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seodami · 3 years

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Dearest treasure | KTH

Summary: Every kid in town was afraid of Kang Taehyun, the old -slightly creepy- man living alone for years and years in the same run down house. Every night he would go into his backyard with a shovel and dig a hole into the earth. No one knows why and there are kids rumouring about him burying people. Jungwon was a bright kid, wanting to find out the truth behind this widely spread rumour for a school project. And what he found out would change his life forever.

Genre: fluff, angst, flashbacks, story of life, snippets of life, tiny bit humour

Warning: old Taehyun, mention of death, mention of suicide/suicidal thoughts, death

Word count: 10152 (all 3 parts)

Pairing: Kang Taehyun x reader, (Yang Jungwon)

Note: Wow okay so this story took me a while to write and I listened to hours of das music to finish this🥺 this was honestly an emotional rollercoaster. But I’m so glad it’s finally finished so I can post it on here yayyy!!! I hope you like it an enjoooyy (please tell me if you cried I would really appreciate your responses haha bc I did)

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2089 (present)

Deathly silence hung in the air as thick as smog. In Jungwons eyes pooled tears, ready to spill over the edges to fall into free fall and drop heavily onto his trousers. His heart was burning, not finding any suitable words of comfort or understanding for the old man in front of him. His throat felt like it was tied up so tightly, he couldn’t breathe. Oh, how didn’t he know? Oh, how could anyone talk bad behind his back? So much hurt…

Mr. Kangs head hung low, not daring to make any other noice than his sniffling nose. Hot tear drops were silently dropping down, it felt suffocating just watching him so full of hurt and sorrow. Suddenly Jungwon felt sorry to let him relive his whole life together with the terrible pain even the young boy could feel.

“I- I…I never could…forgive myself. It was my fault-“ the once handsome mans face was dark and the wrinkles now seemingly even deeper full of regrets and unspoken words. “You wouldn’t understand, boy-“

Jungwon couldn’t form any appropriate words at that moment and let the sadness let him take away just for a little longer. His story was heavy… he felt like he just heard something he shouldn’t have heard. Something so private and fragile. It had touched him more than he had thought.

“I didn’t want to live anymore… it was all worthless since then… I had no motivation to keep going.” His voice became a tad more stable, yet still quiet and weak. His tired eyes met the innocent boys and for a second the old man could see his younger self inside his big brown eyes. Sadness and nostalgia rolled over him and he averted his gaze.

“I tried ending my life many times since that day- it never worked no matter how much I wanted it… and then I just…I just mouldered…alone, broken- and just a shell of my old self. I wasn’t the once happy, bright, clever boy anymore. I could never be that again…”

Jungwons heart felt heavy, breathing wasn’t bearable. His hands unconsciously reached forward to the tiny lost figure sitting in his sunken mould. It was a simple touch but for Mr. Kang it was the first reassuring and comforting gesture he had received in a long long time. It made him tear up stronger, still staying silent. The young boy wanted to be there for the old man. He wanted to show him that he wasn’t alone in this.

Moments of depressing, yet healing silence passed, just the ticking of the old clock in the dark living room was heard. “I’m so sorry Mr. Kang…” Jungwon finally whispered, unsure if the man spoken to even heard it. He couldn’t do much but be there in this moment. Quite honestly he felt like crying himself. But he wanted to stay strong for him.

“One day-“ Mr. Kangs voice shook a little but he kept talking. “-I remembered the time capsule. My dearest treasure. So long ago. And I made it my life mission to find it. One last moment to hold onto and…look back to.” A thick single tear slowly rolled down Jungwons cheek. So that was it. That’s why… and everyone had dragged the vulnerable man down, putting even more dirt into his deep wounds.

“I-I searched everywhere. But…but i just…forgot. It’s my last wish before I finish this…” life he wanted to say. Finish his life. It made the school boy unbelievable sad. Oh how much he must’ve suffered his whole life. And before Jungwon could’ve decided differently, a strong feeling of wanting to help and support creeped up to him.

“I’m gonna help you Mr. Kang. We will find your treasure.” Jungwon reassuringly took the heavy, wrinkled hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. It was the first time since that day, that he felt hope again. Just a tiny tiny splinter but it was there. Hope.

The next hours, both of the males digged holes through the whole garden, not saving any sweat, too focused on finding the mans greatest desire. Mr. Kang had already reached his limit after three holes, following with the 14 year old boy leading him towards an old wooden garden bench to rest on. Jungwon on the other hand was full of verve and energy to fulfill his dearest wish. To find his dearest treasure. Mr. Kang watched him with surprise and thankfulness, never had anyone gone all the way out to help him with something so important to him. There was never someone who he could’ve went to. After that day, he had broken off all the contact with his old friends. He wanted to feel alone at some point. He deserved the pain. That’s what he had always told himself. But now he was old and weak and just wanted nothing more than to be finally reunited with his beloved family. He missed you everyday. He heard his daughters laughters everyday. And he saw his son running around outside in the garden everyday. He finally wanted to be with his family everyday.

It had already gotten dark and cold at this point, Mr. Kang had brought the hard working boy a jacket and a warm tea. The sun was already long gone, just the small lights from the veranda and from the street shined over towards them. Jungwon was still digging, his once tidy school clothes now full of dirt and dust and drenched in sweat. He couldn’t give up. He knew that. So he kept digging and digging. The moon was fondly watching at the pair below, shining just a tad brighter tonight for them. Short friendly small talk about school went quickly over to heartfelt conversations about life and this and that. Nobody, not even the moon, would’ve thought that the bitter, lonely 87 year old Taehyun and the bright, cheerful 14 year old Jungwon would’ve ever even crossed paths, yet life showed again how unpredictable and full of surprises it could be. This night, a tight bond between the two men was woven. So unexpected but yet so lovely.

The clock already told them it was 6 minutes before midnight when another noice cut through the silent night air. A metallic sound. Gasping, Jungwon threw the shovel away, excitement now rushing through his veins. He fell onto his knees, not caring about the moist soil on his trousers. His hands digged through the last part, brown earth now sticking behind his nails, and moments later, he pulled out a medium sized metal box, securely wrapped in plastic. Jungwon felt like he just won the Olympics, he felt like he did it. He did it…

A quick gaze onto the bench showed him the sleeping old man, now seeming even tinier than before. With shaky steps and a weird feeling of proudness and fulfilment, Jungwon waddled over to the sleeping form, gently waking him up. The box in his hands was tightly in his grasp, not letting go. Mr. Kangs heavy lidded eyes flew open in an instant when he saw the metal box in the boys arms. Tears burned in his thankful eyes, reaching towards it with shaking arms. Everything felt heavy, yet his heart felt the lightest it had felt in a long long time.

“Thank you…so much.” Tears were now unstoppable rolling down his cheeks. It squeezed Jungwons heart, knowing he could make this man happy again, fulfilling his last wish. The both of them moved up to the house again, warmth engulfing them with its now familiar scent. Comfort. The old man reassured the boy to stay but seeing the box being opened, Jungwon felt as if he got to see something way too private. But he stayed, looking over the sniffling mans shoulder when he pulled out a small pink toy dolphin. His hands were shaking. “This was my daughters. It was her favorite toy when she was…two years old.”

Taehyuns heart clenched, seeing all his treasures in front of him. He desperately pressed the small toy against his chest, letting all his emotions in. It was intense, yet it was all he ever wanted. Seeing the familiar drawings of a green giraffe, sitting on a cloud with a family next to it. He could read all their names above the figures. Oh Taehee…

Looking through the photographs, old memories surfaced and made the man tear up even heavier. He didn’t knew how much he really had missed them. It was as if his empty shell was slowly filled again, reliving all of your best and worst moments. He saw a picture on his old friends Hueningkais 18th birthday. All of his friends were there, cake smeared all across your faces, the brightest smiles someone could ever see. The day he had first met you… Another picture had all of your friends sitting around a small bonfire, being cuddled inside blankets. Taehyun saw his younger handsome self smiling unsure into the camera with you sitting beside him. He could only laugh sadly at the memories of your camping trip where he first had kissed you, the guilty feeling just as clear.

“She looks so happy here…” Taehyun noticed with a testy smile, gently touching your face on the picture, seeing you and him laying on a bed, arms tightly slung around your frame, as you held the camera. His large eyes showed nothing but the purest form of love as he looked over to you. Oh he was such a lovesick fool. “You were a pretty couple…” Jungwon whispered, glancing over the handsome young man and the pretty women. He wished to find someone in his life later, he could look at with just as much love as he did. Taehyun nodded, pulling out the next photo. It was the two of you kissing in front of the Eiffel Tower in Paris, big smiles on both of your faces. Taehyun remembered, it was when he courageously decided to fly around half the globe to you to fix your relationship. He didn’t want to give you up, thank god he didn’t. Another photograph showed you holding your first ultrasound picture, tears streaming down your face. You were both so young and already on the way to becoming parents. It was scary, yes it was one of the most scary moments in life but it was all worth it. The next picture showed you in the hospital bed, looking weak, yet happy. Taehyun was kneeing down next to you, his gaze focused on you and the tiny newborn baby in four arms. A tear dropped down onto the photo but he quickly wiped it away. “Our little Taehee…”

The next picture showed a kissing couple dressed in a gorgeous white dress and a neat black suit. The priest between them was smiling fondly at the newlywed couple. On another one he could see the couple dancing in midst of their guests, white petals laying all over the place. Taehyun sobbed, holding a hand over his mouth. Jungwons hand reassuringly squeezed his shoulder. He was there for him. Taehyuns and your parents were dancing next to you, he could see his friend Yeonjun and Beomgyu dancing with each other playfully and many more of their closest circle. It had been so long. And he missed it. It was such a happy memory.

There were other photographs with you being pregnant, both of your baby pictures, your friends and your parents and a ton of little Taehee running around bubbly in her adorable dresses and overalls. Taehyun hadn’t seen these pictures in a while and it tore his heart into a million pieces. The last picture was inside your new house, the house he never could bring over him to leave. You were all sitting on the carpet, smiling into the camera. The little baby boy snuggling closer in his blanket and the girl pressing a soft kiss onto his tiny head. Taehyuns arms were slung around your frame, head laying on your shoulder relaxing. They were so happy. So happy.

He pulled out an edition of your favorite book with a hand written text inside: ‘For Taehee and Taejun- may they find wisdom and happiness in their long lives. From mum and dad’ Taehyun remembered. Oh he remembered everything. You two would always read this book together since your honeymoon, where you discovered it in one of the local bookstores. Since then it had always be your favorite book. And it hurt him seeing his children never got to read it. Their future was just robbed because of one moment. It was unfair. Why did he get to live when they couldn’t? He never understood.

The last thing Taehyun pulled out of the box was the pink letter littered with dozen of glitter stickers. ‘To my love’ stood on top of it in your cursive handwriting. He gulped, knowing exactly this was made for him personally. It was the letter he dreaded reading. The moment he waited for. The reason he wanted to find this box in the first place. His love. Jungwon stood stiff and still next to him, not daring to say a word. With shaking fingers, he carefully opened the envelope without tearing it. He could immediately recognise your pretty handwriting and already teared up when he read over the first sentence. ‘To my dear love Taehyun, whom I always love’ with another nod, he dared reading through the heartfelt letter.

‘So this is where life led us, what? To be quite honest with you, my 17 year old me would’ve never thought about marrying the handsome boy from Hueningkais birthday party, let alone have his children and buy our first house together. Life went wild with us, am I right Tae? But I regret nothing. Not even when I stole your favorite hoodie out of your closet without you knowing. Everyone was so done with my reckless personality and I often felt misunderstood in my younger days as you know. But you just always seemed to just see the best in me. Even when I felt like giving it all up. You were always there for me. And you were the only one to fully understand and accept me how I am. This is something I never told you in person but I can’t remember how life was without you before. In my mind, you were always there and I know that you will always be there for our family in our long future. I hope when you read this, we are both still happily married, watching our children and grandchildren laugh about all our ridiculous photos inside this box. And Taehee, oh she must be so happy to see her favorite toy again haha. Taehyun, you are my best friend, my first love, my first heartache, my true soulmate and the best husband in the whole world. You are and will always be my love, no matter how time will turn our lives around. We are always together. I love you always,

Your dearest wife Y/N

(P.S. don’t worry about getting old, you are still my handsome prince I fell in love with!)’

At this point, Taehyun was a sobbing mess, not caring what the young boy might think of him. This letter had touched his soul, his deepest heart. He felt every word you’ve written just as if it was you whispering each of them into his ear. He never felt the urge that strong before to be by your side, hug you, kiss you all over your face, tell you how beautiful you were and whisper how much he loved you and would forever. His life made sense only with his family by his side. There was nothing left to live anymore for Taehyun. And he knew that for a long time already.

Jungwon in this moment didn’t knew what to do anymore. He felt like he had fulfilled his mission, making the old man happy for a last time. With quiet steps, he took his video camera, he totally had forgotten and put it in his backpack laying on the floor abandoned. It was his sign to leave, let the man dwell in his emotions and memories. He was done here. With careful steps he went closer to the sobbing man again, softly putting his hand on his shoulder. He looked up as if he knew what the boy was about to say.

A small smile was on his wrinkled lips, clenching on the boys heart. He weakly pushed himself up just to pull the sweaty, in dirt covered student into a warm embrace. It was the first hug since ages it felt like. The hug remembered Jungwon of his own grandmother and tears stuck in his throat. He missed her. “Thank you so much, Jungwon. You are a wonderful kid. You’ve fulfilled my dearest wish. I will forever be thankful to you. May you be blessed forever. You were the only one willing to listen. Thank you.” Jungwon nodded in his shoulder, trying not to burst into tears on the spot but failed nevertheless in the end. He was so glad seeing the happy man in front of him, now seeming even younger than before. The deep sunken eyes didn’t seem frightening anymore. They were warm and welcoming. He could see sparkles of youth inside them. Yes, Jungwon did the right thing.

When the clock showed sharply half an hour past midnight, Jungwon bid his farewell to the man, he weirdly would consider his friend now, knowing he could sleep well tonight. Taehyun insisted on him keeping the jacket he gave him as well as one of the pictures inside the box for his school project and as a token of gratitude. On his quiet walk back home, he smiled endearingly down to the old photograph he carefully held in his hand. It was the last picture. Where the family of four smiled happily into the camera, sitting onto the fluffy rug Jungwon recognised now. He would treasure this picture forever. It was a generous gift, knowing how important it had been to Mr. Kang. He was so thankful.

The next day, Jungwon excitedly presented his project in class. Even though his mother yelled at him concerned where he was until this late, he managed to edit the video for his project, tearing up in the process but still felt motivated to keep going. It was important that he made this his best project. Not for him or his grade, no, it was for Mr. Kang. He was determined to change everyone’s horrible opinion about the old man.

It was eye opening for everyone. Even Park Jongsong, the scary older student, couldn’t come up with a counter attack and stared wide eyed at the screen in front of the class. It was freeing, knowing that just a bit of courage and kindness could lead you to such wonderful moments. He changed everyone’s opinion about ‘Killer Kang’. And he managed to make an old sad man happy again.

After school, the kind student hurried over to Mr. Kangs house. In bright daylight, the garden looked like a battlefield with tons and tons of freshly digged soil laying all around. Now with a much happier feeling, Jungwon crossed the chaotic lawn, knocking energetically onto the old wodden door. After a while he still hadn’t heard any steps so he tried knocking again. “Mr. Kang? It’s Jungwon. I wanted to show you the finished project. It went amazing.” The boy excitedly bounced on the balls of his feet, too giddy to stand still. There was still no answer, so Jungwon made his way towards the backyard, now being familiar with every inch. He had a weird feeling in the pit of his stomache.

And when he saw the open veranda, the old man sitting in his mould on the old couch, Jungwon let out a relieved breath. With careful steps not to step inside one of the many holes in the ground, he made its way over to Mr. Kang, not without knocking on the wall outside. Still no answer. Maybe he hasn’t heard it or he was sleeping. Jungwon waddled over to the familiar couch, seeing Mr. Kang sitting in his usual spot with his eyes closed. He looked so peaceful, Jungwon first thought the old man was sleeping tightly. Yet when there was still no answers or reactions from his side and when he noticed there was no movement of his upper body, he understood…

Mr. Kang passed away last night. Tears welled up in Jungwons eyes and he heavily let them flow when he saw all the contents of the metallic box scattered around the small desk in front of him. The photos, sorted into time accuracy, the book untouched, the adorable drawings of his young daughter, the green giraffe smiling cheekily at him. The pink letter was open and the neat handwriting was still the same as yesterday. And in Mr. Kangs hands, layed the pink toy dolphin.

Jungwon went onto his knees beside him on the fluffy carpet, letting his hot tears fall freely without restrictions. He may had lost a friend today but he knew deep down, the old kind man was happily reunited with his family. He had gained everything he lost. And for that…how could Jungwon still be sad?

For now and forever, the courageous 14 year old boy, who acted righteous and kind, carried Kang Taehyuns life story out into the wide world, spread his last words so no one would forget the once mysterious man everyone feared to look at. Kang Taehyun, a man who got everything he wished for and then got it taken away from him. A man, who loved dearly. A man, whose story would never be forgotten.

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anondudeao3 · 3 years

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Fic Recs!

Since I'm on hiatus, I've finally had time to do some reading, and I thought I'd give some fic recommendations, since I won't be posting for quite a while. These are my absolute favourites!

(I split this into two posts — one for JayDick and one for JayTim — because once I finished with the first half, I realised it was quite long)

JayTim

19th of October

By: gothamnight

Word Count: 8,395

Summary: Jason's stuck in a time loop and forced to relive the same day over and over again. Surprisingly, it's not that bad when he spends every day with Tim.

→ A 'Groundhog Day' scenario! It's so (bitter)sweet seeing Jason slowly fall in love with a Tim who completely doesn't even remember that they don't hate each other. And a happy ending!

Honeymoon

By: cinnamon_skull

Word Count: 14,793

Summary: Tim and Jason go undercover as a just-married couple celebrating their honeymoon in order to catch a high-profile drug lord. Hand-holding, kissing, secret rendezvous and bed sharing ahead.

→ Who doesn't love a good fake relationship fic? The ever-mounting tension between Jay and Tim is just chef's kiss, and seeing the difference between the ease with which Tim seduces people for the case vs how flustered he gets when things get too intimate with Jay is hilarious.

Worlds Apart

By: commanderquill

Word Count: 22,984

Summary: ��Let me get this straight,” Bruce says, in full Batman regalia save for the cowl hanging from his neck, and Jason shuffles awkwardly. “You met the only merboy in all of Poseidonis, and within minutes of knowing him agreed to break into Atlantis’ highest acclaimed science laboratory to steal an experiment of top research priority, because it felt like the right thing to do? Even though you didn’t actually know what you were doing at first?”

“Was he cute?” Barbara pipes in with zero grace. “What?” she says in response to Bruce’s look. “It’s an important question. Boys are stupid around pretty people. You’ve met Dick, right?”

→ Okay, this one is pre-slash, but it's so fucking cute and well written I had to include it! It's little Jay and little mer!Tim having an adventure (small heist) together! It's so fun, you won't regret reading it. (I also recommend checking out their other works, especially 'One Step Closer', although it is unfinished and possibly abandoned it's so good. More kid Jay and Tim goodness!)

Forget Me Not

By: wellthatjusthappend

Word Count: 30,423

Summary: “It’s always nice to know how disposable we are to them, isn’t Replacement?”

“Jason?” Tim’s head snapped up, tension coiling all through him.

“Don’t worry though, we’re gonna prove them all wrong again.”

