”

Carlos feels his breath catch in his throat at TK’s confession, his pulse racing as the first trickles of hope flicker in his belly. “What do you mean finally?” he asks, unable to keep that hope out of his voice.

TK comes over to sit down next to him, and Carlos turns to face him, his hands itching to reach out and touch him when he looks at him nervously.

“Went we met years ago, we started out so freaking hot,” TK reminds him, and he finds himself blushing from the memory and the small smirk on TK’s lips.

“But I was a mess from my shitty breakup, and you were just so nice and understanding that I couldn’t make you my rebound. It wouldn’t have been fair to you. So instead you became my friend, my best friend, Carlos,” TK stresses strongly. “You helped me get over it, giving me a shoulder to cry on, being supportive every step of the way.”

“I just wanted you to be okay,” he whispers, getting a beautiful smile back from TK.

“With your friendship, I was better than okay,” TK says softly, he hesitantly reaches out for his hand, letting out a breath when Carlos takes it. “I was finally happy again,” he smiles.

Carlos smiles back, a little shaky at his words.

“But by the time that happened, and I realized I was ready for more,” TK pauses, licking his lips. “When I realized I wanted more. We were already such good friends; it felt like I had missed my shot to turn us into something else.”

TK exhales softly; he looks down at their hands and gives his a squeeze.

“So,” he says slowly, dragging out the word. “All of this is to say that we can do whatever you want, you’re in charge, Carlos,” TK looks back up at him, and Carlos is blown away by all the emotions he finds swirling in his green eyes. “If you want to forget this whole night, I’ll never speak of it again. If you need space and need me to leave, I’ll do that too, whatever you want. But please, please, don’t think for one second that I was using you to forget someone else, because that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

Carlos looks at TK, takes in his nervous expression, and the way he bites down on his bottom lip as he watches him.

Waiting for his answer, whatever it might be, he knows TK will do whatever it takes to make sure he’s okay, even if it breaks his own heart, and Carlos wonders how he was blessed to love someone so kind.

“I’m in love with you,” he says, and for once, Carlos’ heart isn’t racing. It’s steady with the sureness of his feelings. “I have loved you for years, TK, so the last thing I want from you is space.”

“Carlos, I – “ TK starts, his voice trembling, but the watery smile on his face is bright, and probably the most beautiful thing Carlos has ever seen. “I love you too.”

“I figured,” he answers teasingly, the laugh TK lets out is like magic.

“So,” he continues as he reaches up to cup TK’s face, his stomach fluttering when TK turns his head to kiss the inside of his palm. “You asked me what I want. Well, what I want is for you to kiss me like earlier and never stop,” he says with a grin, feeling the flutter turn into a clench as TK licks his lips, his eyes darkening with want. “Think you can do that?”

TK takes his hand off his face before pushing him back into the couch as he stands. Carlos holds his breath when TK straddles him again, pressing his body against his until there isn’t an inch of space between them. His body reacting instantly to the feel of TK already half-hard against him.

“Yeah, baby,” TK says as he closes the gap between them, his lips brushing over his as he speaks. “I can absolutely do that.”

[mysugarstory-hw1]

It is really difficult to avoid sweets as a child and I have always had a sweet tooth. I have a skinny fat body type and after years of training and working out I was able to gain weight, but I am unable to lose the fat regardless of the training because of my unhealthy diet plan. A common rule for bodybuilding is that the body is built 80% in the kitchen. My goal is to reduce fat while gaining overall weight, which is a specific type of weight loss by reducing my sugar consumption. I have been trying to lose my upper body fat, but I am unable to control my sugar cravings. This summer I had finally made a decision to reduce my sugar and monitoring the consumption for the assignment was particularly beneficial. The plan to achieve the goal was regular weightlifting, running and a high protein diet with a minimal sugar quantity.

I have experienced various harmful effects of sugar on my body including weight gain, increased acne and an increase in anxiety/depression. A survey conducted of 8000 people shows that men consuming more than 67 grams of sugar a day were 23% more likely to develop depression than men who consumed less than 40 grams per day (Kubala,2018). In the U.S added sugars accounts for 17% of the total calorie intake for adults while dietary guidelines suggest limiting added sugars to less than 10%. If I have a can of coke with both my meals, that itself is 78 grams of sugar. I used to have sugary drinks multiple times a day which were the main source of sugar in my diet. My morning coffee from Starbucks is a medium size Caramel Macchiato which alone has 33g of sugar. I have completely stopped drinking any of the aerated drinks and have switched to alternates such as vitamin water and a dark roast with no sugar.

The application I used was MyFitnessPal as it allows me to track my calories in an effortless manner. I was able to quickly add all my meals and never had a problem finding a specific food item. The application has the nutrition data for most fast-food diners and it also allows you to save your own custom-built meal. I could find every food item on the app, even if it was a traditional Indian cuisine dish.

I usually cook my own breakfast, so I created a custom-built breakfast meal on the application containing different dishes so that I am able to add my meals every day without selecting all ingredients individually every time. In college, it is difficult to have all ingredients at home, so I had to custom make some of my meals according to the ingredients used in the meal.

Another major benefit of MyFitnessPal was that it allows you to input your workout details in your main page calorie count. This feature helped me track my overall calorie deficit or surplus. The application automatically detects my total steps and reduces the calories burned appropriately from my remaining calorie goal. This makes it really easy for me to track my caloric deficit diet as I don’t have to calculate my calorie intake – calories burnt separately. I wear an apple watch which tracks my workouts and MyFitnessPal reads that itself as I allowed the application to do so while setting up.

A feature which made me decide that this application is right for me was the nutrition data. It provides me with all the nutrition where I can set a goal for my protein and sugar consumption quantity and see the total amount of sugar I have consumed in the day/week. I have not used the application for more than 3 weeks, but I believe that this feature is fundamental in the long-term use of the application. This is what allows the user to track their progress for a period of time while seeing the days you did not meet the goal separately. I would be able to see the specific days I did not follow my diet plan well on the weekends. The bar graphs displaying the data are also very efficient in easy tracking of the users weekly nutritional data.

After tracking my meals on MyFitnessPal for 2 week I realized that I did not follow my diet for 1 or 2 days in the week, which were usually weekends. I decided to dedicate 1 day as cheat day or day off as I was unable to track my consumption of sugar for the days I went out. Tracking my sugar consumption for the week and not inputting the correct values would lead to a misrepresentation of my progress in the long run. I feel my body has reacted well to being on a no sugar diet for 6 days a week.

Another situation where I found difficult was actually inputting my meals every day. From the 4th day of me tracking my meals, I usually forgot to add my meal either because of a busy schedule or maybe I just forgot. I did input 2 or 3 days of meals at once, in such a situation I don’t remember exactly the smaller meals I might have had but only added the bigger meals for those days. This leads to a case of misrepresentation for example, if I had a lemonade but forgot to input it, that could make a big difference in my total sugar consumption for that day or week. The application however is actually very efficient as it sends you multiple to add meals and meet the daily goal.

How the calorie count works on MyFitnessPal is Calorie goal – food + exercise = calories remaining. Instead of viewing the total number of calories remaining I would rather see calories consumed. Knowing about the number of calories remaining was not of much help as I was not able to tell my right calorie goal. The calorie goal was decided while setting up the application according to personal goals, height and weight. I don’t think I built my calorie goal just right by including the correct details. I do not know the exact number of calories I should be consuming to gain weight but be low on sugar and fat. It is a complicated diet plan and I believe that the application could have a smarter and more efficient way of calculating the calorie while explaining the reasoning behind that number. The reasoning motivates the user to meet the goal once they are aware of the reasons to consume or burn those specific numbers of calories for the day.

A feature which might help the application improve could be a junk burn feature. The user can input a cheat meal and the application should send a reminder saying, “Walk an extra 468 steps for the medium fries” or “get in that workout to earn yourself a lemonade”. If the user is having the craving for a specific unhealthy meal, they could input it and know the extra work they have to put in to earn it. Personally, I would have benefitted from this feature as I would be motivated to exercise better to earn my craving for the day. This keeps you consistent with your goal and motivated to keep tracking your calories.

My expectations going into the assignment were very different from my actual experience. I believed that using the application would make me more conscious of my eating habits, looking back at my meal consumption. In the past I have followed a meal plan, but I have been unable to be consistent for a long period of time. I was expecting that the application will help me be consistent with constant reminders and with the nutritional data. However, I don’t think that MyFitnessPal was able to motivate me to be consistent. The intrinsic motivation is fundamental to achieve goals like mine. I had quite the opposite experience as I stopped inputting the unhealthy food I had as I did not want to see that on my weekly data. When someone is aware that they are breaking their diet plan and eating something sugary, the self-acceptance demanded by the application is difficult to meet. In such situations I usually input only the healthy meals leading to misrepresentation.

A lot of unexpected benefits of the following experience were reduced anxiety and a better sleep cycle. If I experience any kind of exam stress, sugar can trigger anxiety for me or possibly aggravate it. Reducing my sugar intake clearly improved my sleep cycle as I was able to fall asleep earlier and had no broken sleep. Consuming sugar at night could make me stay up for hours while in the day, once the sugar rush went, I could suddenly feel sleepy. I was able to monitor such behaviors only because I was tracking my sugar intake which I could later compare to my sleep or stress behavior for the previous day. I realized how I should consume sugar in a smarter way and avoid it at specific times.

Overall, the experience with MyFitnessPal was really beneficial  as I learnt a lot of new facts about my diet details. I did not know how unhealthy some foods were which were high protein, rich in fiber and no sugar. There were days where I did not meet my calorie requirements for the day and I realized how I need to change my diet plan by adding more meals with a higher calorie count. I have almost reached my goal of reducing sugar as I can see results of losing fat. I will definitely continue using MyFitnessPal as I work towards my goal.

[blkgirlcafe]

Brat Life Chronicles

Tried to keep the looks as open as possible but she definitely is black. Follow America Golden Boy, Steve Rogers as he deals with his spoiled brat of a girlfriend Delilah. A series of One shots that are just fun to write when I dont feel like working on my series. 

Masterlist

Characters: Steve Rogers x Delilah (Black OC)

WordCount: 1667

Warning: Smut, cursing, teasing, daddy kink

“Babe please…..” lip poked out, big doe eyes, whiny voice, usually she didn’t have to go this route to get her way but Steve was being an ass. 

“Delilah, baby stop.” Steve Rogers went back to reading the mission report he had to prep for. 

“Ugh fine.” She rolled her eyes, causing Steve to quirk an eyebrow at her, she was being disrespectful and she knew Steve wouldn’t go for that. 

Honesty she wasn’t asking much, just asking to take one of the private jets to go to a concert in Atlanta this weekend. 

“I’ll just ask Tony.” She started to walk away heading towards the elevator. 

Before she made it 5 steps, Steve picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. 

“Couldn’t stop when I asked, now you wanna drag Stark into this. I give you everything you ask for baby.”

“Expect for this.” She pouted. In for a penny in for a pound, she knew she was digging a hole that she wouldn’t be able to get out of. 

“Because you don’t need this, you and your friends already have first class tickets booked, a private car to pick you up and drive you around. VIP Seats and backstage passes, plus new clothes and spending money. I think you can do without this one things.”

“No.” She huffed as she was dropped on the bed. 

“Maybe you don’t need to go at all then Delilah, stay here with me, while I prepare for my mission.” 

“No Daddy! Please…” Delilah bit her bottom lips, trying to entice him. 

“You are such a fucking brat.” 

“Language Captain.”

He growled before advancing on her. 

They were an unlikely couple, and they met in an unlikely way. You would think Captain America saved her life or something but it all started with an Instagram like. 

Captain America had finally made it to Instagram, not that he ran it, Sam did but sometimes he liked to browse the app. 

He was on his explore page when he came across Delilah page, a picture of her in a cap and gown, graduating from college. 

Steve has liked it and left a comment out of encouragement. 

“Congratulations, much success on your future.”

Delilah has all but fainted when she saw it, but she took it a step farther and sent him a DM, telling him thank you and she hoped they would meet one day. 

Sam took over, telling her if she ever in NYC he would love to take her out for coffee. 

——

“Steve…” she moaned as her boyfriend sucked on her neck. 

“Hmm.” He hummed against her brown skin. 

“Please Daddy?” 

Her eyes fluttered close. 

“Please What?”

Steve licked a strip from her neck to her ear, sucking on the sensitive lobe. 