→ This is a heavy, angry one, but it hits so fucking good. Tim has been missing for almost two years, and when Jason finds him he has a lot to work through with how the whole family assumed he was dead and didn't look for him. Jason is only grudgingly helping him recover at first, and they don't exactly like each other, but watching them slowly get closer, and watching Tim grow into himself and the ways he's changed because of his experience is really beautiful. It's always fun to read morally grey Tim, and the writing really makes it feel so righteous, like Tim deserves to do the things he does.

strange fear i ain’t felt for years

By: Sister

Word Count: 31,350

Summary: “Can’t believe a pretty thing like you has to come begging to the Red Hood,” he says against Tim’s neck. “Thought they’d be lining up down the block for you. Thought Daddy would need to get the shotgun.”

“You’re the one with the shotgun,” Tim points out.

Tim’s benched with a broken arm and starts playing Jason’s personal Oracle. Things escalate.

→ Probably hilariously unnecessary to rec this, since it has almost 86.5k views on AO3, but it was one of the (if not possibly the) first JayTim fic I ever read. I reread it somewhat recently and still love it. The whole concept of Tim playing Jay's personal Oracle is one I love dearly, and I go wild for it every time I see it in fics. There's hot phone sex and exciting casefic elements too! If you somehow haven't read this, I definitely recommend!

The Knight's Quest

By: chibi_nightowl

Word Count: 67,449

Summary: Sir Timothy Drake never wanted to be a knight. But when his parents send him off on a quest to slay a dragon, what else was he to do? Of course, said dragon has his own thoughts on the matter and his counterproposal is much more enticing than a fiery death.

→ Ohhhh this one. THIS ONE. The fantasy was done so well. The plot was amazingly engaging, the descriptions were so immersive, the emotion, the worldbuilding. This story has it all. I promise you, you will not regret reading this one, it's positively magical. (I also recommend all of their other works, especially the 'Moon, Snow, and Ice' series! But seriously, all their works. There are so many and I've read them all, and they're all amazing.)

Bite Your Tongue

By: dnawhite76, Prubbs

Word Count: 109,135

Summary: Being raised by a famous actress and and hockey legend, Jason learned at an early age that his dirty laundry would always be up for public display. But that never bothered him until rumors started flying about his relationship with the internet's favorite rookie defenseman.

→ Now, if you're like me and you generally don't like super AU AUs — particularly no capes — (despite the surprisingly several over both rec lists, which I guess just shows that some of the best fics can be the ones that aren't what you're looking for!), you may be thinking why hockey? Just read it. It's so good. I honestly have no fucking clue what made me click it the first time, but I'm so glad I did. I don't know anything about hockey, I have zero interest in sports normally, yet this fic managed to be super engaging and interesting with all of the playing and hockey talk. And also the premise of them being shipped together by fans? Adorable and hilarious.

Edit: because I am just now rereading BYT for the first time in a while and I forgot, just a warning, it does use a slur for Romani once.

#jaytim #fic rec #jaytim fanfic

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its-chelisey-stuff · 3 years

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I watched “Imitation” and it was surprising (... okay, I loved it!)

Full disclosure: If you haven’t the slightest interest in kpop, not even in the drama or juicy gossip that produces, this won’t be your thing. I know it’s not a drama for everyone. Stop reading. Just know that OTP (and most characters) had a happy ending but there was a bunch of drama to achieve it. Typical. And a death may or may not have been in the mix.

Well well well... I'm pleasantly surprised, that's the perfect three word review for this drama. It would seem that when those little projects that come out of nowhere and you have no expectations about, turn out to be even a little big good, they made the strongest impression. And this drama is up there in my top 3 of favorite dramas of the year, it has my heart.

Yes, it was about kpop idols and 90% of the cast was made of idols (even one from the very first kpop gen hahaha), yet the acting was decent (and from some, truly great), yes sometimes it got a bit cheesy and silly and yes, there was a ton of drama concerning fans, reporters, dating scandals and bad and greedy CEOs of entertainment agencies BUT it was also sweet, really romantic, funny, lively, full of music (I'm OBSESSED with the last OST which was sung by the whole cast, it makes me FEEL things) and dancing, it had lots friendship and found family AND at times, it was heartbreakingly tragic.

I think this drama tried to tell the audience two important lessons, worthy of mention: the first, work hard for your dreams, don't give up on them but also, you never know what opportunities might come your way that could end up changing your direction and perhaps make you chase something that you never thought you would, so persevere, breathe and hang in there just a bit more; the second, one that we all know if you have a little bit of sense and even if you are mildly informed about the k entertainment which is that idols are just people(most of them teens when they debut some not even 18) who want to and deserve to have a pretty f-ing normal life, so f-ing let them! the consequences of putting these youngsters over a pedestal are catastrophic and there are real life, heartbreaking, examples of this.

Main characters

Ryok: the Golden Boy of kpop, from the most popular boy group, also a an actor (a decent one? Idk they never said). Perfect in every single aspect, except when he is nice to girls who aren't his fans, then they will crucify him. SUPER clumsy whenever his crush is nearby and does something he finds cute, otherwise super cool and chill. Also great at pining for his crush. A romantic, which means he chose the worst career path. My favorite character.

Maha: A bright and optimistic girl with a strong might of perseverance in going after her dreams. Loves dancing. Very sweet and very tiny. Despite appearances, she's not a pushover or weak FL. And that's why I loved her.

Yujin: Second ML by the book. Became an idol because he was pursuing FL (who in turn was pursuing ML). The only reason why I never hated him is because he was a great friend, knew he wasn't doing anything healthy and decided to end his one sided love and opened his eyes. Two words: Character development *chef's kiss*

LaRiMa: A soloist. A Queen. At the start, it looked like she was the typical and mean second FL. But she wasn't, and I adored her for that. She had a heart of gold. She deserved the world, and she knew that so she made decisions accordingly (a Queen chases no one, least of all a man!) lol best character in the drama and my second favorite character (sorry Maha!)

Also starring: The members of SHAX (the leader, SF9′s Hwiyoung, the maknae from Ateez and the funny guy who spoke random english) the group of Golden Boy. Tea Party members (bffs with FL, Riah and HyunJi), Maha’s group. Sparkling members (the very angry and frustrated leader and two members of Ateez whose names I don’t know), second ML group. AND in the longest and most important cameo (ala Go Kyung Pyo in My roommate is a Gumiho) SF9′s Chani, a former member of SHAX, who disappeared into thin air one day.

The story

On paper it doesn't sound like anything groundbreaking (and tbh it really wasn't lol): a story about idols who willingly chose their career path, trained for years while underage, got treated like products by ugly men in suits and realized it kinda sucked, especially when you don't become a hit group and have to protect your personal life like it's a dirty secret that could damage your image and maybe end your career this is why I said it’s not a show for everyone. But this drama is what Dream High 2 (2012) wanted to be and never could in the aspect of actually making you feel something for these idols and the situations they were facing while loving the musical side of the show and making it all believable.

Even if it's not exactly about teens in high school sort of thing, it does give you the same hopeful and uplifting feeling of a coming of age story, especially because the characters are still youngsters trying to be happy and realize their dreams for the future.

You can just stop reading here if you want to go watch the drama with no spoilers. And if I haven’t convinced you despite not being appalled by kpop themed dramas, then I guess you should keep reading lol or trust in my taste and judgement when I say the story is worth it (but to be fair the first two eps are a bit slow).

The romance (super spoilery!)

At the core, this show was a love story. What started the plot is the fact that main couple reunite in the same work field as idols, and they actually met and befriended each other years ago; so being older and able to spent more time together brings them closer to finally accept and give into their feelings, but soon enough their relationship becomes a ticking bomb threatening their careers and then this big mystery of how and why SF9' Chani disappeared and abandoned the group becomes really important in the last third of the drama

Because once upon a time, Chani had a gf but she was still a trainee so once their love was exposed (the truth of who exposed him is devastating) and their respective companies threatened them, it all becomes too much too fast and with seemingly no other way out, the girl makes a terrible decision, that ends up changing the lives of most of the characters.

I’m sure this is from a bts but their chemistry was really good and sweet. Also, height difference to die for!!

Yet, there is a happy ending for main couple but it's only achieved after certain people learn from their mistakes and support Ryok and Maha, which makes it clear that no matter how in love and willing you are to face adversities for and with your loved one, you still need a support system (and maybe the right people in a position of power) because sometimes two against the world isn't as romantic as it sounds, but sad and lonely.

And the main reason why I loved this is because of the way the show drew a parallel between the two most important couples in the story and tells the audience “had it been even a year before, under different circumstances and less luck, had they had no friends and no people to support them, main couple would’ve ended in the same tragic way” and I think that is a haunting realization. That also makes you appreciate things.

*cries* they were adorable

The bad (spoilers!)

I do wish this drama would’ve elaborated on some bits that were really worth diving into, or that it would’ve shown how some things came intro fruition instead of just skipping it and showing rigth away the outcome of conversations that were never had or reunions never shown. It is clear to me that they wanted to make the drama longer and could have told a better story had it been a 16 ep show.

Basically yes, the main story, main romance and side couples' arcs got resolved but ugh a list of plot holes:

Why was LaRiMa so obsessed with Ryok for half the drama? The minute the girl knew he was dating someone he truly liked, she gave up right away, so I gotta believe the only reason she didn’t quit on him before, is because he did gave her a reason to hold onto him. Perphaps they dated before? Or maybe they like each other at one point? I can only do fanfiction in my head to explain this.

Why was the angry leader of Sparkling such a bitter bitch? How did he end up in another company?

I wanted to see SF9′s Chani reunion with his ex-members from SHAX. It NEEDED to happen. At least they showed Chani with Ryok (which was really emotional) but arrgh.

Also, Chani deserved a kneeling apology from SHAX leader, I mean, come on!!

If everyone knew about Maha and Ryeok at some point, they needed to use that. You can’t just have a bomb like that in your drama and not use it. Is a principle of storytelling. You can’t just have the thing that your main characters fear the most, in your hands, and do nothing about it. But I guess it was not done because of lack of time.

Also, they never showed how they announced their relationship. Instagram post? Company statement? An exclusive to Dispatch? And how did the fans took it?? Answers, drama! Damn it!!

Final thoughts

Despite its many flaws, I loved it. It had heart. It seemed low budget and even more so due to the fact that it was done in the middle of the pandemic and a big part of kpop are the fans and concerts, you know what makes it all the more big and shinier. But the drama people and the actors put effort into it, and you could tell (and the fact that there were also original songs and choreographies made for this drama amazes me, and that they chose to promote the drama by having some of these fake groups perform on actual music shows). So there you go, I wholeheartedly recommend it.

Before I finish, let me just say that the actor who played Ryok is a REVELATION in my eyes.This boy needs to stay in dramaland and get more main roles (and after some research I’m happy to say that he is thriving!!). Also, he has great timing for comedy. The actress who played Maha elevated the quality of every scene she was in. (Not for nothing she was God in DAYS). Jiyeon (LaRiMa) was excellent. It really showed at times that she’s not only an experienced idol but also an experienced actress. The contrast with most of the cast was noticeable, sadly. The drama wouldn’t have been the same without these three.

Also, watch AND listen to the last OST sung by the whole cast here. Beautiful song that just makes you cry if you’ve seen the drama.

#imitation #lee jun young #jung jiso #jiyeon #jeong yunho #kbs imitation #kdrama #kdrama review #i wanted to tag all actors but omg that's a nightmare #they're too many

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chillingpikachu · 3 years

Text

A/N: Here is the prologue to Influencer! There is not much yet of Meian in this chapter, but at least this will give you the idea of what is the tea ☕️

I still don’t know when I will upload the second chapter, but hopefully soon. In the masterlist I’ll be putting the dates of realise once I’m finishing the chapter. I hope this fanfic it’s looking good for you because I’m pretty excited to keep working on this and many more in the future.

Warnings: None, just the fact that I’m new to this 🧍🏻‍♀️

Okay… open, Instagram, camera, hold, and… record.

“Hey creatures! You won’t believe this but...!” there was a brief pause before you started to speak again “I’m finally in Osaka! It’s been quite a journey but I finally, finally made it!” with excitement, you started to show more your background demonstrating the fact that you were with all your luggage and waiting.

“Soon enough I’ll be showing more of this beautiful place, but right now I’m just waiting for my Uber to pick me up and meet with my beautiful manager! So I’ll keep you posted! Bye creatures!” you let go of the recording button, applied some light filters and check that everything with the video looked good before finally be happy with the result of it.

Nice! Now, posting… and all done!

With a heavy sigh, you put the phone back in your pocket and rub your uncover hands together. It was the beginning of January, been a little bit cold for not be wearing some gloves to ease the freezing temperature “I’m such an idiot for not buying some gloves” you said pouting, now with your hands in your coat.

A couple of seconds later, you phone rings inside your left pocket. Taking it out, you saw the name of your manager Katagawa (or as you like to name her “Kata”) displayed in your phone screen. Unlocking it, you saw that she send the location of a restaurant a couple of minutes away with a simple text saying:

From: Kata

I’m here waiting for you! I hope you got here all safe, Hiruma would be here at anytime!

Hiruma Daiki… it was strange how you met him back in nationals when you where a second year in Inarizaki High School. He used to be the team captain of the MSBY Black Jackals and a nosy player trying to find the new talent for his team, but now his on charge of the public relations for the team. All he has to do is to look for new sponsors, talking to clients and helping them in any way possible.

After texting her a reply saying that you where okay and on your way to the restaurant, the Uber you order park in front of you. The driver, with a polite welcoming, got out of the car to help you put the luggage inside. “Thank you for helping me” you said happily when all of your things where inside the car and both of you got to sit inside of it, with you in the back seat.

“Oh it’s nothing, really” the driver said with a smile, starting the car “So, where do you want me to take you” he said while turning to you, before leaving the airport you where at.

“Here! My friend send me the location” showing your phone to him with the directions that Katagawa send you before.

Assenting, the driver took his phone and open the maps app. After typing the directions displayed, he put his phone in place and started to drive away “We should be there at any time” he said smiling to the road ahead.

The way to te restaurant was quiet, but not awkward with music on the background. He even let you put your playlist in the way. You talk to the driver about different things like why you got here, how is life in Osaka, how long has he been living here and so many other trivial things. At the end, both of you got to your destination.

“Okay, we are all set! Let me know if I can help you with anything in the future!” He said putting the final bag on the floor next to you “Here is my number” the driver gave you a small card with all his credential, which you gladly took.

“Thank you very much sir! Sure I’ll need your service again” And that was the last thing you said to him before both of you parted ways, not without putting five stars for his cordiality with you.

You turn around to head inside the restauran call ‘Onigiri Miya’ which… such name seems familiar. Without thinking much of it, luggage in hand, you got inside the small but comfortable place.

“Hey!” You heard your name being called from a very familiar person that came from a corner of the restaurant “Over here! Come on, let me help you with that” Hiruma said while heading towards you.

“God! Hiruma, look at you in your dress suit!” Without thinking you throw yourself to hug him, while he reciprocated your hug. “It’s been a while since we last met” you said throughout his broad chest.

“Yeah, it’s been a couple of years. You can tell because of my cane” he ruffle his hair close to your face, making you laugh and him gaining a playful punch in his upper arm.

“Oh, please don’t be so dramatic” Katagawa introduced herself with an eyeroll, making herself to you with a hug “Hey there you creature” said to you.

Hugging her back, you salut her with enthusiasm “Hey Kata! Been a while!” Swinging back and forward in the middle of the restaurant, giggling by the fact that you only been separated for around a week. Katagawa left a week before you so she could settle everything for both, like your apartment, pays and contracts.

“Welcome to Onigiri Miya, what can-?” The familiar voice felt silent when he saw your face once you separated from your manager “Oh…” you heard your name coming from the one and only.

“Samu….” It was an unbelievable re-encounter, it was such a shame you didn’t realize while reading the sign outside the restaurant., but anyone could have the same name… right? “Wow…! How long has it been since we last met?!” Still in shock you leave your friends, while they take a seat with your luggage in a near by table, meanwhile you made your way to Osamu.

His eyes were wide by watching you in front of him after all this time “Ha… well been like… ya know… 5 years I think?” Osamu said rubbing the back of his neck out of nervousness, with his typical ascent.

“Yeah, it’s been a lot… it happened a lot of things too…” you replied with some nervousness like he did. After all, everything that happened back in Inarizaki with Atsumu… was hard to forget even if it was a long time ago, the thoughts making you sad all of a sudden “Well… now that I see that you finally made your restaurant like you used to say… give the best dish you have for us!” You said with excitement, trying to hide the bitter and uncomfortable situation.

He gave you a warm smile and nodding, he left to the kitchen to prepair what you challenge him to do “Sure I do” he finally said while walking.

Even after all this time, and the disaster you used to be back then, it was nice to see at least one of the twins is safe and sound. Of course you knew about Atumu’s life, after all, being a pro-player was something everyone knew you about. But it was still difficult to remember the pain that you had to live through your teenage life. After all, not everything goes as plan.

You turn around on your heels to go sit with your friends on the table they choose. The time pass by with you three talking about your new job offer, eating what Osamu cooked. The thing is, this sports brand is one of the most influential sponsors for the MSBY Black Jackals and they will launch a new sports wear line. And you, like one of the influencer who used to be a volleyball player back in high school, will be part of the launch for the new clothing line.

“Easy, right?” Said Hiruma, stretching his arms while Katagawa and you nodded happily with a delicious onigiri in hand “Now go, get ready for tonight ‘cause I’m going to let you meet my team at my house!” He ended.

“Nice…” both of you said in bliss because of the food, while Osamu seemed pleased with your reaction behind the counter. But… realization hits… meeting the team will mean…

“WAIT!” Everyone on the restaurant jump for your sudden outburst of panic. Your cheeks turn red and sitted yourself back again “Hiruma, you never said anything about meeting the team…” it was a audible whisper for him.

“Normally you don’t, but the company wants to make as many advertising with pro-players and influencers at the same time” Hiruma clear his throat, and fix his tie, leaning into the table again “They want people to believe that anyone is able to be close to their favorite player, so that’s why I’m organizing as many meetings with you influencers and my players”

“Oh…” said once again Osamu behind the counter letting a playful laugh, while you turn your head to him with a fulminating glare that make him look away with fear and whistling while he continued cleaning a glass.

Damn… why? You accepted this deal because it was easy money, you never thought that Hiruma will make you meet with the team that your once best friend, who broke your heart, is in. For sure, you knew Atsumu was in the MSBY, but you calculated that you would not cross any type of paths. Maybe a couple of meeting with corporation and that was it thinking it was going to be easy to ignore him, but… to see him again with any work relation was a blow and a disaster awaiting.

“I hate you so much”

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tothemeadow · 3 years

Text

at least I’m trying

➜ pairing: rengoku kyoujuro x reader ➜ warnings: struggling with addiction, blood, death, angst with happy ending. ➜ words: 5k ➜ a/n: i post more of my works at @thgreatestblue!

@redgokus hi!! i worked very hard on this piece and i’m very pleased with how it turned out. i hope you like it as well!! happy holidays! ❤

summary: Smoking was almost like breathing underwater. Not that you didn’t feel like you have been drowning all your life. A gentle hand is all it takes for you to finally realize that maybe staying underwater wasn’t the best option.

The night was cold as the winter was right around the corner - the landscape changing ever so slowly but gradually. When you first came here, the flowers were blooming and growing strong in the garden while the bees flew by each one of them. The colors of the spring painted a beautiful portrait, making the scenery more lively than ever. The soil was a healthy shade of brown and the grass around the State was as soft as your feet could tell.