“Please, I want you.” 

“I know you do, girl, but you've been really bratty lately, you know I don’t like that.” Steve pulled away, leaving her frustrated. 

“Now pack for your trip.” 

Steve left Delilah on the bed, hot, wet, and frustrated but two could play that game. 

——

It was quiet, too quiet Steve thought. Delilah never went this long without wanting his attention unless…

He shot up, spilling papers all over the living room floor. He checked the bedroom first, bags half packed and clothes everywhere greeted him. Next he checked the bathroom and then finally the extra bedroom. He sighed. 

Living in Stark tower had its perks, like their private apartment, top of the line facilities, and F.R.I.D.A.Y. 

“Friday, where is Delilah?”

“Common area kitchen Captain Rogers.” 

Steve punched the bottom to take him to the common area of Avengers Tower. 

He smelt the brownies as soon as the door opened. He walked past Sam and Clint going straight to the kitchen. Tony looked over her shoulder as she stirred something. 

“That smells so good.” Tony said but to Steve it looked like he was smelling your neck. 

“Thanks, family recipe so I can’t tell you.” Delilah giggles. 

“Delilah.” 

Her name being called caused her to Jump, Tony his hand on the small of her back. 

“Yeah babe?” Her voice was sweet like honey but it was all an act. 

Delilah looked over to Steve to see him doing his signature jaw clenched that singled he was angry. 

“You need to finish packing.” 

It was a demand, a demand to get her ass back to their suite and now. 

“OK. Tony just pop these in the oven for 30 minutes and you’ll have the best brownies ever, save me a corner piece.”

“OK Princess.” Tony muttered. 

If looks could kill Tony would be dead, the way Steve was throwing daggers at him wasn’t lost on Delilah as she walked over to Steve. 

Once in the elevator Steve didn’t say anything to her and Delilah knew she fucked up big time, maybe she could clean it up. 

“Babe…”

“I don’t want to hear it.” 

“You never let me explain.” She whined. 

The elevator opened and she followed Steve out. 

“Explain what? Why you are prancing around Tony in basically nothing?”

“It’s a little more than nothing, all the important bits are covered.” 

That stopped Steve in his tracks, he turned to look at her up and down. She suddenly felt self conscious about her outfit. True the cotton shorts did little to cover her ass or thick thighs. The tank top she had on was super thin and tight and basically putting her breast on display. 

“Get to the room and clean that mess up, your trip is cancelled.” 

“What you can’t do that!”

“Yes I can and I just did now go Delilah before you get in more fucking trouble.”

Delilah rolled her eyes and went to their shared bedroom and began to put clothes away, as she stuffed her panties back into the drawer she came across a light blue lace teddy. 

Delilah quickly put it on before Steve caught her, finishing off her lips with some gloss because he loved it. 

She hoped no one had entered their shared living space as she crept down the hallway wanting to surprise the super soldier who could hear anything.  

When Delilah rounded the corner Steve was on the couch, laptop propped opened. 

“I can hear you Babe, you know that.” 

“Close your eyes, I got a surprise.”

Just as he started to protest Delilah hit him with a “Please Daddy.” And he did. 

She walked over to him, gently taking the laptop off his lap and setting it on the table. 

“You can open them now.” 

Delilah stood in front of him, proudly displaying her body for his eyes. 

“Fuck baby.” 

Steve's rough hands went to her waist, gliding down her hips and back up again. 

Steve pulled her down to his lap, her knees on either side of his thick thighs. 

“You like Daddy.” Delilah has changed the tone of her voice to be super sugary sweet and it was working. 

He melted under her as Delilah gently massages his shoulders. 

“You look gorgeous like you always do.” 

“Thank you baby. I’m Sorry for acting like that earlier.”

“Hmmm acting like what?”

Steve gently peppered kisses from her collarbone to the top of her breast. 

“Being a brat.” she moaned.

“Apology accepted, and yes you can still go, and yes I will see about getting you a private jet, you know I cant say no to you for long.”

Delilah groaned as his hands gripped her ass, picking her up. 

“Tell Daddy thank you.” Steve muttered against her neck as he walked them to the bedroom. 

“Thank you Daddy.” she purred. 

Steve laid her gently on the bed, reaching between her legs and ripping the delicate lace, cool air rushing to her heated core. 

Steve got on his knees, kissing her thighs before pushing his face into her pussy. America Golden Boy loved to eat pussy, he ate pussy like his life depended on it. Some dudes got mad when they couldn't get their dick sucked, but Steve turned into a whiny person if he couldn't wrap his lips around her clit. 

“Fuck baby.” Delilah ran her hands through his golden locks, loving that he had grew it out a little. 

The nasty slurping sounds he made turned her on more, A long lick from her clit that ended with him dipping his tongue into her wet hole. 

Delilah moaned out lout, calling out his name. Steve slipped a thick finger into her, hooking it, finger rubbing back and forth against her spot. Delilah tried to move away from his mouth as her first orgasm approached, but Steve pulled her back onto his mouth, wanting her to come right on his face. 

“Good girl Delilah.” Steve cooed at her. He stood up, finger lazily running up and down her slit as his other hand unbuckled his pants, pushing them down. He removed his hand from her and she whined, pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it down, stepping out his sweats and boxers. Steve crawled onto the bed towards her, covering her body with his. Delilah wrapped her legs around his waist, his hard dick poking her thigh. 

“Daddy please…” Steve cut her off, catching her in a heated kiss. Catching her off guard he pushed into her wet walls. 

Nails dug into his muscled back as he pushed in balls deep in the first stroke. 

“I...better...not...see...you...around...tony...again…” each word meet with a deep stroke. 

“Yes Daddy!!!”

Mouth gaped open in a silent scream Delilah had her second orgasm, squeezing Steve dick as he trusted in her one final time, cumming deep inside of her. 

“Good girl.” Steve kissed her face until their breathing calmed down, going to lay on the side of her. 

“Want me to finish packing for you?” Steve could tell she was about to go to sleep. 

“Mmmhmm please.” 

Steve gave Delilah a kiss on the forehead before getting up and finding his boxers.

[inyournightmares97]

All I Want For Christmas Is: Money [Bambam]

Bambam is running the Christmas Raffle for “charity”, but you’re not convinced of his motives. Can someone as selfish as him ever understand the true spirit of Christmas? 