Mitsuri Kanroji was kind enough to let you stay. After she saved you from a Demon attack, you were brought to her house, and she took you under her wing - since there was nowhere and no one for you to return to. She had been so overwhelmingly kind and thoughtful of you - taking care of your injuries every day, cooking your favorite food - that to retribute her generosity, you decided to join the Demon Slayer Corps.

However, the memory still lingered like bad perfume. You father shielding you from demonic claws that attacked you two one night when coming back from the restaurant he used to work. All you can remember is the strong scent of cigarettes coming from him as he hugged you one last time.

And maybe that’s why you ended up here. With a cigarette between your lips, gazing at the sky on a peaceful night. The moon was hidden behind heavy clouds as the atmosphere darkened without its shine. Smoking was almost like breathing underwater. Not that you didn’t feel like you have been drowning all your life.

“You shouldn’t be smoking.”

A strong and very familiar voice comes from beside you - making you curse internally. His tone wasn’t particularly angry, but the indication was there. You turn your head to the left, lifting your body from the wall you were leaning on to face the owner of that voice - who has been on your mind more often than you would like to admit. The Flame Pillar was standing at the entrance of the house, his arms crossed over his chest, staring at you.

And you could swear every time he looked at you when there was a cigarette between your lips, his eyes would darken to a different shade – as if he was trying to burn the devil on your tongue through sheer power of his stare.

Sometimes, you wondered if that was even possible. Sometimes, like today, you were sure of it.

“If it’s going to put your heart at peace,” There’s a hint of sarcasm in your voice; it was almost like second nature by now, building walls around as soon as someone tried to take a look inside - and truth be told, it was quite a mess. You slowly blow the smoke out your mouth and nose, “I don’t do this frequently.”

Mitsuri’s State was one of the most frequented by the Pillars, since she was friends with probably all of them. Her personality was bubbly and sweet, it was easy to be around her - that’s why you had stayed in the first place. It was common to see them coming and going, mostly Obanai, Shinobu and Kyojuro.

Kyojurou’s bushy brows furrowed deeper. It wasn’t the first time you threw snarky comments like that at him. It wasn’t the first time he had seen you smoking either. Though, every time; without failing, he would hold his intense stare at you for a few seconds, a disapproving look written all over his face.

You would just shrug it off; making sure to take another drag before fiercely returning his stare with the same intensity. Sometimes he would look away first, sometimes you did. Although it was easy, pretending it didn’t turn your stomach all over and made you sick – thinking you didn’t have his respect - it still burned your wounds like fresh water.

This was the first time he decided to speak his mind, though.

“What about your lungs?” He asks, stepping closer to where you are standing, eyes fixed on your hand that is holding the cigarette. Something twists inside you, heart skipping a beat. It wasn’t every day that a Pillar - the Flame Pillar above everyone else - would step in your personal space with accusing eyes that burned holes in your face. “It’s going to damage your breathing.”

You shift from one foot to another, looking anywhere but at the man who was right beside you now. Not that it made any difference; Kyojurou had a strong aura surrounding his being - it was overwhelming - the way he was graced with such a powerful presence and unshakeable will. The air is thick around you; the warmth of his body is noticeable even though there is a small distance between you two.

Out of habit, you bring your hand towards your mouth for another drag. Anything to numb the confusing anxiety; the rise of your heartbeats, the heat on your neck that spreads to your cheeks that intensifies every second that his attention is on you.

Before you could reach your mouth though, Kyojuro stops you, holding your wrist midway. It sends a shiver down your spine but you don’t back off; nor let it show how a single touch from him made you react so intensely.

“I’m going to die before facing the issue that comes with smoking, Flame Pillar.” You challenge him by trying to shake your hand off his grip, but it’s firm and strong, imprinting the heat of his big fingers on your bare skin. You knew you weren’t going to forget the feeling of his hands so soon; after all, fire always leaves imprints.

“What?” Finally looking at him, still annoyed by his interference but not exactly angry. It was a mix of feelings you didn’t want to separate and catalog just yet.

Kyojuro’s golden and beautiful eyes stare at you with a piercing gaze; you don’t know if that’s a good sign or not. This close, you catch a hint of red at the seams of his iris that you’ve never noticed before - you have never been mere inches from his face before as well.

You can’t help but stare at him in return, silence falling between you two. His eyes burn bright against the dark of the night, consuming you all together. Kyojuro gently takes the cigarette from your fingers with his other hand and throws it on the ground, making sure to step on it to make his point as clear as water.

You take a long breath, running your free hand through your hair, all this situation making you even more nervous. “You know I have more cigarettes with me, right?”

He sighs but doesn’t look resigned. Yet. For a second, you think he’s going to back off and continue on his way. Instead, he takes a deep and long breath, squeezing your wrist so slightly that if you weren’t so self aware of his touch you wouldn’t have noticed. Your heart skips another beat.

“I’ve seen what addiction does to someone,” Kyojuro speaks, almost like a whisper; making you shiver with his lower tone, so close to you. Something crosses his eyes, a hint of sadness dripping down onto his words. “I would hate to see you going down that path.”

You swallow down, throat suddenly going dry. It wasn’t a secret, at least between the Pillars, that his father was addicted to alcohol; one of the reasons why he had dropped from the positions a few years ago. It wasn’t a secret that his wife’s death was such a low blow that never allowed Kyojuro’s father to get on his feet ever again.

Mitsuri once said he had become a shell of himself, slowly drowning in his own grief between each bottle of alcohol. He had become a bitter man, nothing could make him happy, not even seeing his own child becoming a strong soldier, worthy enough to take his place. What once was pride and joy now was aches from a flame that burned too bright but lost its power too soon.

Was Kyojuro worried that you would take the same path? Was he looking after you all this time, hoping he could change at least your fate? Does he truly care about you?

The back of your neck burns hot with the thought, your cheeks following after. The mere thought of Kyojuro thinking; worrying; looking after you is enough to send you to a dangerous place where you never dared putting a single foot on it.

“I can stop whenever I want.” You look away, defeated.

“Then do it.” Kyojuro encourages you, almost pleading. He cups your hand between his, the warmth of it is pleasing, soothing. “If not for you, do it for me.”

It’s almost comical how fast your eyes met his again, mind going blank with the request. If you were going to say something, you don’t know anymore. The only sound you can hear comes from your own heart, rapidly beating in your chest - and you hoped Kyojuro couldn’t hear them. If it wasn’t for his pinning stare and the weight of his calloused hands tenderly holding yours, you would be gone in a minute.

Actually, you don’t know for how long you stayed there - lost on a trip to the sun. Where the golden rays burned your skin, stripped you down to the bone. Igniting an old purpose, almost faded from your memory - now catching fire and spreading throughout your whole being.

He offers you a gentle smile, one that you can’t help but reciprocate, small and weak but as gentle. Kyojuro squeezes your hand one more time before letting go. You don’t want to admit, but his touch still lingers like a fresh burn scar, one that you would gladly ask for more.

Only when you watch him walk away, you notice you weren’t breathing.

It’s a different type of drowning, you decide.

II.

You didn’t mean to. You really didn’t.

However, it happened. And now you felt like a complete idiot. The words came out of your mouth before you could slow them down, before you could chew them, making it easy to digest. A rampage you didn’t see it coming, which made everything worse.

It’s been two weeks since you stopped smoking. And even though you tried to convince yourself that you could do it at any given time; it turned out to be a far more difficult task than killing Demons. And above everything else, the lingering feeling that your father was slowly disappearing from your memories was something you couldn’t take.

In the first few days it was quite easy; ignoring the way your body asked for just a simple drag. The way your mind started to play tricks with you, demanding a cigarette between your lips. Words of self-loathing, degradation; depressed thoughts that were a rarity; clouded by the smoke. Now, they were being whispered in your mind constantly - there wasn’t a barrier to stop them anymore.

The chatter started to become louder, progressively making your mood worse each day that you chose to not open your father’s small metal case filled with cigarettes before heading out to work. Not having something to hold on to, to distract yourself when an innocent life was taken, when blood dripped down your katana, when the sun would take too long to appear in the sky again - it was too much. The smell was the worst part, once clogged by the scent of nicotine, now was hitting your nostrils like a bullet – another barrier gone, leaving you out in the open.

You hadn’t noticed until now how smoking had become a part of your routine - part of who you were. How much you felt safe in the arms of the addiction. It helped you go through your job without problem, without a second thought. However, now you felt like a veil had lifted from your eyes, and you could see the world less misty, less foggy at the seams.

You weren’t sure if that was a good sign. Actually, no. It wasn’t.

The shakiness of your hands began to make it difficult to hold your katana. More often than not you found yourself missing the target, your eyes playing tricks with your vision, the anxiety taking over your body. A thin thread was the only thing holding your patience and self-control all together.

Until Mitsuri pointed out your strange behavior that night. Although you knew she hadn’t meant to call you out; you were on the verge of a dilemma you didn’t want to be. Trying each day to stay clean was starting to seem impossible at this point. Anger and annoyance were bubbling inside you, every day waking up with a headache because you couldn’t sleep; having to deal with fatigue throughout the night - the thoughts about your father were driving you to the edge.

All it took was a small push for you to dive in. And the commentary - even though unharmful - was enough to finally push you into the abyss. Irritated, something inside you snapped, making you shout things you didn’t mean to, but came out of your own mouth anyway. Remembering the look on her face was enough to make you cry.

“Damn it!” The punch on the wall wasn’t enough to distract you from the growing conflict inside you. Dawn was coming soon enough but the night was still a nightmare.

Smoking never bothered you, so why were you trying anyway? Why were you going through this torture if it wasn’t a problem to begging with? Everything was fine, you were doing fine. So why were you putting yourself through such pain and regret; when the only thing you got from this was even more problems?

You don’t think twice before grabbing the small metal case from your pocket. Even though you stopped smoking, you still carried it with you, it was enough to bring relief on days that the chatter in your head was too loud – having something to ground yourself in reality again.

With shaking hands, you open the case. There were still a few cigarettes inside, and like you did countless times, you picked one. The familiarity of the acts brings a sense of melancholy; putting the cigarette between your lips, lighting up the match.

However, this time you hesitate. The weight of the cigarette on your lips is heavy. The warmth of the fire next to your face isn’t as welcoming as it used to be. It was like coming back home but finding out that it’s empty, there’s nothing you can hold onto to make it better.

You stare at the flames; the fire flicks with the wind, dancing between your fingers as it burns down the match. Still, you don’t light the cigarette. Dawn reflects on the embers and it reminds of big, golden eyes, vibrant red at the seams. Shining in the night, like a beacon. Warming up the day, like the sun.

You remember his words, his voice engraved in your mind when there was nothing to keep the spiraling thoughts at bay; cutting through them like the sharpest sword ever made.

Do it for me.

It’s so gentle that it makes your heart throb; the fragile state of it cracks, marking the intrinsic shape of your heart with thin fissures all over the form. But it doesn’t break. Yet.

“Dam it, Kyojuro.” But there is no anger in your voice.

You close your eyes, leaning on the wall. There’s a pleasant breeze hitting your face as the morning finally comes.

Resigned, you throw the cigarette on the ground.

lll.

When the first snowflake fell from the sky into the cold of the night, your body shivered from head to toe. The haunting of the hills penetrating your clothes, into your skin and down to your bones; like the frigid weather of the winter. As the snow fell, you watched little puffs of white air coming out of your mouth; condensing into a misty plume, dancing in front of you in a torturous memory of smoke.

You tried to steady your breath, but not even the purest snow could bring you peace.

The cold air burns your throat, pouring waves of agonizing cold into your lungs; burning on the inside. As you try to steady your breath, it starts to become a painful task at each minute; your hand is gripping the material of your clothes over your heart, the feeling of the beats reverberating through the night.

The contrast between the heat of your body and the icy feeling of the snow is enough to make you melt, transforming you in a puddle of your own self as your knees hit the ground in a muffled thud.

Winter is at its full, the moon casts a phantasmagory glimmer and everything seems like a faded memory from the past. One you tried to forget, but like a ghost, it never ceased to haunt you. Never allowed you to stray too far away from shore.

Two bodies lay in front of you. A father and a daughter. Staining the pure white snow with an evil shade of scarlet red. It’s ugly.

You watch helplessly as the blood slowly covers the snow; growing darker and bigger; the puddle of the still hot liquid hitting your knees sends another shiver down your spine. It makes you want to puke.

The air doesn’t burn your throat anymore, but your lungs scream for something you can’t pinpoint. You watch as the streams of blood pour down the mountain, a river flowing down from its source; everything becomes faded as the shadows grow darker around the corner of your vision. The grip on your clothes is so tight your knuckles turn white.

There’s an incessant feeling in your stomach; turning and shifting from side to another. Flashes of memories overflow your mind; pouring down your heart and filling your veins like poison. At this point you should be used to drowning in those feelings, but they still take your breath each time nonetheless.

Nothing makes sense. Everything makes sense.

“Y/N, breathe.” Someone calls your name; a faded sound in the background of a total cacophony of thoughts still overflowing your head.

It’s heavy, it hurts.

Then, there’s a firm grip on your shoulders and suddenly the scene is covered, but the imprint of it still remains on your memory. The shadow of a failed mission hits you harder than ever before. The smell of blood is unbearable, black dots appear on your vision, making it hard to focus, to see.

“You need to breathe, Y/N.” The voice tries again; touching your chin, lifting you face so you could stare two golden eyes shining bright in the night.

Kyojuro gently cups and holds your face between his hands, tender eyes looking at you. His palms always seemed to hold the heat of the sun somehow. It warms your freezing face in a few seconds; melting the snow that had started to cover your heart. A welcoming change of season that puts you on rotation again.

You breathe in. Breathe out.

“Just like that, breathe.” He says, encouraging you with small strokes of his thumb on your cheek. It’s a delicate movement, wiping away tears that you had shed without knowing.

Your lungs scream in pain; this time because of the cold air entering them, not the lack of it. The shadows around the corner of your vision slowly diffuses, leaving you with a clear view of his face, so close to yours - so beautifully full of alive.

Fatigue begins to settle down on your bones. You’re tired. Tired of trying; tired of fighting everyday against an evil you know you can’t defeat, not alone. It’s a battle you showed up with only a wood sword while the others were wearing shiny armors and swords made out of steel.

Kyojuro’s hand runs down your neck, bringing your face closer; slowly guiding you to put your head on his shoulder. His other arm wraps around your body in a half hug; hand caressing your back. You feel like crying again. The heat of his body involves you - it reminds you of a fireplace, comforting and keeping you warm throughout the harsh winter. Kyojuro’s hands, although calloused, are more than welcomed to touch your face.

Feeling like something is missing, your shaky hands reach out inside your Haori, grabbing the little metal case that once belonged to your father; it finally grounds you in the moment with a last sense of comfort, but you don’t open it.

Instead, you take a deep breath. Deeping your face on his shoulder, breathing in Kyojuro’s smell. it’s soothing; like staying in the sun when it’s cold; when the hot tea runs down your throat and warms your entire body.

“You’re really doing this for me, aren’t you?” He whispers in your ears, thumb still rubbing your cheeks in a slow motion.

You couldn’t get enough of this feeling. When was the last time someone had held you this close with such tender care? You couldn’t bring yourself to return the hug, hands still gripping the case. However, you really did appreciate his touch. Lighting every single part of your body that was still in the dark, reaching even the corners you didn’t want to visit.

“I’m here now,” Kyojuro’s tender words make your heart beat fast, doing wonders for your broken spirit. It’s so gentle that it’s enough to bring your walls down; make you open your door and let him in.

“And I’m going to take care of you.” Kyojuro kisses your forehead.

And just like that, your heart throbs again; painfully aware of the impact of those words. What they truly meant. The cracks in your heart grow bigger, snapping at the seams that were still holding the fragile organ together.

And you break.

But this time, Kyojuro’s there to hold your broken pieces.

IV.

When the colors of the trees started to look more vivid by each day, slowly growing leaves and making the landscape more friendly, more inviting. When you could see hints of buds of flowers fighting to grow in the backyard of the State, when the bees came out of their houses more frequently – making Mitsuri plan her next honey production - you knew spring was coming. The change of season came, changing the scenario, changing you.

Those past few months were a journey you never intend to go. If you were being honest, you would’ve never followed that path. At some point you even looked back, took a few steps backwards; not knowing if you were close to the end, or still in the start.

Then there was Kyojuro, gripping your hand so tight you couldn’t think about letting go; pulling you further the path. When you thought it was impossible to keep going, he would sit down with you and hold you in his arms. You couldn’t overcome your addiction in one day, it was a long path, one that he was willing to stay and make some company as you put yourself back together.

You weren’t alone anymore. And that made your journey so much easier.

The sun was high in the sky, the spring had just arrived and you couldn’t wait to taste Mitsuri’s famous honey again – this time you would truly appreciate the taste - couldn’t wait to sit in the garden and take care of the flowers while watching the butterflies fly around you. Spring has always been your favorite season, there was a magical feeling to it; bringing everything back to life; the colors; the animals; nature. A promise of a fresh beginning for everyone, mostly for you.

The water is cold against your body as you swim carelessly. The day was warm; the sun in all its glory in the sky. The river at Himejima’s State was always a degree colder than it should be, but after some time you got used to it. It had been a while since you swam, you liked the feeling of being afloat, how the water made you feel lighter and cleaner.

Cleaning your mind after the storm that crashed through was a tough task, one that took quite some time; but with the need to wipe the place and rebuild everything from scratch, there were some things you found you had long forgotten, hidden underneath broken furniture and shattered glass.

One of them was your love for spring, for calmness and for swimming. Long gone were the days you spent with your father by the lake next to your house; where you two would spend the day washing clothes and splashing water at each other. However, it wasn’t a bitter memory. Not anymore.

“Hey! I see that you’re starting the day quite well!” Kyojuro’s voice is recognizable even from afar, you didn’t need to open your eyes to know that he was approaching. Your heart though, was another story.

“You found me.” You say with a smile on your face, still not daring to open your eyes.

Kyojuro had become a great friend after the day you broke down in front of him. You knew the Pillar was a kind and honorable man - Mitsuri had only good things to say about him. However, there was always a tension when you two were in the same room; it was heavier as the days passed and his eyes on you weren’t as welcome as you wish they were.

Your paranoia played a great part in your relationship with him. Only when your walls came crumbling down and he was the first to step in; showing that all this time, it was just concern behind golden eyes, you stopped putting traps along the way, letting him in without a fight.

“How are you holding up?” His voice is closer now, probably by the riverbank.

You were good; for the first time you weren’t telling a lie to yourself. There was no desire to smoke anymore, not when you knew how it felt being clean. How you could taste Mitsuri’s food better; not smelling like smoke all the time. And most important, you had got so much better at the breathing technique. All the missions you went were a success, and you were proud of yourself – a foreign feeling that you were still getting used to.

“I’m…” You trailed off, getting caught up by the sight before you. Kyojuro was stripping down his clothes, his perfect toned chest glowing as the sun framed his perfect form. Your face is a shade redder as you quickly averted your eyes “…Good.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

You hear the sound of splashing water, followed by some movement from beside you. You take a deep breath before looking at his direction again. He’s close now, submerging up to his chin. You didn’t know if you were disappointed or relived. Maybe a mix of both.

“It’s cold!” He shouts, a ghost of teeth chattering as he swims next to you, testing the waters.

“Of course you would say that,” You laugh softly, arms moving at your sides to help you stay afloat.

The river wasn’t too deep, if you stayed close to the riverbank you could easily enjoy the coldness of the water without worrying too much. However, as you swam to the middle, you needed to make a little bit more of effort; it was the best part of the river for you though.