Word Count: 5k

Part of : All I Want For Christmas Is: A GOT7 Collab

One Month Ago

“You know what I love most about Christmas?”

Yugyeom raised an eyebrow. He and Bambam were sitting in a cozy little coffee shop, drinking sugary mugs of hot chocolate to ward off the cold. Christmas decorations filled nearby stores and the holiday season was seeping into the atmosphere. 

“Presents?” Yugyeom guessed. “I’m assuming you like the presents.”

Bambam made a face. “No, man. Let’s be real. People are shit at giving Christmas presents. I think the last time I got a present I actually wanted was when I was ten years old.”

“I bought you a designer jacket last year.”

“Which I loved.”

Yugyeom rolled his eyes. He knew when Bambam was being insincere and he had ceased to care. “Sure you did. You loved it so much that you never wore it. Anyway, I’ll bite. What do you love most about Christmas?”

Bambam grinned. “The spirit of giving.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I mean, not exactly the fact that I have to give,” Bambam clarified quickly. “But that everyone else is in a giving mood. People save up for Christmas-time. Workplaces give holiday bonuses. Wallets are full and purse-strings are loose, Yugyeom. Do you know what that means?”

Yugyeom took a sip of his hot chocolate. “Tell me.”

“When everyone wants to give, there needs to be somebody to take. And I selflessly volunteer to be that person. I intend to be the lucky recipient of all the goodwill that fills people’s hearts during this fine holiday season.”

“How?”

Bambam leaned back in his chair, a smug smile on his face. “Where do people go to spend time and money during Christmas?”

“The White Miracle Market.”

“And what’s the best way to convince people to part with their money without promising anything in return?”

“... I don’t know.”

Bambam held up two fingers. “Number one, charity. Number two, the lottery. These are the ways you convince people to hand over cold, hard cash for nothing in exchange. It requires no investment but I will rake in the profits. Get ready, Yugyeom. I’m going to be rich by the end of Christmas; season of giving be damned.”

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

Present Day

You had a knack for sniffing out bullshit. 

The White Miracle Market was a beautiful place to be during Christmas-time. The enormous Christmas tree, the twinkling lights, the creative stalls and shops and little eateries filled it's visitors with warmth and the true spirit of the holiday season. The streets echoed with laughter, pleasant chatter and screams of delight. 

So why did that clumsy-looking raffle ticket counter give you bad vibes? 

“Let’s go get some chocolate!” your friend suggested. “I heard that there are some awesome homemade chocolate stalls around the corner.”

“Just a second,” you insisted as you made a beeline for the raffle ticket counter. Your friend followed you, confused when  you stopped a few feet away from the counter and squinted at it. The big colorful sign above the stall was handwritten. Standing behind the counter was a painfully familiar face. 

Bambam. 

“Hey. Isn’t that Bambam?” your friend asked with a giggle. “That guy you went on a date with that one time who stuck you with his bill?”

You flinched. There could not be a more unpleasant memory to recollect during the lovely holiday season. You had gone on exactly one date with Bambam; arguably the worst date of your life. The handsome young man had picked you up in his fancy car, driven you to one of the most expensive restaurants in town and nearly charmed your pants off with his smooth talk while he ordered all the priciest things on the menu. 

And then he’d had the gall to ask you to pay half the bill. 

It wasn’t the splitting of the bill that you had a problem with. You would have offered to share the cost even if he hadn’t asked. The problem was that Bambam had ordered three extra servings of the most expensive seafood dish on the menu, and two glass of the most expensive wine, while you’d had a salad and a coke. 

His food had cost four times more than yours but he wanted to split the bill in half. 

For shame. 

Understandably, you’d politely turned down his offer of a second date and then ghosted him afterwards. Part of you wondered if he’d only asked Jackson to set the two of you up because you worked as a veterinary doctor and presumably earned a lot of money. 

So what if Bambam was devastatingly handsome and tall and looked like a male supermodel? 

He was a gold-digger. 

“What is he doing here?” you grumbled. 

Bambam was wearing a dark maroon Christmas sweater that hung off his slim frame and telling some wide-eyed kids about all the cool prizes they could win if they bought a raffle ticket. It seemed extremely unnatural for the man. He looked like a sleazy addition to the colorful, fun environment. 

“Selling raffle tickets?” your friend asked with a chuckle. 

“That’s weird.”

“Why is it weird? Lots of people organize events at the White Miracle Market. I set up a stall to sell handmade scarves last year, remember? Maybe Bambam wanted to organize the raffle. It’s probably for charity.”

You laughed. “Charity? Bambam? I’m not buying it.”

“Why not?”

“It just doesn’t suit his image, okay?”

“You mean it doesn’t suit the image you have of him,” she corrected. “Which, to be fair, is based on only one date that didn’t go very well. You can’t judge his personality based on that. Maybe he’s really a nice person and you caught him on a bad day? Now come on. I want chocolates and I’m not willing to wait!”

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

“What can I offer you ladies? A sweet, sugary delicacy? Or perhaps-something more dark and sinful?”

Your friend giggled. Jackson Wang was charming and flirtatious when it suited him. He had a cheerful smile on his face, but you couldn’t concentrate on the festive-shaped chocolates he was showing your friend. 

“What’s Bambam up to?” you demanded abruptly. 

Jackson blinked. “Sorry?”

“Your friend Bambam. He can’t be serious about that raffle ticket stall, right?” 

“Oh now you’re curious about him?” Jackson raised an eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest with a smug smirk. “Sorry, darling, no can do. You can’t come around here and suddenly show interest after ghosting him. You had your chance.”

You flushed. “I’m not interested in Bambam.”

“Then why are you worried about his raffle?”

“I just-well-”

“If it’s really the raffle you’re curious about, go ask him yourself,”  Jackson told you. 

“Maybe I will.”

“Fine.”

“Fine!” you stormed away, barely listening to Jackson calling for you to buy a chocolate first and help him make some money. 

You couldn’t be mistaken about Bambam. It simply wasn’t possible. 

He was a greedy, selfish, conniving little brat and you would prove it no matter what.  

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

Bambam’s dark eyes widened in surprise when he recognized you. You reminded yourself miserably that whatever else the man lacked, he was undeniably handsome. His Christmas-themed sweater was as stylish as it could get, his long legs cushioned in expensive jeans and a silver watch adorned his wrist. Bambam was…

Classy. 

“Hi,” you greeted him. 

“Hey,” he responded with a sheepish smile. The curve of Bambam’s lips was almost shy; uncharacteristic for a man that was shameless enough to dump more than your share of an expensive bill on you. Looks could be deceiving. “I didn’t expect to see you around here. Are you here to check out the market?” he asked. 

“Evidently,” you replied coldly. 

“Oh. Nice.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Selling raffle tickets,” Bambam informed you cheerfully. He pointed to the board behind him that listed out all the prizes in bubbly red and green font. “First place wins a flat screen TV, second wins a new laptop and third an iphone. The next four people win gift hampers. What do you say? Want to try your luck? The proceeds go to charity!”

You raised an eyebrow in disbelief. 

“Charity,” you repeated.

“Sure.”

“Which charity?”

“It’s… a charity for abused animals.”

 “Fascinating. Tell me more.”

“Uh…” Bambam laughed awkwardly but he was saved from having to answer your question by a pair of 7-year old girls that interrupted you. One of them was dragging another by the hand and she pushed past you to the front of the counter. 

“Can you show us the picture of the cat again?” the girl asked Bambam with a pout. “My friend wants to see them.”

“Uh-sure, kids-”

Bambam pulled out his cellphone and handed it to the girls. The other girl gasped as soon as she saw the picture; her hands went to cover her mouth in horror. “Oh no! It looks so thin and starved! What happened to all its hair?”

“The raffle ticket man told me some evil people pulled out her hair before she was rescued! We have to buy raffle tickets so that they can save the poor cats from those evil people!” the other girl insisted. You watched in disbelief as the two girls gave Bambam his phone back, along with fistfuls of coins to pay for their raffle tickets.  

You waited until the kids left before you stared at Bambam. 

“That’s a sphynx cat. It’s not supposed to have any hair,” you stated. 

Bambam laughed awkwardly. “I mean, yeah, but you know kids. They have wild imaginations, and who are we to reign in their creativity, huh?” Bambam noticed the unimpressed look on your face and his smile dropped. “I know how this looks, and I’ll admit the cat was a white lie. But the raffle is really for charity! And you might win something!”

“I highly doubt that,” you replied dryly. 

“But-”

“Because not only is that a sphynx cat, it’s your sphynx cat. Or did you forget that you showed me pictures of all your cats on our first date?”

Bambam bit his plump lips and sighed, shoulders slumping. He was painfully reminded that your first date had been your last date. 

And not by his choice. 

“Yeah, most girls are impressed by cute pets. I guess you’re used to them since you’re a vet? Or are you just not a fan of men who have cats?”

“I’m not a fan of men who take money from little girls on false pretences,” you quipped. 

“But-”

“Hou can be better than this, Bambam. I hope someday you realize that money isn’t everything and there are more precious things in the world.”

Bambam was silent for a moment before he gave you a soft, sad smile. 

“Me too.”

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

Bambam wasn’t sure why he found you so alluring. 

Maybe it was your no-nonsense attitude and the way you never seemed to take any bullshit from anyone. Maybe it was that you were really kind and beautiful and you had this aura about you, one that had captivated him from the very first time he heard you speak. 

Bambam had the biggest fucking crush on you. 

But it didn’t matter, because he’d already had his chance and blew it. 

“I just don’t get it,” he complained miserably. “Most women love me. I’m handsome and charming. How was she so put off by me on our first date?”

Jinyoung sighed. “Come on, man.”

“What? I genuinely don’t understand.”

“Let me put it this way.” Jinyoung reached into his pocket and pulled out an expired ticket, along with a pen. He flipped the ticket over and drew a line on it. “This line is the group of women that are interested in you. And this line right underneath is the group of women that you’re interested in.”

Bambam blinked at the two lines. 

“I don’t get it.”

“They’re parallel lines, Bambam. They never meet.”

“So?”

“So you’re fucked,” Jinyoung replied simply. “Now go away.”

Bambam walked through the market miserably. His raffle ticket stall was doing great and he should have been delighted at the amount of money he was raking in. A little lack of ethics went a long way. 

But he felt uncomfortable. Not because he was doing something wrong, but because of that weird, queasy feeling that you thought less of him. 

Maybe Jinyoung was right. Maybe he was shooting for women that would never like him. 

Women like you weren't easily impressed. 

“Do you want to come play with our kittens?” a small voice asked. 

Bambam stopped in his tracks, realizing he had nearly run over a young boy that was looking at him hopefully. The kid was wearing a vest with a paw print on it and Bambam couldn’t resist the urge to follow the boy over to a stall where a number of little kittens were running around in a small play pen. 

“Wow,” he mumbled. 

“You can play with them!” the kid prompted. 

Bambam chuckled, bending over to reach into the pen as a pair of soft grey kittens instantly leapt onto his hand and tried to nibble on his fingers. They were adorable and fluffy and squishy. 

"Fuck, you guys are adorable," Bambam mumbled. 

"Will you donate to our animal shelter?" the kid asked hopefully. 

Bambam hesitated, one kitten still nibbling harmlessly on his finger. "Uh… I'm sorry, kid. I don't really have any money on me right now."

The kid nodded sadly.. "That's okay. We're just trying to take care of the kittens because we're not sure if we can find them new homes by Christmas and nobody wants to adopt them right now."

"Really?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, damn."

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

Less than four hours after you'd first spotted the raffle ticket stall, you came across Bambam once more. 

He was sitting gloomily on the curb with a box of kittens in his lap. 

You wanted, so badly, to just simply past this man without stopping to ask him what he was doing, but your curiosity wouldn't let you do that. Despite not particularly liking Bambam, you had to admit that he was one of the most unpredictable and unique people that you’d ever met. 

Ah, fuck. 

You just had to ask. 

“What are you doing with those?” you asked. 

Bambam looked up at you, eyes wide and plump lips falling open for a moment. Then he collected himself and cleared his throat. “These?” he asked, gesturing towards the kittens. 

“Yes, those.”

“I… may have adopted them?”

You stared at him. He didn’t offer any more information and you started to wonder if perhaps Bambam was really all right in the head. You took a deep breath and decided that your curiosity was unhealthy. Why did you care so much about the weird guy you’d been on a date with one time? You needed to find something else to think about. 