Suddenly, Kyojuro’s smiling at you; so bright and full of care that for a moment your mind goes blank.

Not knowing what to do with his gaze on you – truth be told, you never knew what to do but blush – you shove your hands forward, making a wave of water to splash against his unguarded face. After the first initial shock, Kyojuro laughs so loud that every part of your body lights up with a satisfying feeling, you liked his laugh, his voice. Him.

Not letting you go without revenge, he splashes you with a cascade of water that has you coughing for air; the difference between your waves and his are so ridiculous that at some point you have both of your arms shoving water in his direction. You two look like children playing in the river, and it’s not a bad portrayal; it’s quite soothing as the forest is filled with both of your laughs.

The moment lasts, until he grabs your wrist, stopping you from splashing another wave of water at him again. Your body freezes in the spot as his other arm encircles your waist, pulling you closer to him.

Just like the sun, Kyojuro had a magnet on him, too compelling, too strong. He had a way to pull you closer without even noticing, as if you had always been gravitating towards him; You would inevitably come crashing into him someday.

The warmth of his breath hits your face, making you shiver from head to toe - something you thought was impossible due to the coldness of the water. Kyojuro purses his lips, slowly closing the gap between you two.

And instead of fighting against the anxiety building up inside you, the familiar feeling you always felt when he was too close. The beating of your heart, too fast to pass unnoticed. You close your eyes and let it go.

Kyojuro’s lips are soft against yours. His hand grips tighter your waist, making you sigh against his mouth. He releases your wrist, involving you with both arms, his muscular naked body against yours awakes something in the pitch of your stomach. Kyojuro tilts his head to the side, just enough to sink into the kiss even more.

Your hands quickly travel along his face, enveloping his neck in a strong grip, pulling him closer. Showing him that yes, you want this as much as he does. He kisses you gently but still manages to take your breath away.

Pulling away slowly, you still hold his neck in a tight grip; an attempt to ground yourself from the drunk feeling growing in your chest.

“You taste like cinnamon.” Kyojuro whispers, lips so close that it brushes against yours.

“Do you like it?” You don’t know why you’re whispering, but it seems fitting. As if any louder word would break the spell of the moment.

“It’s delicious!” Kyojuro says with a huge smile on his face, and you can’t help but smile too.

He brings a hand to your face, touching your cheek tenderly, and without thinking twice, you lean into his touch. A welcomed act that has your heart and body demanding for more.

Bad habits are hard to break; and maybe you have found a new addiction to hold on to for the rest of your life. Only this time it was healthier. It was love.

*****

Secret Santa from @thgreatestblue to @redgokus ! Happy Holidays!

#kny secret santa #kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer x reader #kyojuro rengoku x reader #rengoku kyojuro x reader #kyojuro rengoku #rengoku kyojuro #kny kyojuro #submission

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themillsdaughter · 3 years

Text

Okay, so I have thoughts on the bensler reunion and feel like if I don’t write it somewhere, it’ll just become one of those subjects one ruminates over for the rest of their lives until they become bitter and old and shake their fist in silent rage.

Twitter is filled with people who haven’t watched it yet, hence me posting about this here after years of being inactive in this fandom. if anyone’s interested, I’d love to chat about this too, but in case it isn’t clear by now, major spoilers and unhappy ranting ahead.

Alright, first off, I feel like I should put a few disclaimers from the get-go: one, i have not watched the Organized Crime episode past the letter part bc who even has the energy, two, despite everything I say here, I do genuinely love the characters, and three, I was never, ever, ever fully on board with Stabler coming back. I thought it was a stupid idea since I first found out about it.

I mean, come on. It’s literally been ten years. Ten freaking years without any contact (do not get me started on that semper fidelis thing) and NOW they wanna bring him back? Now that Olivia is settled as the captain, now that she has moved on with her life and is finally as happy as she can? Are you kidding me? And not only that, I had a feeling the show wouldn’t handle all the emotional bagage as it should. SVU is one of my favorite shows, I’ve quite literally watched it for half of my life (even before I was even fluent in English). I love this show with a ferocity I can’t quite put into words, but it has, without a shadow of a doubt, been losing it’s power for at least a couple of seasons now, if not more.

As I said, I haven’t been participating in the fandom for some years, so I can’t speak as to why it’s been going a bit downhill, though I do have a suspicion that it has something to do with the fact that it’s been going on for, hahah, literally over two decades.

But anyways, that’s beside the point. What I’m trying to say here is that I thought it was stupid to bring Elliot back. The show doesn’t need him. It might need the drama, but absolutely not him.

Either way, since what I think has no actual implication in the serious world of tv dramas, it was happening anyway and the thirteen-year-old bensler shipper in me could not help herself. I had to watch it.

I expected to be angry, I expected Olivia to go against her better judgement at least once because he asked pretty please. I expected them to share at least one kiss.

Only one of those expectations wasn't met (to my delight).

Two minutes into the episode, I was already yelling at the TV because I swore she was going to hug him when she first saw him. Thankfully, that didn’t happen, but the eye contact was already too much.

But nothing, and I mean nothing, could have prepared me for Kathy’s part in this episode. She was hurt. Someone tried to kill her. Uh-uh.

Thinking from a creative point of view, it does make sense. She’s been his wife for god knows how many years now, he’s involved with some pretty big crimes, someone wanted to kill him, she was colateral. Beautiful, classic, awesome.

What does not make sense is how the episode was set up. WHY should we feel this anguish, this great sadness over Kathy? Sure, we’ve known about her for as long as Elliot was on the show, that is, since the very beginning. But, and I’m sorry to repeat this again, IT HAS BEEN TEN YEARS. The viewers attachment to Kathy is a very very thin thread.

And yes, I do understand that the point was to focus on Elliot’s loss, on his pain, his fear of losing his wife, the mother of his children. However, that wasn’t even properly done, either. Were they in love again? He said they were happy, but how so? Where were they at in their love story? Were they a family again, were they facing problems? Were they distant, but still married? The show didn’t answer any of that, so, when she passes (which, to be honest, was predictable), that’s that. She’s dead. Elliot cries, Liv’s in shock. Okay.

Granted, it was the very first episode of his return, I cannot speak over what will be revealed in later episodes of either shows, but I personally feel that we weren’t given enough to feel. It was all based on the expectation that we would remember everything that happened and that we would still have the same attachment to everything.

And now we get to the duo of the hour: Olivia still-in-love-with-the-same-man-who-abandoned-her-a-decade-later Bensler and Elliot agressive-man-but-with-a-tinsy-bit-of-more-control Stabler.

Here I do admit that part of my frustration is my own fault. I wished, prayed, hoped and desperately wanted Liv to get angry. To give him some sort of verbal smack-down for what he did. Yes, it makes perfect sense for her to just shut it out as best she can. It’s Liv we’re talking about, so that’s very in character for her, but it still didn’t give me the satisfaction I feel we deserved to see her tell him to go to hell. (Furthermore, I think it would have been a fantastic way to showcase how much she’s grown without him. Yes, she used to be soft with him, but now she’s assertive, she wants more for herself, she knows she deserved more than what he did).

The tears, the apology, the hug in the hospital.... it was all....fine. It was fine. It was them. It just lacked something more. It lacked some sort of spark.

Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to love their reunion despite myself. I wanted to be wrong and watch a beautifully executed, messy, sweet reunion of the ship which literally made me join fandom life, learn about fanfiction and learn English. I wanted that more than anything, but I didn’t expect it.

What I expected was exactly what I got. I smelled that scene of Elliot begging her to let him in the interrogation room, giving her those Puss In Boots eyes and Olivia just folding from the minute they announced his return. And it made me angry, because the whole message they’ve been sending us through all these seasons, of Liv growing into the main character, into someone who wasn’t El’s partner anymore, into a f***ing Captain was backpaddled real quick.

And yeah, there is something to be said about the effect he will always have on her, no matter how many years. But is that really what she, as a character, deserves? Is that even healthy?

I probably have more thoughts, but this is far, far too long already.

In general, the episode was fine. It wasn’t awful. it was also not great. Do I wanna watch the rest? No. Will I? Probably.

Oh, and just before I go: WHAT THE F*** WAS UP WITH FIN???? HELPING HIM OUT??? TELLING ELLIOT UNSOLICITED INFORMATION ABOUT LIV’S LIFE??? ABOUT HER LOVE LIFE??? Yeah, sure, he was a bensler shipper, whatever, but excuse me??? You’ve actively participated in her life for twenty years and think it’s healthy to try and make her patch up with a man who just, in her own words, DISAPPEARED?

Love the dude, wanted Olivia to yell at him too.

Anyways, if anyone made it this far and feels like talking about it, I am absolutely open to that.

#bensler #svu #olivia benson #elliot stabler #rant #bensler reunion

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heyheshi · 4 years

Text

The Lucky Car

2.3k words

written and uploaded: July 16, 2020

🦋 - fluff...? Kinda

🌙 - angst...? I think it's a cute angst

Please like and reblog! Also please don’t post my writings anywhere!

I dreamt about this a long long time ago and so I thought, why not write it? So here it is!

Masterlist

Part 2

Part 3

_________

Y/N

"Are you sure you're okay for me to use your car while you're gone?", you asked Nina, your cousin as you two are on your way to the airport to drop her off.

It's not like you're afraid to use it, it's quite the opposite actually, you're feeling so giddy to have your own ride for the upcoming months, it's just that it's a bloody RANGE ROVER, a black and shiny one at that!

You can afford your own car, with having your own bakery at that but you recently bought a house and not planning on spending a lot of money anytime soon.

"Babes, I don't really want my car to be stuck for the next three months, plus I know you can drive. I have faith that you won't crash Bella!", your cousin replied, talking about her beloved car, "and you have a license, you're an excellent driver, and single!", Nina continued to tease you. You don't really mind, it's one of your favorite personalities of her and she's not wrong either!

"Shut up! But if you're really sure then hell yeah! Thank you!", you couldn't hide your excitement as you dance on your seat while holding the steering wheel, "but what the hell does this car have to do with me bein' single?!"

"Stop dancing and drive safely! And this car has a name! She's Bella!", Nina reached across the console to steady you to your seat and sigh, "Bella is a lucky car!"

"Yep! Sure!", you scoffed not looking at your cousin.

"She is! You know this is the car I used when I went to the bar where I met my now fiancé! And this is also the car we were in when he proposed to me!", she sounds happy talking about her love life yet annoyed at the same time, but who could really blame her, you haven't been in a serious relationship since after college!

You just chose not to reply to her. You're not bitter, you believe in love - it's just isn't for you and now that it's said, there's no reason to believe how this is a "lucky car".

See, you've only been into two serious relationships, one in high school that ended because of college, and one in college that ended because he needs to move across the world to be able to do his dream job.

You're happy for your exes though, none of it ended on bad terms. You understand it. The timing of both relationships was just wrong. Both ended up leaving to move away.

While your cousin, however, is the exact opposite, she's never been into a serious relationship until almost two years ago when she met her now soon - to - be - husband at her graduation party. Jacob, her fiancé is three years older than her but nobody minded, he's an architect and can support your cousin if he ever knocked her up.

You approved of Jacob, you can tell that his intentions are well and really loves your cousin. He also tried to set you up with his brother but it didn't work out - all is well though - it's was more of a friendly relationship type.

On that note, you love your cousin, she's like the sister you've never had and would hate it if Jacob ever hurt her. You two are really close, both at the same age, that's why sometimes you feel pressured to get in a relationship and get married at just the age of 23.

With that, you continue driving to the airport, the air not thick as you both listen to the playlist you share with your cousin.

---

Harry

It was really hot out when he left off the plane, quickly putting his sunglasses and hood up making him feel suffocated and hot but needing to do it in order not to get noticed.

He loves his fans, he really does but the main purpose of this trip is to relax and he wants it to be as peaceful as possible, not wanting anybody to know where he is so he would not be disturbed.

It's not like he wants to make it seems like he dropped off the face of the earth, he's just really conflicted and tired with his recent breakup and wants his privacy as much as possible. No one knew where he was aside from Jeff and his mum and sister.

He got a text from Jeff when the plane was landing. It was a forwarded email from the company where he booked his rented car for the next few weeks. Of course, being a celebrity has its perks as the forwarded message said that the car with the driver for the day is already waiting outside.

Harry didn't think twice before collecting his items of baggage and taking an exit from the airport, he couldn't wait to get his butt on a Range Rover, it's much more comfortable than his 1st class seat of the flight.

But of course, leaving a crowded airport is not easy especially if you're Harry Styles and can be noticed by anyone even with a disguise on.

He was already near the exit when someone shouted "IS THAT HARRY STYLES??!". His plan to get some privacy for the upcoming weeks seemed to have vanished in that exact second.

Harry didn't look back as he scrambled into his feet holding his multiple luggage with both hands and running outside the airport while people crammed near the exit to take a glance at him.

---

"Take care, Nina. I'll miss you!", you hugged your cousin one last time before she had to leave.

"Hush it! You won't! You know I'll be calling you every night asking for your opinion on the wedding!", your cousin just hugged you tighter either way, "take care of my car and put yourself out there please!"

"I'll try. Love you, see you in 3 months! Say hi to Jacob for me!", you kissed your cousin's cheek as she does with yours.

You helped her with her bags - she's not bringing much since she practically have a whole wardrobe at her fiancé's anyway!

With that she went inside the airport, leaving you with Bella.

"Well I guess I'm your mommy for the next few months while your mommy and future daddy plans for their wedding huh?", you asked the car, talking to it like it's a real person, you chuckled at the thought, you're really picking up on Nina's antics.

You rounded the car and went inside, buckling your seatbelt, getting ready to leave.

You just finished starting the car when someone opened the passenger seat, practically slamming the door shut.

You stared at the anonymous person on your cousin's car - bewildered.

"Drive!", the person said.

"Drive away!", the person repeated, not looking at you as he still scrambles to buckle his seatbelt with bags on his legs.

"I sai-"

"Y-yes, okay!", you drove off the airport shakily. You're scared, yes! You don't know who this man is and what he is doing in your cousin's car!

Nina told you not even 15 minutes ago to take care of her car but you think that the idea of it is absurd now! You're in a car with a complete stranger commanding you! Then you remembered that you were at the airport, the security cameras will know where you are when you ended up being missing and dead by tonight.

Then the color of your face drained, you just realized that there's a lot of security guards in there! You could have left the car and run for your life! But it's too late now!

"Oh my God, thank you!", you heard the man sigh as you felt him relax on the seat while you, on the other hand, is still as stiff as ever driving to somewhere you don't know! You're just driving straight with no intentions to stop, thinking that the police can find you easier and better this way!

"You okay? You look pale, Ma'am?", you heard the guy talk again and you can see from your peripheral vision that he's putting his bags on the backseat of the car.

"Miss...?", the guy asked again but you never dared to make a sound. Yes, he sounds normal but he's still a stranger and you couldn't risk anything!

He's removing his hoodie now and you can feel yourself become paler - if that's possible. He's gonna strangle you with his hoodie or something! You might be over-exaggerating but still! You felt that you needed to do something.

"Who the hell are you?!", you shouted at the man beside you while pulling on the side of the road.

"Wha-"

"Who are you and what are you doing to this car?", you finally faced the man with a scowl on your face.

"That's not the right way to g-"

"I don't care! I asked who are you and what are your intentions?!", you're fuming now. The man beside you put his hands in the air in a surrendering manner.

"Miss, please calm do-"

"Goddamn it! Don't tell me to calm down! I'm minutes away from being killed by you and I'm not go-"

"Killing you?!", he nameless man asked with an amused, voice hands still in the air.

"Yes! That's wh-"

"No! No no no!", the man is completely laughing now, hands covering his face while your mind is all over the place and the only thing you can think of is that if he's laughing then you got spare more minutes to live.

"I'm Harry, Ma'am.", the man finally introduced himself putting his right hand in front of you, "and I'm not going to kill you. I'm your customer. I'm sorry for busting in here that way and I'm really sorry for scaring you off. I was just running away from being mobbed."

You looked at the guy - Harry - confused. "Customer? I'm- I don't... what are you talking about?!"

"Miss I rented a car on yo-", Harry's voice got cut off by the loud ringing of a phone, his phone. He took his phone from his pocket, then looked at you signing one second.

You relaxed to your seat, finally. He looks decent - and familiar too! You couldn't help but eavesdrop on his conversation. He's practically sitting beside you! You can basically hear everything even though you could only hear his side and a few murmurs from his phone.

"What do you mean, Jeff?"

"What? No, I'm already here at the car..."

"Wait, so this is - yes, okay okay, I understand, I'll call you when I made it to the hotel."

"Just call the company and give the driver extra tips, please. Yes, okay. Bye!"

You heard Harry sigh so you looked at him. He was racking his hand to his hair then bringing both hands to rub his face, looking so tired.

"I'm so sorry about that - for everything I mean. I really thought that this was the car I rented for my stay. I didn't even think about how this might not be the car since I was running an-", he was rumbling and you felt bad. As much as you hated him the first time, you can tell he's really sorry for bothering you.

"It's alright, you're good.", you smiled at him then remembered you haven't introduced yourself yet. "I'm Y/N, I'm sorry for judging you and raising my voice at you earlier", you looked down feeling ashamed of your actions.

"Don't be, it was my fault", he chuckled. "I'm really sorry for bothering you and scaring you", he said smiling sheepishly.

"You didn't scare me!", you defended yourself - well at least you tried.

"You looked pale!"

"Don't think about it.", you dismissed him then laughed, "so where to, Harry?"

"You're not asking me to leave this car?", he asked stunned. If it were someone else, they would have probably made him leave the second he stepped into the car, but not with her.

"I'm not", you blushed as he's staring at you, "I'm not doing anything at all, might as well drop you off, you seemed pretty tired and stressed. And you don't look like a killer to me so...", you shrugged your shoulders trying so hard to hide your blush, he really is attractive. Everything you said is true but he's still a stranger.

"Um- oh well, didn't expect that", Harry laughed, "can you recommend a place to eat?", you smiled and nodded at his question.

"Of course! Uh, there's this small shop that sells bomb milkshakes and burgers! They also have lunches on their menu so if you haven't had lunch yet then it's a good place to eat!", you explained talking about one of your favorite places to eat in the area.

"Okay, there, please! We're going to eat there an-"

"We?", you asked.

"Yes, we... if you don't mind. I mean you told me you're not really doing anything today and I need to pay you back somehow for bothering you", he tried to woo you but you're not giving up easily.

"Oh, you don't have to, Harry, I'm fine! You're alright!", but it seems like your stomach isn't cooperating as you both heard it grumble. Thinking about your favorite resto makes you hungry!

"Well, your stomach disagrees!", Harry pointed out laughing silently.

"Fine!", you put your head on the steering wheel as Harry continued to laugh, there’s really no point in fighting with him.

"My treat!", he said and you just nodded making him cheer.

With that, you drive to the road again - to the resto - this time much more comfortable knowing deep inside that Harry means no harm, and he's really cute, you haven't been attracted to anyone in a long time!

Then you realized that damn, this car might be lucky, indeed.

_____

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therenlover · 3 years

Text

Five More Minutes (aka A Ten Minute Break with Imaginary Zemo)

(So uh, this is a weird little writing project I did. It’s kinda experimental and a deep dive into my messy little brain, so that’s that. I hope you guys like it, because it was just a warm up, but I decided to post it cause it didn’t turn out half bad. Sorry that it’s uber specific to me, lol)

Synopsis: A writer imagines her muse as she struggles through anxieties and self loathing. Sometimes it’s easier to pretend you’re being cared for than it is to care for yourself.