“I see. Cool,” you replied before walking away. 

You would leave Bambam to his eccentric exploits.

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

Except the curiosity was insatiable. 

You went back to the market the next day to get some presents for your nieces and nephews and inevitably, the path to the wooden toy-shop required you to walk past Bambam’s raffle stall. 

It was closed. 

Why was it closed? It was a Sunday, shouldn’t Bambam know that Sundays were the days when most people came to the market? It was also a great day for his target audience- gullible and helpless little kids who were either convinced they would win an iphone or thought they were rescuing the helpless cats. 

But Bambam wasn’t there. 

“So, uh… how come the raffle stall is closed?” you asked Jaebum casually. He was extremely busy working on something that looked like a dollhouse and he barely looked up at you. The man was the exact opposite of Bambam, you noted. Passionate and dedicated to his craft. 

“The raffle stall?” Jaebum asked absent-mindedly. “No clue. Why?”

You bit your lip. “No reason.”

He finally tore his eyes away from the dollhouse and turned to you with a more friendly smile. “Hey, so I think I’m going to need until tomorrow to complete your order. There’s still some finishing touches that I need to give the toys although I can show you what they look like so far-”

“That’s okay,” you reassured him. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“Great, thanks.”

You left the wooden toy-shop and strolled down the market street, looking at all the pretty shops and stalls that were bursting with life during the winter season. 

And then there was the clumsy, deserted raffle ticket stall. 

A small group of kids walked up to the stall, noticed that it was shut and sadly walked away. You frowned. 

Where was Bambam? 

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

He didn’t turn up the next day, either. 

The raffle ticket stall was conspicuously shut while you went to buy some chocolates from Jackson and some pretty handmade Christmas cards for your family and friends. By the time you finally reached the wooden toy stall to pick up the toys you had ordered, you couldn’t stand it anymore. 

“Where is Bambam?” you demanded as Jaebum packed up your toys for you. 

Jaebum blinked. “I don’t know. Maybe you can ask Yugyeom.”

“Is he here?”

“Sure. Hold on. Yugyeom! Come out here for a second!” Jaebum yelled. A tall, broad-shouldered young man emerged from the back with a friendly smile. “Do you know where Bambam is? People have been wondering why his raffle ticket stall is shut.”

Yugyeom blinked. “Oh, him? He’s too busy with the kittens.”

“Kittens?” you demanded. 

“Yeah. He adopted them from the shelter but it turns out that they were sick. All of them. He’s been running over to the veterinary center at the hospital for the last two days. I guess they don’t have many vets on duty since it’s the holiday season so he keeps making appointments to meet different doctors.”

“Oh.”

“It’s his fault, he shouldn’t have adopted a whole litter of kittens at once. But what can you do? Bambam’s not the type to give up on anyone.”

You raised your eyebrows. “You mean he has redeeming qualities too?”

Yugyeom folded his arms across his chest and frowned at you. “Look. I’m only telling you this because he likes you. Bambam had a difficult childhood growing up and maybe life taught him to love money more than his pride. But he also knows what it’s like to suffer. Bambam always helps people in distress, and he never gives up on them.”

Your throat felt dry. “Oh.”

He grabbed the bag with the toys you had ordered and handed them to you. “Will you be needing anything else?”

“Uh, no.”

“Great. Thanks for your business. Merry Christmas.”

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

You walked into the hospital the next day to see one of the receptionists waiting for you nervously. 

“Oh great, you’re here!” she greeted. 

You blinked. “Is everything okay?”

“This guy brought in a box of kittens. They’re suffering from a genetic disease and they’re not likely to live long; we’ve already had two other doctors look at them but he keeps asking to see a different doctor every day because he doesn’t believe them. I told him that you’re the best we have and that if you couldn’t do something then nobody could. Can you take a look at them?”

You bit your lip. “A box of kittens, you say?”

“Yeah.”

That sounded familiar. 

“... Send him in.”

You were not surprised when five minutes later, Bambam entered your office with a small carrier full of grey, fluffy kittens. He looked both surprised and relieved to see you. He plopped down into the chair opposite your desk and gave you a sheepish smile. 

“Hi,” he greeted. “I thought the next vet they sent me to would be you. Apparently you’re the best.”

“I’m pretty sure my colleagues’ diagnosis was accurate, Bambam.”

“No, don’t say that!” he insisted desperately. “I’m sure there’s something that can be done. It’s okay. I don’t care how much money it costs. I just couldn’t stand it if anything happened to these kittens. I took responsibility for these little guys when I adopted them and I’m going to see it through to the end.”

You sighed. 

“I hear blood tests and scans were done? Let me pull up the reports.”

“Okay.”

You pulled up the reports on your computer and instantly noticed the problem. It was evident from the reports that the entire litter of kittens suffered from a genetic illness; one that veterinary sciences had yet to find a cure for and one that would ensure that these kittens lived a short and painful life. Your face fell and consequently, so did Bambam’s. 

“Bambam….”

“Please don’t say there’s nothing you can do,” he pleaded. 

You couldn’t help it. You felt bad for him. The man had clearly formed an attachment to these kittens and he was clutching the carrier tightly as he looked at you with wide, horrified eyes. You hadn’t imagined that the cool, classy and suave Bambam would have such a soft corner for such a helpless group of kittens. 

“Bambam, I’m sorry. I think all we can do is make it so they don’t go through any pain.”

“Fuck.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Well that’s a shitty-ass way to start the holiday season, isn’t it? Isn’t there some treatment? Surgery or something? It’s okay even if it costs a lot-”

“It’s not something you can solve with money, Bambam. Veterinary science hasn’t found a cure for genetic diseases like this yet. You could put them in some kind of experimental treatment but it would only prolong the pain and the chances of finding a cure are next to nothing.”

Bambam blinked at you. “Right.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? It’s not your fault. I’m an idiot for thinking I could help them, I just…” his eyes were shining with the hint of tears and he cleared his throat. “I guess I don’t know what I would have done with them even if they had been healthy. I don’t have enough room at home for eight more cats. I just didn’t think they should be alone at the shelter over Christmas.”

“That’s… kind of you.”

“Nah, it’s hypocritical of me, maybe I just wanted to feel like I was doing something good to make up for all the shit I do.”

You bit your lip. “Hmm.”