Rating: T

Warnings; Swearing maybe? Vague references to depression and general trauma

Word Count: 2000~

------

Zemo walks through the door while I’m taking a break.

He’s soft around the edges, watching me with a gaze that seems intent on telling me he doesn’t approve of whatever it is I had done this time. I simply regard him with a quiet nod and let my eyes drift closed once again. The bed is warm below me but a cool spring rain pours down heavy and hard outside the open window. I like to write with the breeze flowing. It helps me focus on more than wanting to sleep. This is a break, though; a small allowance of time where I can fold my hands behind my head and relax without worrying about my next deadline. I stretch my legs out further, recumbent, as he sits at the end of the bed.

“Look who decided to come back home,” I taunt him, “How long has it been? A week? Two?” The bitterness is a farce, a facade I put up more for my own benefit than his.

Helmut sighs before he replies, “I shall always return when you call me, Schatz,”

“It doesn’t feel like you will.”

“Despite that, it is true,” Slowly, from behind the darkness of my still-closed eyes, I hear the soft clink of china. Interesting… I let one eye open just a sliver to peer down the bed. Helmut is sitting there, eyes full of that special adoration he holds just for me, and in his outstretched hand, he holds a steaming cup of tea. Hedging my bets, I begrudgingly set my laptop aside and reach down to take it from him. Something is better than nothing and I haven’t had water in hours, maybe days. He knows that all too well. Why else would he have brought tea?

The first sip is taken silently while Zemo simply gauges my reaction to his presence. He and I both know that I can be… picky when it comes to his affections. If they come at the wrong time I am almost certain to deny him. This time, though, he arrived at a just-right place between sleep and work that allows me to give in to his endless and thorough affections. The tea is warm and sweet, and I finish the cup less than a minute after he handed it to me.

That makes him smile. It’s infectious. Less than a minute later I’m smiling with him. In a simple moment, all the ice that had built on my heart in the wake of his absence had melted. All it took was some good tea and his presence, strong and constant at my side, to ease the discomfort from weeks apart.

Helmut is the one to break the silence.

“Did you get my gift a few nights ago?”

I nod, sitting up a bit to scoot to the end of the bed. “You were the one who dropped off dinner?”

“Of course it was. I’m here to aid you, my love,” for an instant he pauses, something akin to jealousy flashing across his face, “I may be… absent sometimes, but no one else here can help you the way I do. I don’t really see why you keep them around, quite honestly. Most of them are selfish pri-”

“Helmut,” I warn him, and he backs off. He always does if I ask him to. His loyalties lie firmly in my comfort and my comfort alone.

“The point is, you are mine and mine alone to care for. If not always, then when I can,”

“Well, I appreciate it,”

A practiced hand makes its way to my bare knee, exposed by my shorts. I don’t complain. Helmut is here to help, and if rubbing away the aches caused by the rain is what he wants to do, I have no objection. His digits massage it with care. The constant steady pressure is grounding. To ease the process I beckon Helmut further up onto the bed. In just a moment of shuffling, I find myself between his legs with my back to his chest as he restarts his gentle probing of my knee. I let my head rest against him and just breathe. There’s a peace to it.

Neither of us feels the need to move.

Somewhere outside the room, we can hear Andrea begin to practice his violin. The sweet sounds are more relaxing to me than they are to Helmut, who hates the reminder of his housemates, but he can’t deny that the boy plays well. He would like to think, though, that he plays better. I don’t pick favorites, but it’s one battle that I wouldn’t want to miss, should things come down to it.

We stay like that for a while, him massaging my aching joints while I use his broad, soft chest as a pillow, but eventually, he speaks again. We both know what’s coming. I’m just not quite ready to acknowledge it yet. He always broaches the subject when it’s time.

He knows I couldn’t do it if I tried.

“You’re pushing me out again,” his voice is a low hum, “why must you always push me out just when I’ve gotten close to you?” He presses soft kisses to my hair as I sigh. It’s my turn for words but I know I can’t say them. Not to him and not to anyone else. Instead, I let myself turn cold again.

“Maybe if you were more useful, I’d keep you around more often. Besides, you’re a grown man. You can come and go as you please. If you wanted to stay, you would,”

“We both know that’s not true,”

Helmut’s right. He always is. That doesn’t mean I ever listen to him, but when he softly coos in my ear about eating or resting he’s always right, I always need it. Sometimes I think it would be better if I gave in. I never do though, it’s not worth the fallout that would follow.

Still, I let myself get a bit closer to giving in this time. Just close enough that I won’t feel so raw once he’s gone again. A modicum of extra comfort can be allowed from time to time if used sparingly, and I take the word sparingly very seriously.

“Five more minutes,” I whisper into his warm skin, “Please, I just want five more minutes,” It’s not a question, it’s a plea, and not to him. No, it’s a plea to the universe, to the cruel god that separates us…

To myself.

Helmut removes his hand from its place rubbing out the aches in my wrists and lets his arms wrap around me, encasing me in his warmth and holding me tight to his body. He’s warm. So, so warm against the frosty chill of my own skin.

“Of course, Schatz. I will always have five more minutes for you,”

If Helmut had his way, he’d have every minute of my day. He doesn’t, though. He can’t. Five extra will just have to do until he finds a way to creep back through my door and into my good graces. Then we will have five more minutes again and again until there’s nothing left of us and no more minutes left to spend. Until then, the game goes on.

Outside, the rain pick’s up its pitter-pattering into a full downpour.

The water comes in through the opened window, but neither of us moves to close it. Water damage doesn’t matter where we are anyway. Especially not when the timer is ticking down.

I cry when I croak out words again.

“I don’t understand why I can’t let you stay,” I say, throat dry with angry tears, “I don’t understand why I do this to myself,”

It’s a lie, we both know exactly why I push him away, but Helmut bites his tongue. We don’t speak of those things, the things that creep deep in my mind and pull the strings of my marionette. That’s not his job. Part of me wishes it was.

Instead of trying to explain away my reasons for doing what I do, though, Helmut simply holds me tighter. “Someday, you won’t have to. You will be happy, Schatz; happy and free to rest whenever you feel the need to. I may not be here to see it, but it will happen, and when it does you’ll know just how proud I am of you,”

“You promise?”

“I promise,”

His heart thuds heavy under my ear, his weight a constant against my shoulders. If I close my eyes tight enough I can hear him humming a tune. The clock ticks down the seconds till his departure. I cling to him for every last second that I can.

“Should I send someone else in when I leave?” He asks softly.

I shake my head no.

“Not even Laszlo?”

“Not even Laszlo,” I sigh. What I don’t say is that the pain of his absence will numb me of everything once he’s gone. What he doesn’t need to know can’t hurt him. Instead, I offer up some half-assed explanation from nowhere, just to make myself feel better about the lie. “He only helps me write the academic stuff. Fiction isn’t his wheelhouse,”

“Ah,” Helmut whispers, and as he does I can feel him start to shift away. Five minutes always pass too fast in the arms of a lover. I wipe my tears as he collects my teacup. “When will you call me back to you,”

“Soon, I hope,”

“But when?”

He asks not for himself, but for me, because he knows what happens when I don’t call him back to me. He’s seen it in the circles rimming my eyes and the ribs that jut painfully from my skin and most of all in the wheezing coughs and winces that escape my lips when I breathe too deep. It’s my choice to make, though, and mine alone.

I hate that I can’t give him a straight answer.

“Maybe tonight, if I’m lucky, you can come in and hold me while I sleep,” It’s an empty promise, just short of a lie. It doesn’t matter though. It’s as close to the truth as I can bear to acknowledge for myself when my eyelids droop lower by the second. Unfortunately, I probably won’t sleep at all.

“No dinner?” There’s no disappointment in Helmut’s voice, but I wish there was. Instead I’m met with acceptance. he knows me well enough that there is no fighting my self destruction, only easing it.

“I’m too behind,” I explain, “It would take too much time. This break was already pushing it. I have three fics to finish by Friday and if I don’t…” The consequence went unsaid.

Helmut nods, stoic. “I shall see you again when you call on me next, Schatz,”

With that, he’s gone again and I’m alone. The chill from the rain sinks deep in my bones as I scrub the remaining tears and sleep from my eyes before grabbing my laptop again. Maybe if I worked a little harder, I could manage to sleep through the night or eat a whole meal. Helmut would be back then, as real as I could will him to be, to serve as a reminder and a companion through it all.

The words on the screen seem like a foreign language. Sleep that has evaded me for days threatens to creep into my mind but I shove it out forcefully and turn up the brightness. Sleep won’t help me now, not with the aching in my heart that screams at the slightest bit of rest. The ache doesn’t have a name like the self care does, or the softness or the anger or the book-smarts. The ache is just me.

The rest are too, but less so. They’re easier to accept that way.

I push on.

Just a little more work… just a couple more tens of thousands of words…

Alone again and wetted by rain and tears, I weep and write.

------

a/n: Basically, Helmut is a personification of my ability to care for myself. I always want to, and I resent myself for not doing it more, but I just... can’t. Andrea and Laszlo are both also technically representative of feelings in my brain, but those feelings aren’t specified here. I hope you enjoyed that weird little ramble, though! It was nice to deep dive into my brain in a weird way and do some good, old fashioned therapy writing. I’m a slut for a good extended metaphor.

#jac rambles #jac talks about zemo #I don't blame you if you don't read this #technically its a reader insert I guess #even if its an uber specific one

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itzagothamcitysiren · 4 years

Text

Welcome to the Family

Happy Mother’s day to all the mothers and motherly figures out there! This story is kind of inspired by my relationship with my older sister, who was honestly more of a mother to me than our actual mom. She’s awesome and I wish I could see her today but quarantine sucks lol.

Also, too me Logan Lerman is Tim. He’s just so awkward and cute and nerdy, and I think he’d be a great Tim.

Mother’s Day pt.1

“What the hell are you doing, Drake?” Damian’s snippy voice cut through the empty living room like a knife.

The once comfortably silent room, now held an awkward and thick tension as Tim Drake popped his head up from his work, annoyed at being interrupted. He looked back down at the paper and other supplies cluttered around the coffee table for a moment, not even embarrassed at being caught. It was a normal thing that he started doing shortly after moving into Wayne Manor all those years ago; Damian was still the one who was the odd one out.

“Making Mother’s Day cards; what else does it look like?” Tim rolled his eyes, motioning his hand with a slight wave to the finished card at the edge of the table. That one was meant for his mother, he made sure to finish it first, wanting to drop it off at the post office tomorrow after school so it’d get to her in time.

“Tt.” Damian shook his head, crossing his arms against his chest. He took a seat at the other end of the couch to look over the older boy’s work.

Damian Wayne wasn’t the type for such sentiment. He scoffed at the idea of Mother’s Day. Could you just imagine him, an al Ghul, giving his mother a card? Though, he didn’t put it past someone as pathetic as Drake to be one to celebrate the commercial holiday. Even Grayson and his father celebrated, and their mothers were dead. They’d both journey to the cemetery and placed roses on their mother’s grave. But that made much more sense to Damian, than making a card, they were paying their respects, while Drake was just giving his mother a worthless piece of paper.

“A simple piece of paper will really satisfy your mother? Tt.” Damian leaned back into the couch, arms still crossed but now lifting his leg to rest on his other thigh.

“Yes. It. Will.” Tim gritted, not in the mood for Damian’s taunting and insults; he was actually in a genially good mood for once.

He moved to open his mouth again, clenching the marker in his hand tightly; who did this kid think he was? He was glad the kid was over his phase of trying to actively kill him but he still found pleasure in making Tim’s life miserable. He tried closing his mouth, not wanting to get into it again but the third Robin still felt the need to defend himself against the spoiled blood son. He pushed the disappointed look Bruce would surely show him away after the old man would end of having to break up another fight between the two boys.

“I’m not just giving her card; I’m also sending her a gift card to her favorite restaurant and another one for a trip to this day spa. It makes her happy and since I’m not around I want to make sure she knows I miss her. You know like normal mother and son stuff, not that you would know anything about that.”

Tim cursed to himself as soon as the bitter and smug words left his mouth. Shit. He went too far; the dead silence that followed told him that much. He didn’t dare look up to see Damian’s face. He could practically feel the scowl, the deadly glare, beaming into the side of his head; it was like he was being blasted by Superman’s laser beams. Maybe that was being a little dramatic but Tim knew he shouldn’t have said that. He was better than stooping that low and saying something that brash. Even with the pair being fair from close, barely even being on speaking terms, Tim still knew how sensitive Damian was about his relationship with Talia.

He was half expecting to feel a punch come down from him, or a shove, anything that would physically harm him in response but much to Tim’s surprise he was just met with Damian’s signature sound, ‘Tt’, and then him shifting in his place. Tim scratched the back of his neck, unsure why Damian reacted so calmly, not that his body and pride weren’t complaining. He mentally shrugged and went back to making his second card.

The younger boy watched as Tim got back to work. He wanted to lash out at Drake’s dig at him and his mother’s relationship but Damian didn’t want to give Drake the satisfaction of knowing that he was insulted. He thought back to his father’s speech after their last fight about how they both needed to learn how to be the bigger person. Damian rolled his eyes at the memory and instead quirked an eyebrow up as he watched Tim begin to get back into making what appeared to be a second Mother’s Day card.

“Correct me if I’m wrong but last time I checked you only had one mother, Drake.” Damian said, nodding towards the second card.

“You would be correct.” Tim nodded, not looking up this time as he spoke. He reached for the blue Sharpie instead, filling in the bubble letters he wrote with it.

“Then why are you making another card? Did you realize how stupid that other one is and are starting over?” Damian pressed, leaning back once again to get comfortable.

Tim huffed, already over this conversation. It was times like this that he wished Dick and Halley still lived at home. Damian would be Dick’s shadow if he was here and not bugging him like this. With Halley, she’d swoop in the moment she felt a fight forming and would’ve gotten the demon spawn to shut up by now. But now that they were the only two left living at home Damian was all Tim’s problem. Maybe it was time to go back to the Titans?

“No, my mother’s card is done. This is for someone else.” Tim said, using his minimum art skills to draw a decent flower next to the y in Day. He huffed again when Damian responded immediately asking who specifically it was for. Tim let the marker drop from his grasp, losing his nerve. Rubbing his head, he pushed the hair fallen in front of his face out of his face, letting out a deep breath. Why did he care what he was doing? Damian has shown more interest in his current activity than he’s shown in anything in Tim’s life since they met. “It’s for Halley.”

“Tt.” Damian rolled his eyes, smirking. “Halley isn’t your mother, Drake.”

“No, but since I’ve moved here, she’s always been there when I need her and she’s done so much for me so this is my way of thanking her and showing that I love her.” Tim let himself get cocky again, snipping right back at Damian. He put emphasis in his speech, knowing that not only was it true but it would rub Damian the wrong way. “I do this for her every year and every year she gets all mushy and loves it.”

Damian narrowed his eyes at the older boy. Was Drake questioning his relationship with his older sister? They may only be half siblings but that was more blood than she shared with anyone in the bat family. When the pair first found out they shared the same mother, Damian had been less then enthused about no longer being an only child and furious at his mother for failing to mention her having a child with Deathstroke. Halley had been just as shocked and angry, but at her father for never telling her. She wasn’t surprised but still angry. Though unlike him, she quickly rushed to try and get closer to the boy. Even though Damian wanted no part of it, Damian was clearly her favorite brother; right?

Drake said this was a yearly thing but why has he never noticed before? He did know that they would occasionally spend what they grossly called Mandatory Sibling Bonding Day together, where’d they’d go out just the two of them, much to the annoyance of Damian. He didn’t understand why she wasted her time with Drake; what could they possible do for fun together? Granted, she did do the same with Grayson whenever they were around at the same time. The pair of them also being close, Grayson having been the one to help get her out of her old life with her father, Slade Wilson.

Damian thought about how his sister had a close personal relationships with all the Robin’s and Batgirl’s, even the failure that Damian deemed as Stephanie Brown; Halley was close to them all, all but him. Though that wasn’t completely true, they did have somewhat of a bond. They both had what she phased as shitty-ass parents, her father being Deathstroke himself while his was the Dark Knight, and they shared the same mother, Talia al Ghul. They’d never known about the other until Damian was brought to live with his father by their mother and Halley had long been taken in by Dick and Bruce.

He still remembered their first meeting, they hadn’t yet known about sharing the same mother but yet she was still eager to accept him. He of course didn’t share her gusto, especially after Slade revealed that Talia was her mother after he attacked the League of Assassin’s and killed his grandfather. Damian wasn’t keen on having an actual sibling, especially one with the blood of Deathstroke. But they also shared the same al Ghul blood and was quite the efficient fighter. But they were both incredibly set in their ways and persistent, as she was dead set on getting the younger boy to open up while he was dead set to prove that he was the most worthy al Ghul.

It infuriated him enough that she said she didn’t care about being an al Ghul, having no memories of being with the League of Assassin’s, as Slade and Talia agreed that she would go off to live with her father for her training. Damian said she was unworthy of the blood they shared and she didn’t deserve it. Though even now, he wouldn’t admit it but sometimes he swore he could still feel the pain from the beating she gave him when he tried to kill her in her sleep his first few months staying in the manor whenever he looked her way.

That was something he admired about his sister, again not like he would ever admit it, but her persistence was something he looked up to and even came to appreciate. Even after trying to kill her, being cruel, and treating her like how she treats Drake, at first even worse, she never gave up on him; a feat that no one else could say they’ve come close too; perhaps Grayson, but there were times where even the star-child of Bruce Wayne’s collection of wayward children would walk away from Damian’s outbursts because he simply had enough of the all give an no take. But not Halley; she’d stay every single time and with that she’d even give him a smile at the end of it.

She understood what it was like. Being raised by Slade Wilson was basically the same as being raised by Ra’s al Ghul. They never had a conversation about it, Damian always calling her a fool, she didn’t know what his childhood was like and then brushing her off. But who was Damian kidding? She made her first kill by age eight, so did Damian. She had expectations placed on her that no child should’ve been held up to, as did Damian. They shared bruises, scars and nightmares.

Grayson had tried with him, after his father failed but Halley was the one who truly helped him adjust to this new life he found himself in without even knowing it. What Grayson and his father didn’t understand was that you just couldn’t stop being who you were raised to be in a second, it took time, and Halley had been through the same transition. Granted she was looking to escape the life she had with her father whereas Damian was forced to be with his by his mother, but there were just some habits that where hard to break.

“You good there?” Drake’s voice cut Damian out of his thought process.

Damian snapped out of it, narrowing his eyes down at the card, noting Tim had stopped working on it and was looking at Damian as if he was a frozen computer screen. Scoffing, standing up to his feet, he uncrossed his arms, pointing a finger at the card for his sister. Trying to hid the fact that Drake caught him in such a deep thought, he cleared his throat before sneering,

“Her favorite color is purple, not red.”

Tim watched, mouth left agape as Damian made his way out of the room without another word. He took another look down at the card and grunted, reaching for a new piece of paper, getting ready to start all over again. What a kid, he thought as he got back to work.

#damian wayne #damian wayne x sister!reader #tim drake #tim drake x reader #tim drake fanfic #damian wayne fanfiction #batbros #batfam x reader #batfam x batsis #dick grayson x batsis #dick grayson #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #bruce wayne #batman fanfiction

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giowritess · 4 years

Text

straight to my head [henry cavill]

masterlist

Pairing: Henry Cavill x bestfriend!female!reader

Request: “Hi! May you please write a Henry Cavill one where you’re hanging out with him and you have feelings for him but haven’t had the guts to tell him but that day your sister called you and you started speaking in Spanish to her about Henry but little did you know that he actually knew Spanish and he teased you about it. Happy ending please, thank you!”