“So can I just…” he cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable. “I’m sure the hospital has ways to um… I don’t think I could do it myself, you know?”

“How about you keep them with you over Christmas?”

Bambam blinked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You can give them a warm home and keep them comfortable for the holidays. And then afterwards you can drop them off at the hospital and um, we’ll find a way to make it painless for them. I promise,” you suggested. 

“Okay. That… that sounds nice.”

“Great.”

“Thanks for your help,” he muttered. He stood up to leave, picking up the carrier full of mewling kittens and walking towards the door. Your throat felt tight as you watched him walk away and you couldn’t control yourself from calling. 

“Bambam?”

He turned. “Yeah?”

“Are you going to re-open the raffle ticket stall?”

His lips curled into a pained smile. “Ah. That. I don’t know if I can. I spent all the money I made so far on the medical tests and scans for these little guys. I don’t think I can afford to keep it running. I’ll have to find some way to make some money and refund people who bought tickets.”

You sighed and folded your arms across your chest. “I’ll get the hospital to waive the fees for you on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You reopen the raffle ticket stall. And this time you really give your proceeds to an animal abuse charity, instead of conning people into thinking that you will.”

Bambam bit his lip and then gave you a small smile. “Yeah, okay.”

You smiled back. “Great.”

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

Christmas Eve

It was late evening when you walked past the stalls at the Christmas Market. Being a vet, you’d had to work through most of the holidays but you’d managed to escape early just on Christmas Eve in time to make it to the market before it closed. 

Bambam was just closing up. 

“Hey,” you greeted him lightly. “Am I too late to buy some raffle tickets?”

Bambam’s eyes widened cheerfully when he saw you, and he waved a gloved hand in greeting. His neck was cushioned in a fancy scarf. 

“Hi! I didn’t expect to see you here! Of course you can buy some raffle tickets. How many do you want?” he asked. 

You shrugged. “Ten?”

“That’s a lot,” he smiled and reached down to rip the tickets out of his little book. “You sure you want to spend that much money here?”

“It’s for a good cause.”

“I guess it is,” he mused as he handed you a bunch of tickets and you gave him the cash in return.  “You made it just in time. I was about to close up and go home to the kittens. They’ve become incredibly naughty. I don’t know how I’m going to let go of them.”

You smiled sadly. “Don’t get too attached.”

“I know,” he muttered. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s okay. I think I’m coming to terms with it. Sometimes that’s how life is. The innocent are the ones to get hurt. But I’m glad I could give them a warm home for the holidays.”

“I’m glad too.”

Bambam nodded before he turned the lights off and closed the shutter of his stall. The street was emptying out; most people were headed towards the huge Christmas tree and the dazzling lights but you’d had a long day and planned to go home. You walked towards the exit with Bambam. 

“Can I ask you something?” Bambam asked hesitantly. 

“Sure.”

“I know… you dodn’t want to go out with me again after that first time,” Bambam explained with a nervous smile. “And that’s fine! I mean, that’s totally your choice. But… can I ask  what went wrong during that date? Did we just not click? Did you not enjoy yourself? Or did I say something to upset you?”

You stared at him. “No. I had a great time during the date. It was a lot of fun.”

“Then what was it?”

“You mean you don’t know?” 

He shook his head innocently. “I’ve been wondering what could have gone wrong but to be honest, I tried my best to make sure you enjoyed yourself. I figured you just didn’t like me.” 

“Bambam. You made me pay for way more than my fair share of the meal. It was a really dick move to pull considering that we were at a really expensive restaurant. If I had known I would be paying for your food too, I would have chosen a cheaper place. The fact that you so coolly asked me to pay was a huge red flag!” 

Bambam blinked at you in confusion. “What? But Jackson told me to!” 

“Jackson?” 

“I was going to pay for the date myself. But Jackson texted me right before the bill came saying that independent women like you were probably feminists and that I should treat you like an equal and that ask to split the bill in half so that you didn’t feel awkward about me paying.” 

You stared at him. “Bambam.” 

“What?”

“That’s a nice thought, but you ordered all the most expensive things on the menu and I had a salad and coke. Don’t you think going halfsies wasn’t a fair split?” 

His cheeks flushed red and he quickly averted his eyes from you. “Okay, yeah. I see it now. I swear it didn’t even occur to me then. I was just following Jackson’s suggestions.”

“Jackson didn’t know what we ordered.” 

“I guess not.” 

“So you weren’t a gold-digger. You were just an idiot.” 

Bambam chuckled awkwardly. “There’s a statement I can’t dispute. I was nervous about messing it up. I really liked you. I still do, I mean. Really like you. But I understand why you’re not interested in me so I won’t push it.” 

You sighed and shoved your hands in your pockets. You couldn’t deny that you had seen a different side to Bambam. A more endearing and innocent side. A side that maybe, just maybe, made up for his faux pas at the restaurant and his failure of an attempt to defraud the general public by misappropriating the proceeds of his  raffle tickets. 

“Do you have any plans tonight?” you asked him. 

“Nope. Just going home to watch the cats.” 

“Can we pick up a bottle of wine and watch the cats together?” you suggested lightly. “It’s Christmas Eve and I don’t have anywhere else to be either.”

Bambam grinned. “Yeah. We could do that.” 

“Then let’s do it.” 

Bambam’s dark eyes were fixed on you as you both continued to walk, and you found your heart fluttering a little. He was a sweet guy; perhaps a little stupid, and perhaps his moral compass was a few degrees off, but deep down you had the feeling that Bambam was a nice guy. 

“Hey,” he suddenly said with a grin. “How about this? How about I give the charity the exact amount of money you waived from the hospital fee, and keep the rest?”

“How about you keep nothing?” you retorted. 

Bambam’s smile fell. “Ok, that’s an issue.”

“Why is that an issue?”

“I don’t have enough money to buy a nice bottle of wine.”

You sighed and resisted the urge to smack yourself in the forehead. “Fine. I’ll buy the fucking bottle of wine.”

Bambam pouted. “You don’t have to get mad, it was only an idea-”

“Here’s an idea. How about once we get to your apartment, we talk about finding you a nice, honest job that you can work at to make money?” you asked. 

“Doesn’t sound like much fun,” he pointed out. 

“What does sound like fun?”

“Being rich.”