Warnings: cursing, some angst, fluff

Word-count: 2,697

Author’s note: HEY GUYS! I can’t believe I’m finally posting my first writing piece here on Tumblr! It’s my first attempt at writing this kind of fanfiction (well, the second, actually), and I truly hope you like it, especially you, dear anon, who requested this. I did some changes, hope you don’t mind. This one was based on the song Straight to My Head, by You Me At Six, and I’d really like if you listened to it. A big thank you to my best friend, @naturiz for the Spanish part, and a big shoutout to my amazing beta/daughter/friend/love of my life @amirahiddleston <3333 I’d be lost without you!

gif credit goes to @b-n-a-o

Straight to My Head

You had never been the kind of person to enjoy dancing.

Yet, here you were, jumping, moving and swaying your hips to the beat of your favorite song in the middle of an empty dance floor. A little tequila-and-other-alcoholic-beverages-induced, yes — but you were happy, not even minding the glances you were getting. All the stress that had built up in the past few weeks had finally left your body, and you had your friends to thank for that. They were the ones who’d dragged you down here, to a cosy small pub. It had been way too long since the last time all of you had spent time together, and everyone seemed to benefit from a bit of fun and forgetting the real world.

Exactly as you were doing right now, completely oblivious to everything and everyone else. How good it felt to be trapped in your bubble, with nothing but your fuzzy mind and your favourite song.

“Didn’t know you could dance, y/n,” Henry teased, not far from you. You could even hear the smirk in his deep voice.

“Shut up, idiot,” you replied, snapping out of your bubble and walking closer to your friends.

“Seriously, though,” he insisted, grinning like a kid, “those were amazing dance moves. You should teach me.”

You just rolled your eyes, making him laugh, and tried to hide your smile. Your relationship with Henry had always been playful like this, ever since you met a couple of years ago. You two had been through a lot together — it was quite a fun and exciting journey to follow his success as an amazing actor that close, which meant celebrations, parties, even a few premieres.

As the boys got ready to play some pool, you stood in the back with a beer in hand, watching him — always him and no one else. You sighed as you watched him move with the ease and gracefulness of a cat. A big, fluffy cat who seemed to be serious and almost dangerous on the outside, but was nothing more than a playful little kitten on the inside.

The dim lighting in that corner of the room sent shadows over his godly features, the sight sending warmth up your core. He was always the most handsome man in the room. And in your head.

That was where he was. He’d taken over your thoughts ever since you met, and there was nothing you could do to take him out; he was already at home and wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. You tried as hard as you could, even dated other people, but it was pointless. You still fell hard for him anyway.

But Henry was your best friend, and you were his. You talked about everything, helped each other with everything — even his own love life. It hurt you. Like hell, but there was nothing you could do about it but listen and be there for him when he needed, just like he did for you. His friendship is one of the most precious things on Earth to you, but that is all you were meant to be. He was yours, but not in the way you truly wanted.

Which was why sometimes it got too hard for you. Sometimes you had to step back and pull yourself together when it was too much for your heart. Seeing him with other women, especially when you knew he was happy, was far more than you could take, a pain you couldn’t avoid.

You straightened yourself up and dropped the bottle on the table. You needed to sober up. Being drunk around Henry was always a dangerous idea — you were a complete mess. Crazy, unpredictable and suddenly brave. The possibility that you’d end up saying or making anything that could lead to regrets and ruining your friendship was a giant risk — one you couldn’t take. So, you always tried your best to be as sober as possible, but tonight you desperately needed the freedom and release that only alcohol could give you. And he happened to be around.

“Be right back,” you muttered to no one in particular, making your way towards the ladies room. They were too entertained in their game to miss you, anyway.

Thankfully, the bathroom wasn’t crowded, just a few girls who seemed half your age, many who had probably got in with a fake ID. You went straight to the sink and splattered the cold water in your face one, two, three times. But it was the girls’ conversation that caught your attention.

“Did you see Henry Cavill playing pool by the back? Jesus fucking Christ, that’s Heaven made of flesh,” one of them said.

“Can you believe our luck? Gotta be fate,” the one applying mascara in front of the mirror replied.

They laughed together and started to make their way outside.

“I think I’m gonna try my luck, who knows,” you heard one of them say as they left the bathroom, and you gripped the sink with both hands, taking a deep breath.

You had no right to be angry with their words. In fact, you understood a-hundred-per cent how they felt — you felt that way almost all the time, too. But fuck. There was no way in controlling the anger that was taking over you, as well as the few lonely tears that escaped the corner of your eyes. There was nothing you could do about it but simply accept it. That was your job as his best friend.

After a few deep breaths, you pulled yourself together, and finally mustered the courage to leave the bathroom. Your anger alone, still tingling through your face, your arms, your fingers, had sobered you up some seventy-per cent by now. You stopped by the bar to buy some chocolate and was met with one of your friends.

“Hey y/n, wanna play some pool? We need someone,” he asked.

“Yeah, sure,” you replied, eating the chocolate before you walked back to the pool table.

You grunted at the scene in front of you. The girls from the bathroom, one sitting in the back with her arms wrapped around one of your friends and the other one — the prettiest one, with long, dark hair and a beautiful black dress that hugged her body in the best way — tangled up with Henry, laughing and touching him whenever (and wherever) she could. Which meant all the time (and everywhere).

It wasn’t that this kind of thing didn’t happen often — it did, in fact; of course it would, when your group of friends had you as the only woman. And you didn’t care for your other friends, they could do whatever they wanted if it’d bring them a bit of happiness, even if momentary. But Henry was… Henry. He would never be like everyone else, and you couldn’t fool yourself or your heart to believe that.

“Girls, this is y/n,” your friend said, and the girls smiled at you.

You tried your best to look sympathetic.

“Hey, I’m Devon,” the one in the back waved at you.

“And this is Julia,” Henry told you and motioned at the girl beside him.

With another deep breath, you smiled and hoped it looked real enough.

You didn’t know what happened to you. You’d never been this jealous, you’d always been able to control your emotions and prevent them from rising to surface. But that night felt completely different. Probably because of all the alcohol, but there was no way you’d be able to look unaffected.

“Ready to kick some asses?” your pair asked, handing you the stick.

“Born ready, baby,” you replied, applying chalk to the end of the poolstick.

Julia was Henry’s partner, of course. He had to show her how to properly hold the stick and how to play, but you had your doubts if she truly didn’t know or was just pretending. Well, you’d pretend if you were in her shoes.

It was no surprise when you made the first ball — you had a natural talent for the pool. Especially when drunk. And angry.

The chocolate in your mouth felt bitter because you kept hearing Julia’s giggles and saw the way Henry touched her. Every fucking time she was going to play, he had to be glued to her back, lingering touches on her hand, her arms. It began to piss you off way more than you imagined.

You made a ball. And another, and another, and another. Four in a row, leaving only two of your balls on the table.

“Fuck, y/n,” your partner said, and laughed, clearly a bit shocked. “Where did that come from?”

“What can I say,” you replied, “the effects of anger.”

The game soon came to an end, you made the victory hit. You started another, trying your best to focus on the game and nothing else. But it was hard. It was so fucking hard when Julia and Henry didn’t even pretend to play properly, due to their drunken stupor and lust for one another. When his lips went closer to her ear, you finally snapped. There was no way in fucking hell you were going to endure that. No. Enough.

“I’m through,” you stated before dropping the stick on the table.

You didn’t care about the stupid game. All you wanted was to leave the pub, to get away, and cry and scream and fill up your sister’s inbox with countless messages rambling about it.

That was exactly what you did the instant you crossed the door, drinking in the cold night air and fishing for your phone. After finding her contact, your fingers started to fly across the keyboard, but you realized that wasn’t enough for how angry you were.

“No puedo creer lo enojada que estoy por eso [I can’t believe how mad I am],” you started. Of course, it’d be in Spanish, your mother tongue: it was the only way you truly could express your anger.

You weren’t even sure what you wanted to say, but you had to say something, to get it out. There was a pressure in your chest that’d only be alleviated after you opened your heart to someone, obviously your sister.

“Tú no creerías lo tan enojada que estoy. ¡Pero ugh! ¡Simplemente no puedo controlarlo y no mames eso me deja demasiada enojada! [You wouldn’t believe how mad I am. But ugh! I just can’t control it and that makes me so fucking angry!]”

You sent that first audio message to her. You didn’t even have an internet connection, so she’d only receive it after you connected to wifi or something, but it didn’t matter. You just had to speak. Get it out of your system.

“Dios, desearía que pudieras verlo con tus propios ojos todos los toques y coqueteos. Simplemente me mandaron por un tubo y no sé cómo enfrentarlo, sabes? No hay ninguna explicación más allá de la verdad, que él debe haber entendido, de todos modos. O no, apuesto que Julia lo mantiene demasiado ocupado para que yo ocupe su mente [God, I wish you could see for yourself! All those touches and flirting. It just pushed me off the edge and now I don’t even know how to face him, you know? There’s no explanation besides the truth. Which he must have already figured it out, anyway. Or not. I bet Julia is keeping him too busy for me to occupy his mind at all],” you said in a single breath. There. Now you felt as if the weight was off your chest.

After pressing the “send” button, you took a much needed deep breath. The cold weather had a calm, soothing effect on you as you breathed in the night air; you could feel yourself getting calmer. Still angry, yes, but a bit calmer.

So trapped in your own space, you almost jumped when you heard his voice.

“No hay nada que nunca pueda sacarte de mi mente [There’s nothing that can ever keep you off my mind].”

Even in a perfect Spanish, his deep British accent was still present.

Oh, my, god. There he was, behind you, and you wanted to bury yourself six feet under and never, ever come out.

“Henry!” Your voice was a shriek. “I… I’m… I sh…” you stuttered, not knowing what to say. You could feel your heart pounding violently against your chest.

What to say, what to do, how to act. You had no idea Henry even spoke Spanish, and you sure as hell hadn’t expected him to follow you outside. Díos mio. Had he heard every single word you just said? You were glad that it was dark, ‘cause your face must’ve definitely been on fire.

“I’m sorry,” he said, making you look at him with a visible question mark on your face. “For making you feel like that. I did want to affect you, though, and I’m quite glad I did.”

“What? Henr—”

“See, y/n,” he interrupted you, “I had a theory, and you just proved it.”

He came closer, his beautiful face stepping under the thin lightning which made his baby blue eyes to shine. He hovered above you, like a lion over his prey, but you weren’t intimidated at all. Though confused and with your head spinning as fuck.

“My theory was that you and I feel the same way about each other,” he continued, getting closer and closer at each word that left his lips.

Díos. Were your dreams coming true? Was this real? Were you dreaming, or even seeing properly? You could hear your speeding heart, and you wondered if he could hear it, too.

“Henry, I… I’m… I’m lost in translation here,” you replied, your weak voice almost a whisper.

He had to say it. You needed to hear the words coming out of his very own lips, otherwise, it wouldn’t be real.

A low chuckle came from him. He left very little space between your faces when he got even closer and cupped your face with both hands.

“I’ve been falling in love with you ever since you entered my life, love,” he said. Your knees were weak, and you felt as if you were going to fall dead on the ground. “But you never gave me any signal that you felt the same. Until I started to notice the small details. Your face, your eyes, your hands. Your words, your expressions. The little things gave you away, y/n.”

The warm touch of his big hands on your face, all the love and tenderness with which he spoke every single word made your heart swell. No one had ever spoken with that much affection towards you, no one had ever held you that gently as he did. Your best friend. Your soulmate.

“So? Am I right then? He asked playfully, chuckling because you hadn’t said anything yet.

You felt as if a lightning bolt had just gone through you, your skin prickling.

“Yes!” You instantly said, feeling some tears on your eyes. “Yes, Henry, yes. You are. I don’t even know for how long I’ve loved you. I was… I was scared of ruining our friendship. I’m sorry, if I’d kno—”

He shushed you with a gentle kiss, timidly placing one of his hands in the back of your neck. You placed your hands on his broad shoulders.

“No regrets or apologies,” he murmured, touching your forehead with his. “Though I do regret the method I used to prove my point,” he said, chuckling. “I’m sorry. I was getting desperate and running out of options. I just couldn’t bear to spend another entire day being nothing more than friends with you,” he explained, his eyes locked with yours. One of his hands started tracing the line of your bottom lip. “Not being able to touch you, to kiss you… God knows how torture it was to be around you all this time.”

It was your turn to laugh. He felt exactly like you did, then.

“Henry?” You whispered. “Come home with me?”

An affirmation, an invitation, an order? You didn’t know. But all that mattered was his answer.

“Yes.”

A/N: I hope from the depths of my heart that you enjoyed it! For now I do not have a taglist, but if you’d like to be tagged in my future works, let me know <3

xoxo, Gio

#writing #fanfiction #gio writess #FIRST REQUEST #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill smut #fandom #dc

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thesentientelf · 4 years

Text

Flat White

Charlie Barber x Reader (kinda?) 3rd person. 12.7k. NSFW

Ok, here’s the deal. I don’t write fanfiction anymore. I sure don’t write smut anymore. This is Hope’s fault, ok? She posted a Thirsty Thursday prompt that led to this Coffee Shop AU that plagued me so bad it culminated into this.

And I have no shame. Well, actually a lot of shame, considering this is the first time my writing has seen the light of day in six years.

@callmehopeless, I hope your happy. I’m so sorry your eyes must lay sight to this.

It was a cold morning in New York, the bitterness set in as Charlie Barber walked frozen city streets. Cell phone was pressed to his ear with his shoulder, and lips pursed as he scribbled notes into a small pocket book. He looked up periodically, making sure he wouldn’t run into others traveling opposite, and brown eyes focused on both his book and the concrete as he tried to avoid icy patches in his path.

“Alright, thanks Mary Ann. I’ll be there soon,” he said, quickly bidding goodbye as he tore the sheet of paper from his notebook. He tossed his phone in his jacket pocket, notebook following it, and then took a sharp turn left as he headed towards the coffee shop everyone in the theater crew loved so dearly. He gazed up at signs, and then once it came into view, darted left and opened the door with gloved hands.

The intoxicating smell of fresh brewed grounds hit and warmed his nose, thawing him to his core as he unfurled the scarf from his neck and went to stand in an ever growing line at the register. He stared at his scribbled notes of everyone’s drinks, mind lost in a world of his own as his own writing sent him to a different plane.

“What can I get started for you?” The voice startled him to attention, and he glanced up and searched for whoever caught his eye.

He froze. Sparkling eyes stared back at him, bright smile catching him off guard as he stared at the woman with her arms crossed on the pastry display with her chin resting on her wrists. Her hair was pulled up out of her face, and her smile made him stop.

Oh, his heart fluttered. Oh, this was bad.

“I have a list,” he said, suddenly breaking himself from the daze he put himself in. He fumbled with the paper, stepping up to the register and pulling his gloves off his hands. He handed her the paper, now crinkled in his hand, and gave her a smile. “I’ve got eight, uh actually nine. Can you add a flat white to that?”

“Sure. And the name?” Bright eyes looked from him to the list, and he blinked several times before he again managed to unstick himself.

“Charlie.” He flashed her a smile, hands fumbling at his wallet in his back pocket.

“Sure. Jared will ring you up,” she said, taking one last look at the list before handing it to her coworker at the register.

Charlie paid quickly without a word, and then stepped to the side as he watched this woman work. He caught himself staring, and then sheepishly looked down at his feet. Eyes caught the gold band on his finger, and heart sunk.

He’s with Nicole. It didn’t matter if their marriage had been on a downward spiral, he was still married. He probably shouldn’t even be admiring her from a distance, let alone from over the counter that separated him.

He cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets as he waited patiently. He rocked on the balls of his feet, long fingers toying with the gloves in his pocket. He couldn’t help but watch the woman work behind the counter, moving so fast he didn’t even see her finish his massive order. Before long, she was scribbling names on the side of cups, not even needing the reminder of his list he handed her. Before long, she caught his eye as she headed to the counter top with two drink holders full of mismatched sizes of coffee balanced in one hand, the other holding the odd one out.

Eyes darted to the floor when their eyes met, and he sheepishly smiled as he took one large step to meet her at the counter.

“You have a good day, alright?”

Her voice caught him off guard again, and there was that smile that could drop him to his knees. She wasn’t from here, didn’t sound like a New Yorker. He smiled, and took the drinks from her, fighting a flinch as he brushed her hand in the transfer. He smiled in return, barely scraping out a ‘you too’ before lingering his gaze for one second too long as he headed for the door.

He balanced the drinks as best he could as he exited, a smile on his face that wasn’t there when he first walked in, and a warmth in his chest he couldn’t quite pinpoint to the heat of the coffee shop. Feet guided him to the theater company not far up the street, and quick steps took him swiftly as he didn’t want the drinks to go cold before he even got to the building.

He pushed the door open with his back, and darted into the theater, already running late. He bolted through the hallways, and then smiled at his team as he met them in the auditorium.

He handed Donna the carriers, and took a sip of the coffee in his cup as he tore his scarf from his neck. Even untouched, it needed nothing. It wasn’t too bitter, and it was just like he never knew he wanted.

“Damn, Donna, you were right,” he muttered under his breath before he set it on the lowest rizor. He took the carriers back, and started to pass them out. “This coffee’s good as shit.”

Brows furrowed when he saw how beautifully written the names were, and he smiled at the little drawings with each name. Frank had a crescent moon on his black coffee, Donna had a small flower on her cappuccino, Nicole had a smiley face on her macchiato. Mary Ann’s cat face made him chuckle, and Beth had a different flower than Donna’s.

He glanced down at his cup, heart stopping when he saw a heart drawn beside his name. He smiled, and immediately tried to suppress it when he felt Nicole look over his shoulder.

She said nothing. His smile dropped.

***

“Come on, Henry, we’re already running late,” Charlie said, hand firmly grasping his son’s as they walked through the city streets. He adjusted the bag thrown over his shoulder. He had toys for Henry, and a pile of his own work he needed to get done.

“Why couldn’t I stay home with mommy?” Henry said, gaze down at his feet as he dragged his shoes against the concrete.

“Because mommy has to run errands, and daddy has to go into the theater for a little bit today, and then we’ll go see a movie, ok? You can play on the stage if you want, I know that’s your favorite,” Charlie said, gazing down at his pouting son with a scowl on his face. He hated lying, hated concealing that he and Nicole had yet another fight about her going to L.A, another fight about the impending divorce that they were careening towards, and that he truly didn’t know when she would finish packing for her move to California. “Come on, you always like playing on stage.”

“I know, but I want to stay home.”

“Well that’s not an option today, ok? We won’t be there long,” he said, large hands leading his son towards the coffee shop on the corner. He walked in, nose filled with the smell he loved oh so much.

“Hey Charlie!” He wasn’t even in the door before he heard her greet him. He looked up and smiled, heart warming at her toothy grin and bubbly face. He’d been there just about every day for the last two months, and she always greeted him so warmly every single time.

“Hey-” he said her name like a song, flying from his lips. “Just me today, you don’t have to make everyone’s.”

“Flat white, coming right up,” she said with a smile, tilting her head to the side. Her bangs fell in her face, and she brushed them out of the way as she turned to grab a cup. “Is that your kid?” she said, glancing over her shoulder as Charlie walked up to the register with card in hand.

“Yes, this is Henry. Can you say hi to the coffee lady?” he said, gently tugging on his son’s hand as he pulled him into view.

“Hi, coffee lady,” he said, less than enthusiastic as small hands grasped the counter he peered over.

“Hi Henry. Do you like hot chocolate?”