You sighed. Maybe it would take some time getting used to Bambam. 

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

[einlov]

(⊃｡-́‿-̀｡)⊃ Cramp buddies!

⁎ Comfort with Toga ⁎

Episode I: Blood sisters!

��Helllloooo, friends!”

The screen finally gets clearer, the blond girl sits in a ripped up chair. Pillows overflow from her seat. She shifts and stares into the camera. A side table near her holds a mug, the picture of two tampons tangled to each other is on the mug. The words ‘Girl power! Strong and just enough!’ is under that picture.

Her smile widens,

“Welcome to or back to Toga T.V!!!”

She does a little dance in her seat with each word.

“Soooo, this is a new segment!!! Hopefully it helps people feel better! And well, less bored!”

She sits up a bit and sips her drink. After sighing she continues,

“Though, today is for the ladies!! Go away boys!! It’s time to talk about...BLOOD!”

She claps her hands and squeal when saying the last word.

“Sorry, hehe! I like blood, though this type of bleeding is intriguing and messy!”

Her face grimace at the last word.

“Nevertheless, this pain will pass on! As long as you stay here, I’ll be helping you! Even if I’m not there physically, I’m here for you all!!”

Her stands up slowly and sets down her mug.

“Now, get up! I know it can be a little tough to get up right now, but as a girl on the run from the cops, hehe, the cramps are numbed a bit when you stand up...and RUN!”

She jogs in place, her knees near reaches her chest. Her mouth opens again, with a smile,

“Hey! Hey! Slow down! You’re going too fast!! Let me catch up!”

Her smile widens, her pearly teeth and sharp canines are showing. She dramatically whips her forehead and pants.

“Do you run often??? You should run in the Olympics! I bet you’ll get first place!”

Her laughs are soft. She releases her hair from the two buns. Her hair hits her face and shoulder as she continues to run. Even when her hair is facing towards every direction, she continues to smile.

“Who said running required you to look pretty?!? Social standards that’s what! But guess what, you still look absolutely cute with your hair ‘unkempt’, throw up lingering in your breathe, and sweat! At this time, you can be yourself! Why restrict yourself from that!?”

She shakes her head and gives her hair a shake. Some of the strains sticks onto her forehead. Yet...she still smiles. Why?

“Random fact, when you start your period, rumor is that a mini devil uses his pitchfork to poke your uterus! He uses the extra blood to give his buddies lives! Your blood is literal magic! Look at that, a strong woman helping save others! Periods aren’t the worst after all!”

Her hands comes up to show 10 fingers. One comes down with every 10 seconds passing.

“You wanna know what happens when the mini devil saves all of his friends?? They stay in your body and create mini civilized cities! You make notice the lack of blood after that, they are all happy and alive, and finally decide to stop hurting you, as they all need you! You’re like Mother Earth!”

5 fingers are now remaining. Her breathing gets a bit rugged.

“Now that we have that out of the way...we are gonna stop jogging for a minute! In 4.....3......2......2 and a half?? Ok ok!....1!”

She stops running in place and catches her breath. Before reaching for her mug she looks back at the camera,

“Don’t drink coffee! Soda! Or any other sugary drinks! They cause more harm!! In this mug there is water! Stay hydrated! I’m serious! Don’t make me find your location, to force water down your system! Gently of course! Hehe!”

She gulps down the water quickly, finishing with a smack of her lips. A grin is on her face as she rubs her stomach. A small burp leaves her, she laughs it off.

“I know how embarrassing that could be...especially when it comes from other areas! It’s okay!! It’s natural! Your system is just under stress, so it tries to release a lot of things from you. Don’t harm yourself! Just relieve yourself in your trusted room! Besides, you’re cute when you are flustered!”

Her body eases into the chair. She sighs and closes her eyes. While continuing to shut her eyes she says,

“You must feel all uncomfortable now from sweat. A warm bath should do the trick! Showers are okay, but relaxing in the tub in warm water feels amazing! Spoil yourself, use cute and nice smelling soaps that doesn’t disturb your lady parts! Don’t use bath bombs! They may irritate your hoo-ha! Like your PH.”

She relaxes more into the stiff chair, her eyes opens slowly and looks into the camera.

“Before you do that, make a mini food tray! No sweets! Not now, sorry but you’ll have to wait for that! Sugar is the enemy at these times! Salt is a frenemy, so you can snack on cheese cubes, low-salted chips and maybe sandwiches, in a limited amount!”

Her legs stretch out a bit and helps her stand up. She walks to the camera, the screen is completely taken by her face.

“You know, I wish I was strong like you. Taking on these cramps like they’re nothing! Who could tell you that you aren’t strong?! No one! As they would be laying cold on the ground before completing their stupid comment! It doesn’t help that you are extremely pretty as well!! Ugh! Save some flair for me!!! Hehe! Strong mentally and physically, the type of girl that I look up to. I adore you! I love you!”

The last smile is sent through the TV, before the screen is now displaying the regularly scheduled programs like the local news.

-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 -•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-

Sigh.

“Another day completed!”

The blond girl covers the camera’s screen with her small hands. The camera is shut off, cords are covering the hard and cold floor. She records in this small cold room. The room is almost pitch black. The windows glass are almost completely shattered.

The same bright face seems to drop slowly. She takes in the environment with a small pout. Thoughts are the only thing keeping the room from being too silent. Her feet are now white noises as she drags the chair out of the back door of the room. It leads into an alleyway.

‘...too many dead bodies...’

‘...too many dead family members...’

‘...betrayal....for what?’

‘....doesn’t matter. Why care now?’

‘pathetic, don’t you agree?...’

The chair is placed beside the nearest garbage bin.

She releases and drops the chair with a sigh.

Small raindrops soaks into her hair. She embraces the smell of the raindrops. After a couple of seconds, she returns to the room.

The camera is snatched from the cords, the cords could only leave small thrumps. Her hands creases the lens of the camera. A small heart connected to her necklace grazes the lens a bit.

‘S + T’

Her lips form a small smile.

“Syria.”

She looks back the camera.

“...Too many mistakes.”

Her smile widens as she recites that famous line,

‘We’re only human after all.’

She breathes in slowly. After a small break, she talks to the boring camera.

“...For you. I hope you don’t think I’m a bore! Are still watching?...Of course you are, who else would watch this crappy show?”

•

•

•