His eyes brightened as he nodded wordlessly, and Charlie almost laughed at how excited he was. She did laugh, and shot Charlie a smile as he handed his card over to Jared to pay, other hand stuffing a twenty clipped with a sticky note with her name on it in the tip jar. He always left her one when he visited, regardless of if he bought one cup, or eight.

“Whipped cream?”

He nodded even faster, and Charlie chuckled and shook his head as he guided his son out of the line. He watched her work, heart fluttering as his mind went off in a different direction completely. Sometimes he would come here to work on new plays, or just to get away from the stress at home. She was always here, always talked to him when he would sit at the bar right in front of the machines she expertly worked, always laughed at his jokes.

He’d never felt more alive watching her. Sometimes he wondered if he was just another tip in the jar, or someone she genuinely enjoyed talking to. He smiled as she approached, bracing for his fingers to brush hers, because it always sent a shock down his spine. Brows furrowed when he realized she had two cups in hand, one his large flat white, and another small cup. She drew her finger to her lip, eyes sparkling as she handed Charlie his drink. She leaned across the counter and whispered a ‘hey kiddo’ to Henry.

He perked up and eyes grew wide as she handed him his own cup.

“What do you say, Henry?” Charlie said as he nudged his son.

“Thank you, coffee lady,” he said, grin on his face as he grasped the cup with both hands. Charlie reached for his wallet, but she shook her head and put up her hand, again placing a finger to her lips to keep him quiet.

“Thank you,” he said, running a hand through Henry’s unruly hair. “Wait, don’t drink it yet, bud, it’s hot,” he said with a chuckle as Henry put the cup to his lips. He looked back up, enamored as she reached over to ruffle the hair on Henry’s head, a chuckle on her lips as she watched his happy smile. “I hope you know you spoil me, right?”

He caught her eye as she headed back to the next drink order, a sheepish smirk on her face as she glanced at the ticket, red hue creeping up her neck.

“Anything for my favorite customer,” she said, unable to look him in the eye as she scribbled the name in sharpie. He swore he saw her lose her breath, and teeth scrape at her lip. She set the cup on the counter to grab another, and Charlie glanced just long enough to see her handwriting a mess, and not a single drawing on the paper. He looked down at his cup, seeing her signature flawless cursive with a heart, and now another one dotting the i in his name. A smirk curled over his lips, he stood frozen to his place as his heart fluttered in his chest.

And then it sunk. He was still with Nicole. He felt guilty, shivered the gross feeling off his skin, and then held out his hand for his son to take.

“Thank you,” he said her name with a smile, hands grasping Henry’s as he headed towards the door.

“See you tomorrow, Charlie! Bye Henry, it was lovely meeting you!” she said with a wave.

“Bye coffee lady!” Henry said, making Charlie chuckle as they walked through the doors. He inhaled the cold, bitter air, and like magic, it was like life was sucked from him again. Smile fell, teeth grit together, and one hand flexed at his coffee cup as the other readjusted his grip on Henry’s hand.

“Dad, it’s hot,” Henry said, sticking out his tongue as he reeled back from trying to take a taste of his hot chocolate.

“Well yeah, buddy, that’s why it’s called hot chocolate,” he said with a chuckle as they headed towards the theater. “Is it good?”

“Yeah! It’s better than mommys,” he said, going back to take another sip. “It’s got….cimnimon?”

“Cinnamon?” He chuckled as his son went for another drink.

“Yeah, that.”

“Don’t tell mommy that, she might not be too happy,” he said, putting his elbow out to open the door to the theater. “And don’t tell her, but mine is better than mommy’s too.”

***

Charlie once again walked the same familiar street, dressed in the same familiar suit, in the same familiar city. Part of him was glad he was home from the disaster that was LA, the other part missed his son so deeply that nothing could put a smile on his face.

He was running late again, having just stepped off the plane at the airport before heading directly for the theater, his safe haven. It was much needed, especially after his trip. But first, he headed to that same little coffee shop down the street, the one slice of heaven he could always count on healing his hurt soul. Fingers fumbled with the tip he already had saved in his pocket, nails playing with the paper clip that held her name to the bill. He smiled as he walked through the doors, but then it immediately turned into a frown.

Her familiar face wasn’t there, and his brows furrowed as he took another hesitant step inside. Gaze darted, searching, seeking, praying. He needed her smile, her soul healing cup she always made him. He needed her laugh, her silly stories that put his aching heart to ease.

He approached the counter, frown still plastered across his lips. “What happened to Y/N?” he asked Jared, still grabbing his wallet from his back pocket. He knew he had the orders stuffed somewhere on him.

“She moved to the early morning shift a week ago,” he said, fingers tapping at the screen before Charlie even got his list out. “She got another job, had to change her hours.”

“Any idea where?” The question slipped from his mouth before he could catch it, and he shook his head as he realized he didn’t have his crew’s orders on him. He froze. He never needed to remember them. She always did it for him, never even asked anymore. He’d walk in the door and she was already making them. “Never mind, sorry. Uh, I’ll be right back, I have to go ask my guys what they want,” he said with a faked chuckle.

“She wrote it down for me a week ago in case you showed back up,” Jared said with a smile.

Charlie froze. “Oh…” Fingers stuffed the twenty wrapped in a note back in his wallet, and he fished out the cash for his crew. “Th-thank you.”

“No problem. It’ll be right out.”

Charlie, in a daze, stepped to the side, hands slowly folding his wallet back up as he moved to the coffee bar. He sat on a stool, fingers tapping against the granite as he waited for his drinks.

He took in a deep breath, mind wandering to places he always feared. This divorce was already making it hard, especially with him going weeks on end without seeing his son. His empty apartment made him reel at night, the empty feeling that all was going wrong consumed him, and now his one slice of heaven was gone as well.

His name being called snapped him from thoughts, and he stood quickly, grabbed the order, and headed out the door with carriers balanced on top of each other, and his cup grasped in his right hand. Or so he thought. He went to take a swig as he hit the streets, nose curling and tongue reeling as he realized that was not his cup of coffee. He glanced at the name, Donna scribbled in chicken scratch.

His heart sank. Why? She was just a barista, she only made his coffee.

She was just a barista.

***

Darkness fell quickly enough in the dead set of winter. Charlie followed his crew down the well lit streets as they headed for a new jazz bar down the street. Mary Ann suggested they celebrate the MacArthur grant he won, and while he didn’t seem interested, he still decided to go. Maybe getting out would help his soul.

He tailed the group a good few feet behind them, hands shoved in his pockets and nose bundled in the scarf wrapped around his shoulders. He made small talk with his crew, fake smiles and forced laughs pushing through as he tried to hide from his own skin. The word ‘Nicole’ seemed taboo, no one wanted to ask him how his life was going. Walking the streets of New York once made him happy, made him feel at home. Now it felt like a shell, something once so pure and innocent, ruined by bad memories and failed loves.

As he stepped into the bar, it warmed him instantly. The schmoozey red carpet and leather seats made him feel somewhat at home, low hanging lamps kept the place dark and sull, and with a deep inhale of cigarettes and alcohol, he tried to push things away from his head. It was mostly empty on this Tuesday night, save for the twenty members of his theater group. For a while he sat at the table, chain smoking with his crew and laughing at jokes, but at some point, he slipped from his chair and headed to the bar across the way, needing something much stronger than a beer. He slid into the bar stool, legs too long to perch from it as he tapped on the dark wood. He took a deep breath.

“Double scotch, neat please,” he said, deep voice rumbling in his chest as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Any preference?”

He froze, eyes flying open as he recognized the voice. He looked up, soul soaring when he saw her. He smiled, eyes quickly glancing over the button up white collared shirt, rolled up sleeves and black vest she wore. Her hair was down, curled. She was dolled up to the nines, staring at him with a glint in her eye, and a smirk on her lips that made his jaw drop.

Oh. Was that his heart pounding away in his chest as he stared at her, unable to speak? Was that his hands growing clammy, his stomach turning and flipping like a goddamn butterfly? What was he, twelve?

“We’ve got Lagavulin, it’s one of my favorites,” she said when he didn’t answer, giving him a smile. “It’s got a nice smoke to it, very earthy. Considering how you like your coffee, it’s right up your alley.”

Oh, was he staring? His eyes dipped down, then back up. She never broke her gaze. He found it entrancing, the way she’d tilt her head to the side and make her hair fall over her shoulder.

“What, do you just specialize in making drinks for people?” he said, finally able to get words from his throat. “First a coffee shop, now a bar?”

She laughed, and eyes gazed down at the bar as she leaned against the wood. “Something like that,” she said. Eyes flicked back up to his, catching his gaze in a look that froze him to his core.

“Lagavulin’s fine,” he said softly, the pads of his fingers tracing circles in the bar top.

She tossed him a black napkin, and she turned to the bar to grab a whiskey glass. He watched as she reached high to the top shelf, grabbing a bottle two thirds full of pure honey colored scotch. She met his gaze as she poured him a double, and then an extra splash for good measure. She slid the drink over to him, slowly as she placed the bottle on the bar top.

“I missed you at the coffee shop,” she said, resting her palms against the wood. “I haven’t seen you in what, two weeks?”

His heart fluttered. “I was in LA visiting my son,” he said, eyes flicking downward as he grabbed the drink and shot it back, taking the whole glass within a few seconds before he set it back down on the bar. He took a minute, letting the aftertaste hit his tongue as he savored the liquor. He nodded his head, and then let his finger trace the lip of the glass.

“Henry? How’s he doing?” she asked, glossing over the fact that he was in LA, and no longer in New York.

“Oh you know. He’s eight, he barely has a problem in the world,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “His biggest issue is that he can’t decide what he wants for his birthday coming up, you know.” He let out a chuckle, but his fake smile fell. Hands tapped the glass on the bar top, absent-mindedly biting at his lip as he forced himself to pull his thoughts together.

“What’s wrong, Charlie,” she asked after a long pause of silence. She reached to the bottle of scotch and poured him another drink, and he held his glass still long enough for her to give him a double.

“Nothing. Nothing.” He shook his head and forced himself to keep his eyes locked to the wood bar top. He took another sip, and placed the glass on the napkin as he readjusted in his seat. “You ever feel like your whole life is just falling apart and there’s nothing you can do to stop it?”

He finally looked up, and what little smile he did muster fell when he saw her with her head tilted, brows knit together and lips pressed into a thin line. He looked away when she nodded her head, and muttered ‘all too well,’ under her breath.

He took another drink. “I went to LA to see my son, and instead got served divorce papers.” He drummed his fingers on the glass. “I already knew it was happening, but...now it’s real.” He paused, and then shook his head as he snapped himself from his somber thought “Sorry. I shouldn’t even be telling you this.”

“Nonono, please. I’ll listen,” she said, leaning against the bar as she folded her arms over her chest. “Come on, I’ve been making your coffee now every day for a few months,” she said with a chuckle. “I’ll be a friend. That is, if you want me to be.”

He flashed a smile, but it dropped quickly. He tapped on the glass again, considering her words. He could see her own nervousness in her stature, fingers gripping the table like it was a lifeline, hanging on his breath as she waited for something, anything. He knew. He’d been like that for months now with her, hanging on her smiles and little gazed over the pasty display at the shop.

He swallowed hard. Fuck it. Why not.

“We weren’t going to do lawyers, but now she’s got this big hot shot holding my entire life over my head like it’s one huge mistake.” He took another swig of the liquor. “She could have anything, I don’t care. She can take what she wants, I just want my son.”

He was quiet, and he looked up at her, heart fluttering at the sight of her sad eyes staring back at him. He was shocked when she reached over the bar and laid her hand on his, giving him a sympathetic squeeze as she took his fingers in her palm. It felt like his skin was on fire, like she lit him aflame from the inside, lighting a candle that had long since blown out in the storm it tried to weather.

“I’ve got to go back in, what, two weeks? I feel like I’ve spent more time on a plane than I have in my own apartment, and all I can think of is how many more flights am I going to take?” He shrugged his shoulders, eyes lost in the bar top as he vented. “How many times is she going to force me to choose between my son, or my work?” He shook his head, dropping his chin as he locked his lips together.

“I’m sorry, Charlie,” she said. The corners of her mouth turned as she grabbed a rag from below the bar and started to wipe down the wood.

He tapped on the bar with his hands, suddenly feeling extremely vulnerable for talking to what was essentially a light acquaintance.

“Aaaah, that’s enough about me for the night I think. Jared said you’ve moved to the opening shift?” He grabbed his drink and shot it back, clearing the glass as he leaned back in his seat. He sat it back down, eyes catching a small smile as it crossed her face as she walked the length of the bar.

“Yeah, I got another job to help pay the rent,” she said with a chuckle, fingers fiddling and doing whatever they could find for her to do. “Being a barista is fun, but the rent is not cheap, even outside of Brooklyn.” He noticed it was all she could do to not look at him, eyes fluttering back and forth. Heart stuttered in his chest, and he looked back down at his empty glass.

God, he hadn’t felt this alive in a long while. Was this what it should feel like? Or was he just pathetically slobbering over the first human that’s given him attention in years? He tapped the glass against the counter, a nervous tick as he watched her work. “You live across the bridge?”

“Yeah, something like that,” she said. He could tell he was forcing herself to hide her smile, albeit badly as she took beer glasses and poured two as a coworker waited patiently at the other end of the bar.

He stopped talking. This was getting a little too personal. She walked over to him, grabbing the scotch bottle and offering to pour him another. He nodded, and held his glass still. Eyes locked, his breath caught in his throat, and as she withdrew the bottle, he brought the drink to his lips. Breath fogged the glass, lips drew from the honey colored drink, and he dropped the glass from his lips.

There was a scar on her neck. Was that new, or had he missed it before? He looked down, feeling sick inside. He felt like he was overstepping, or that feeling normal human emotions was sin that needed to be scrubbed from his skin.

The laugh of his crew behind him pulled him back from the little world that only they existed in. He looked over his shoulder, most of them with heads in their hands as they shook their heads at Frank. He turned back around, catching her gaze just as it flickered away.

“Thanks for the talk,” he said, flashing the best smile he could muster. “Have a good night.” He grabbed the black napkin from the bar top, and she gave him a smile.

“See ya, Charlie.”

His heart always fluttered at the way she said his name. He actually smiled this time before he turned towards the booth his company was in, suddenly in a better mood he was in. He would catch himself staring at the enigma, wrapped in a skirt that was just a little too tight, and would snap himself when she caught a glance at him from the bar. It would always make her blush, and quickly gaze back down at the bar as she made drinks. He was shocked that no one in the company called him out for completely unplugging from the conversation, and at some point, she walked by to refill his glass. When they walked away for the night, he darted to the tip jar sitting on the edge of the bar while she was away, and dropped the twenty from this morning with her name on it into the jar, and walked away with a smile.

***

Feet carried him quickly out of the subway, the bitter cold air stinging his nose as he adjusted bags on his shoulder. It was early morning, maybe a little after three thirty now as he darted through dark streets. Even this early in the morning, New York was still bustling, taxis lined the roads, and he fumbled to get his bags to follow him without hitting others around him.

His mind was a haze. Nicole’s lawyer had him in a tizzy, threatening to claim full custody if he didn’t get a lawyer in LA. He hadn’t slept, how could he? Instead, he booked the first plane out, which left in two hours. He furiously packed his bags, and was on the first subway towards the inner city.

Feet carried him to the only place he knew, the only person who could calm him from the panic attack about to rack his chest. He rushed down the street, heart sinking when he saw the neon open sign off, and he stopped in front of the door, hands grasping at the straps of his bag. The lights were off, save for the spotlights behind the bar, and not a single sign of life breathed inside the coffee shop.

Open at 4. He’d be on his way to boarding a plane to California by then. Of course. He bit his lip, and looked down at his feet. He knew coming here was a risk, he knew she probably wasn’t here. He felt silly, coming all this way for what?

It wasn’t coffee.

He nodded his head and turned, feet taking him a few steps away before he heard a lock twisting, and the door opening behind him.

“Charlie!”

He froze. It was her. He looked over his shoulder, swallowing hard. She hung on the door, her hat low on her forehead, hair pulled up, bags under her eyes, but a bright yet confused smile on her lips. Her smile fell, and he realized he must have looked a mess. He couldn’t even muster the strength to curl the corners of his lips.

“What’s wrong?” Her brows furrowed, and she took a step away from the door.

He paused, looked away for a brief moment. “I didn’t know where else to go,” he said, finally meeting her gaze.

“Come in out of the cold, I’m just opening the store,” she said, holding the door open for him to follow her in.

He hesitated, but then tucked his chin as he nodded and dragged his bags through the door. The shop was warm, already smelled of freshly brewed coffee, and he took a deep breath as it calmed his pounding heart.

“Hey, what happened?” She touched his elbow, and it sent a shock down his spine. Her furrowed brows of concern made his head spin, and he shook his head as he dropped her gaze.

“Nicole’s lawyer called. She’s threatening to take Henry,” he said as he looked down at his feet. He heard the small gasp leave her lips, and he shook his head again. “Well she’s threatening to take everything, but full custody of Henry, and I am...I am not ok.” He was aware he wasn’t speaking clearly, the fog of sleep deprivation clouding his mind. Feet carried him to a table, where he dropped his bag and rubbed at his forehead. He opened his eyes as he felt her arms wrap around his waist, head resting against his chest.

At first he froze, but it oddly calmed him. When his heart stopped pounding loudly in his ear, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and squeezed her tightly. Eyes snapped shut, his heart rate slowed, and the comfort of her filled his chest. He exhaled, and sniffed as he forced himself to keep it together, to keep from breaking apart, and he felt her arms that were wrapped around his chest tighten.

“I’m sorry, I’m a mess,” he said with a laugh, voice cracking as he inhaled a breath through his nose.

She broke the hug, and squeezed his shoulder with a faint smile on her face. “Considering you’re fighting for your son three thousand miles away from home, you’re doing better than I would be,” she said as she disappeared behind the counter.

He froze again. He could smell her on him, the scent of fresh brewed coffee and lavender piercing his thoughts. He placed both palms over his face, wanting to rub his skin raw if he could. He took a few steps over to the bar, where he sat on a stool and leaned his head down onto the cool countertop. The sounds of machines whirred to life, and he looked up to see her making a cup of coffee behind the empty pastry display.

“When does your flight leave?” she asked, the hair pulled up in her ponytail whipping over her shoulder as she took wide steps.

“I have to be on the plane in an hour,” he said, lifting his head up. “Part of me doesn’t even want to go if I’m going to be playing lawyer tag. I have a play opening on Broadway. Broadway! And she wants to do this now. She wants to hold my son, my own son, over my head like a hostage-” He abruptly stopped talking and put his head in his hands. She always had this effect on him, he always talked too much when he was around her.

He looked up to see her staring at him, lips frowning and sad eyes fluttering over his features.

“Sorry, I-”

“Nono, you’re fine,” she said softly. She walked around the bar with a cup in hand, and slid it to him as she sat in the stool beside him. “Here, it’s on the house,” she said, sliding a hot cover over the cup as she sat, hiding the beautiful cursive underneath the cardboard.

“Nonono, I can’t-” he said, putting a hand up as he reached for his back pocket.

“I insist. The register isn’t open anyways,” she said with a smile. She rubbed his shoulder, and stood from the stool. “Just don’t tell my boss,” she said with a chuckle.

He smiled. Genuinely smiled as he took the cup from the granite counter. “Thank you. For everything. I know you don’t get paid to listen to me complain about my life, but you still do. So far at two of the three jobs you work at.”

She flashed him a glance, cheeks turning red as she tried to hide behind her machines. “I’d do it anyways,” she said softly, teeth scraping against her lower lip. “Go, before you miss your flight,” she said, another glance catching his gaze.

He nodded and stood, leaning to grab his shoulder bag off the table and reaching for his rolling bag. He snagged the coffee as he was about to head out of the door, and bid her another thank you for the coffee.

“I’ll see you around, Charlie,” she said with a smirk as he pushed the door open with his back. He waved with two fingers with the hand he held his coffee in, and then exited without another word. He stood in the cold for a moment, chest warm and fuzzy without even taking a drink of his coffee. He pursed his lips when he saw her writing hiding behind the cardboard heat sleeve, and he fumbled with his bag as he slid it off.

His name wasn’t even written, and instead her phone number stretched across the cup with two little hearts underneath it. He froze, and then turned back to see that she wasn’t behind the bar, and the little shop was empty.

His lips curled upwards, and he took a drink to let the hot coffee warm his cold inside. He took steps towards the main street, hand held up as he hailed a taxi. As he climbed into the back of the yellow cab, hands fumbled with his phone as he put her number into his contacts.

He saved it as her name, with a heart right beside it, as she always wrote his name.

***

Charlie walked through the apartment door, finally home in New York after a dreadful time in California. Tired bones ached, yet he felt numb to everything as he collapsed on the couch, palms pressing into his eyes as he exhaled a deep breath. He rubbed his eyes, and then leaned forward, hands rubbing at his jaw. He already desperately missed his son, already dreaded getting back onto another plane in two weeks for the upcoming and impending trial that was bound to go to court. He tried to decompress, to not think about it.

He couldn’t.

It was what, midday? He checked his phone, noting the time as he laid back on the couch, headache forming already as he flipped through his phone.

He stopped, freezing when he saw her number saved. He’d forgotten all about it, going to that little shop in a haze, what, two months ago? When he got to Cali, he’d been so bombarded with the divorce, with finding lawyers, and when he got back he was so worried about finding the money to be there for Henry at Halloween, that he’d forgotten all about it.

Eyes stared at the ceiling. He was tempted, oh so tempted to send something, anything. He watched the cursor flash in an empty message for a while, fingers drumming against his chest.

He was getting a divorce. He was separated from his wife, they weren’t together. This was harmless fodder, wasn’t it? It didn’t feel harmless, and he closed his phone, the guilt too much. He stared at the ceiling, leaning back as he closed his eyes.

After a moment, he grabbed his phone again. Fuck Nicole.

He typed the message a thousand times, worried he either sounded too desperate or too needy, and then a few times he felt it was too forward.

Plane just landed. Can I see you?

He forced himself to send it, and then snapped his phone shut as he placed it back on his chest. His fingers drummed anxiously against his chest, eyes closed as heart pounding as he waited.

It buzzed, and he snatched it from his chest quicker than he cared to admit.

I don’t work at the bar tonight. Meet me at the Rec Room at 7? :)

He smiled at the message, and rubbed at his bottom lip as he tried to calm his pounding heart.

I’ll be there.

***

One hand was stuffed in his pocket, the other holding a cigarette to his lips as he walked the streets of Manhattan, breath exhaling smoke every time he took a step. His heart fluttered in his chest as he fought guilty pangs in his chest. He shouldn’t have done this, he should be waiting until the divorce was final. He was still, by law, married, as much as he hadn’t felt like it in years. He shouldn’t be fraternizing with someone he kept pushing his feelings down into his stomach.

Yet it felt so good. He swore even Nicole never looked at him the way she did.

He pushed the thoughts from his mind, digging his nose into his scarf as he walked. The brisk November air pierced through his coat, but he didn’t mind. He’d grown used to it a long time ago. He rounded the corner, eyes darting down the street as he looked for the Rec bar that stood at the corner of two very busy New York streets.

His stomach sunk. Should he be this out in the open with her? He’d doubt he’d run into someone he knew out here, but the thought was still there. He toyed with the lint in his pocket, eyes darting to his feet as he walked up to the front door of the bar. He threw his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out on the steps as he hopped up them. Hands grabbed the cold metal door, and he threw it open and stepped in.

It was dark, dull and smelled of smoke. Pool tables sat in the corner, and the place was pretty crowded for a Thursday night. Eyes darted over the place, trying to find the woman who took his breath away.

As if on cue, he spotted her behind the bar, and there went the air in his lungs. He feigned a smile, and nodded his head as she smiled back, eyes brightening at the sight of him. His pushed smile turned into a real smirk as he looked down at his feet, still hanging in the doorway as she spoke a word to her coworker behind the bar and tapped at the register at the corner of the bar. She started throwing on her coat, pulled a hat over her curly hair, and stepped out from behind the bar as she tossed her small bag over her back. She shoved her hands into some fuzzy purple gloves, and Charlie smiled as she walked over to him with a beaming face and smile so wide it could brighten the room.

“Hey, how was your trip?” she asked, pulling his eyes from giving her a once over and back to her face. She looked so different when she was able to dress down, in leggings and high rise boots with a denim jacket that looked so warm on the inside.

“Not great, but what can you do,” he said, offering the crook of his arm for her to take. “I went out and hired my own Beverly Hills asshole, that’s how much I can’t take anymore bullshit.”

“Well come on. Let’s not think about that for now, hm?” she said, wrapping an arm around his. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a night away from the world.”

He froze, but followed her out the door with brows furrowed. “How’d you get the night off?” he asked as they stepped into the cold streets of Manhattan.

“Oh I took it off a while ago. Working three jobs can be absolutely exhausting sometimes,” she said, her free hand going up to pull her hat further down her head.

His heart was in his throat. He didn’t want to take up her time, not when it was so valuable. “We can do this another time if you want,” he said, stopping his stride, only to have her yank him along.

“Absolutely not. We both could use the distraction.” She pulled him back to match her stride, and he chuckled. His heart swelled in his chest as she put her head on his shoulder. “I know this coffee shop around the corner, and a friend of mine, Melonie? She makes the best caramel macchiato in the city.”

He chuckled. “Honestly, if it isn’t your coffee, I’m not drinking it,” he said, which made her spin to look at him. “Seriously. You’ve spoiled me. You know I went there right after you moved to the morning shift, and the guy handed me Donna’s separate instead of mine. And could you believe I got angry for half a second before I realized how selfish that was? You’ve spoiled me rotten,” he said, little laughs exhaling from his lungs with a cloud of steam.

“Oh come on, stop,” she said, rolling her eyes as they made their way down the street, her boots clicking on the sidewalk. “It’s not that good.”

“I haven’t been back because I always wake up too late to catch you. Yes it is,” his said, the words slipping from his tongue before he had a chance to catch them. She stopped them, pulling his arm and dragging his attention to her.

“Please? Just trust me?” she said, bright eyes sparkling like the galaxies he couldn’t see above them. He forced himself to suppress the smile, but it leaked through anyways.

“Fine,” he said with a dramatic exhale. She pulled him the opposite way, his stomach in knots as he stared at the smile on her face. She was always smiling, always so happy, so free. So willing to be fluid, so willing to work hard, willing to be different and push him to try something new. So opposite of Nicole.

They went up the road to the coffee shop, and it took no time for her to speak to her friend and get them orders to go. He paid, much to her chagrin, and they were out and walking into Central Park in no time.

“See, I told you yours is better,” he said after he finished his first sip.

“No, you’re just spoiled,” she said, casting him a snarky look with a cocked brow over her shoulder at him. “You’re just upset she didn’t draw hearts all over your cup.”

“Shhhhh,” he said, taking another sip of his coffee. He started to laugh, and shook his head as he led her into the park.

“Do you skate?” she asked, throwing him for a loop, making him furrow his brows and tilt his chin.

“Yeah, I used to skate all the time as a child,” he said, his sarcasm dry and unwavering.

“Wait, really?” She stopped, looking at him with a suspicious brow.

“Absolutely not,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m a director, I don’t tend to get out much if you haven’t noticed,” he said, and took a long drink of his coffee.

“Well come on then,” she said, taking his arm and letting him steer them towards the ice rink set up just in time for winter. “I haven’t skated since I left Colorado five years ago. It’ll be fun.”

“You skate, I’ll bust my ass,” he said with a laugh. “I’ll watch though.” He looked down, and caught her eyes, cheeks growing warm.

“Oh come on, loosen up Charlie,” she practically begged. “Please?”

He couldn’t say no to the overexaggerated pout of her lip and her overwhelming puppy eyes. He rolled his eyes, slammed his coffee, and tossed it to a nearby trash can as they walked deeper into the park.

It wasn’t long before he was booted up in some pass around skates, leaning against the edge of the rink with one hand gripping the railing, while the other helped him suck down a cigarette, for if he tried to do too much else, all he did was flail his arms before winding up on the cold ice. He damned himself to watching her from the sidelines, skating and zipping around like she was born to do it.

“Where did you learn how to skate?” he asked her as she zipped by, gliding and shifting her weight like a swan on water. She turned, skating backwards as she gave him a smile.

“I used to compete a loooooong time ago,” she said, circling the rink before she hit the railing full on beside him to come to a stop. “Like twenty years ago, before I went to collage long ago.”

“Well aren’t you still full of surprises,” he said, craning his neck to look down at her as she tucked in beside him. “It’s like I barely know you,” he said with a chuckle as he turned to watch a handful of others circle the rink, each either flailing or skating with some skill. A crowd of them left the rink, leaving the two of them mostly alone along with another couple gliding and giggling over the ice.

“Well to be fair, you do barely know me. I think I know more about you than you do about me,” she said, pushing herself off the edge to rejoin the ice. “But maybe that’s because I’ve seen you on the magazine rack once or twice.”

His heart fluttered when she smirked at him, and to hide the hot flush that creeped up his neck, he offered her a drag. She took it, holding it between her lips and sucking in for a few seconds before handing it back.

“Aaah, dating me cause I’m hot shit, I see how you are,” he said, grin wide as he took his cigarette back.

“To be fair, I didn’t know you were a director until after I saw you at the bar.” Her breath was a cloud of smoke as she spoke through the exhale. “If you think that’s the most interesting thing about you, Charlie Barber, you need to rethink your prerogative. Pause, I want to see if I still got it.” She flashed him a smile over her shoulder, leaving him hanging as he sucked down the last of his cigarette and crushed it out on the rail. She skated around, slowly building up speed as she skated backwards through the rink. He shoved his hands in his pockets, and watched as she looked behind her, and then launched herself into a spin jump, and landed just a mere hair away from perfection.

Eyebrows went up, jaw locked, and he watched her pump her arm in celebration as she went to skate back over to him. She slid, skates spraying ice as she came to a stop immediately to his left.

“Who are you?” he said wildly, ending in a laugh as she burst into giggles and used a gloved hand to cover her smile. “You are so much more interesting than about, what, ninety percent of the people I know.”

Her laugh seemed to subside, and then her smile dropped, fist lightly tapping on the railing as she lost herself in thought. He furrowed his brow as she nodded her head towards the exit, muttering a soft ‘come on’ as she went. His heart was in his throat. Did he say something wrong? He followed her, and the two turned in their skates and headed deeper into the park without much words spoken.

“You know I came here to do theater?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder as he quickly stepped to catch up to her.

“From Colorado?” He lit another cigarette. God, was the nicotine even working? It still felt like his heart was pounding in his chest every time he looked at her, and his stomach was in his chest.

“I’m actually from Cali. I moved to Colorado for school, and then headed up here after I graduated.” The two stared at their feet for the most part as they made their way to a bench. She took a seat, Charlie sitting on the other side as the two stretched out. She curled her fingers over crossed legs, and he leaned back, intent to listen to her. “I wanted to be a star,” she said with a shrug. “I’ve been singing since I was a girl, and wanted to do Opera. I was good, too. I could sing Queen of the Winter Night from Mozart and not break a sweat.”

“So why are you working three jobs that aren’t theater?” he said, perking up at their sudden passion in common.

“I did work for a theater crew for a while. We wanted to be the next Phantom show on Broadway, and we were headed that direction. Two days before opening, I blew out my voice. My understudy was great, but there's just something about watching someone stand where you’re supposed to be, claiming what you wanted.” She got quiet. Her eyes couldn’t look at him anymore. “A week went by, it didn’t get better. Then two weeks. Then a month. I had to get surgery, and while it fixed my voice, I still couldn’t sing Opera. Never got it back,” she said, a lighthearted shrug hiding the drop in her shoulders. “I’ve just kinda stayed here. Working three jobs to pay the rent as I can. I can’t leave here, I love it too much, but… it can be hard.”

He rolled his head to the side, lips pressing into a thin line. “That's…tough,” he said quietly, eyes locked onto her as she readjusted her stance. He sucked down another drag, nerves dizzy and disorienting.

She exhaled a cloud of steam, and then he saw her try to play off a shiver. “It’s fine. I’ve come to terms with it. And it’s not like I don’t sing anymore. You should see me Saturday nights after the bar closes, well I guess it’s Sunday morning then. The coworkers and I get a little too tispy and I’ll sing Adele on the bar top,” she said with a light laugh.

He smiled, admiring her strength. She shivered again, and while it took him a split second, he jumped into motion. He started shucking his jacket off his shoulders, cigarette butt perched in his lips.

“No, I’m fine, really,” she said with a wave of her hand.

“Yeah, and you’re shivering, liar,” he said, which made her laugh. He motioned her over, and after a moment’s pause, she scooted over, and he draped his heavy jacket over her shoulder. He put out an arm, and before he knew it, she was pressed against his chest and curling her feet under her as she tucked her cold ass nose into his neck.

“You’re fucking cold, you know that right,” he said, fighting the urge to pull away from her freezing cold hands scurrying under his suit jacket. Instead, he pressed his cheek into her forehead, closed his eyes, and took in a deep drag before throwing his free arm over the back of the bench.

God, he shouldn’t feel like his heart would leap out of his chest. He shouldn’t feel the urge to wrap her around his neck, to kiss her like he hadn’t had this feeling before. His thumb brushed against her shoulder, and he found himself drawing her closer. He’d sinfully dreamed of this before, sitting in Central Park, curled up with someone, anyone other than his wife, to keep cold hands warm. It had been so long since he’d felt this content before, and still there was that feeling in the pit of his stomach that this was so wrong. He’d known her for several months, even spent entire shifts with her at the coffee house when he didn’t have to be at the theater. She was no longer a stranger, she was a friend.

So why was he nervous? Why did it feel so criminal? The divorce was close to being over. Nicole already had a new somebody, at least according to Henry she did. Why shouldn’t he feel content at finding someone himself?

He took a drag, and leaned his head back to rest on the back of the park bench. He took another, finishing the whole thing in one long breath before he flicked it to the ground and scuffed it out with his toe.

She nuzzled her nose into his neck as smoke leaked from his lips, and he snapped from his thoughts. He turned, pressing his lips to her forehead like a forbidden kiss. His heart pounded in his chest, his fingers were hot and sweating, even in the cool night. He couldn’t even focus on the beauty of the park at night, he was so caught up in his head in an internal war with himself.

“What?” Her voice pierced through his pounding heart as she lifted her head, and he caught her eyes. She was so soft, so at peace, her cheeks were flush, and he didn’t know if it was the cold or if she was fighting the same war in her head. The taboo feeling of him still bound to a woman half a world away, yet being so emotionally gone from his marriage was consuming him.

He shook his head, dropping her gaze and turning away.

“Charlie,” she said, words pulling him back, foreheads touching as he stole the breath from her lips. “I’m here when you’re ready,” she said like a confession, like a prayer.

That was it. His hand flew to her jaw, drew her close, crashed his lips with hers with such desperation he was sure he knocked the breath out of his lungs. She was so soft, met him with the same fervent need he had. Breaths locked, he met her with open mouth kisses that made his stomach flip. He ripped the gloves off his hands, wanting to feel her under his skin, to feel her breaths against the hands that held her ribs caged. Fingers brushed her cold cheeks, and she shivered under his touch.

She was straddling his lap in seconds, the air filled with the sounds of their deep breaths and panting as he kissed her again, and again, and again. Fingers glided up her waist, toying with the waistband of her pants to lock her to his hips as he groaned against her kiss. His jacket fell from her shoulders, hands ripped her hat off to join it as he brushed his fingers through her hair.

She moaned into the kiss, and it was like his whole body slammed to a halt, like the subway hit him head on. He pulled back, heavily breathing and fingers tight on her waist. He was eye to eye with her, there was no escaping her gaze, and no escaping how she definitely felt the hardened rock begging for freedom in his trousers.

She panted heavily on his lips, lidded eyes locking with his as a smirk curled on her lips. Fingers held tightly on his shirt, nails biting at his skin under the fabric. She dipped to him, brushing her swollen lower lip on his as the two fought for composure. He glanced at her, gaze locked together with dilated eyes and heavy flush speckling their cheeks. Her hair was a mess, he chuckled at that as she ran her fingers through locks to try and re-tame it.

A heavy breath came out more like a growl as he reclosed the gap between them, this time slower, more deliberate as he ran his tongue over her lips. He broke the single kiss by resting his forehead against hers, hands still tight to her sides. Her fingers rested on his chest, practically clawing at the fabric of his shirt. He took in a deep breath, it coming out as a shudder as the cold hit the back of his neck.

“I have a place on Cornelia,” she said, breathless as she shifted in his lap, hands dipping to dig his hands from her waist and lace her fingers with his. “Instead of going to Brooklyn?” She knew what she was doing, and he held back the groan that prickled in the back of his throat. He resisted the urge to take her here. Snow was starting to fall now, making it that much colder as it landed on his nose and melted from the heat.

He nodded wordlessly, and as she slid from his lap, he dipped to grab his coat off the ground. Hands brushed it off as she scooped her hat up, and he wrapped his coat onto her shoulders.

He grabbed her hand and laced his fingers with his, trying so hard to get his heart to stop pounding and his ears to stop ringing. She was leading him through Central Park, her face still flush and lips bruised.

They took the subway to the West Fourth station, hopping off and walking the rest of the way, silently stealing glances as they made small chat. It wasn’t long before she led him to an apartment complex, and up a flight of stairs.

Keys hit the lock, and he never felt so nervous. He unlaced his hand from hers as she pulled the door open and let him in, flicking a light switch on the wall to illuminate the room. It was a cute little thing, but there were no decorations adorning the walls. The place was spotless, hardly lived in save for some fruit resting in a bowl on the counter.

“This is probably the cleanest apartment I’ve ever seen in New York,” he said with a chuckle, pulling his coat off her shoulders and setting it on the counter of her kitchen.

“Well I’m never here, so why even make it home?”

The words stung his heart, and his smile fell. He spun around, still taking in the small apartment as she locked the door behind them. She still kept her back against the door, and eyes caught hers as she stared at him from the doorway.

“What?” he said, eyes slanted as he put his hands in his pockets and took slow steps over to her.

“Just trying to gauge if you’ll make a one night stand out of me,” she said, cocking her chin up as he stood directly in front of her.

He chuckled, closing the gap even further as he got nose to nose with her. “If I do that, I’ll fuck myself out of some really, really good coffee,” he said, dipping down just enough to capture her lips with his. She let out a moan, back arching against him as he pushed her to the door, pinning her with his whole body. Her arms wrapped around his neck, she wrapped her legs around his waist to anchor him to her.

He groaned into a sloppy, open mouth kiss as she grinded her hips against him, sending him into a frenzy. His hands were on her waist, keeping her grounded as he dropped from her lips to her neck. He put a leg against the door, keeping her up as hands started ripping her coat off her body.

Oh this was so wrong. Oh this was sin at its finest, it was temptation beyond what he was able to endure, and instead he drank from it. He was tipsy, drunk off the feeling of her skin under his tongue, of his cock pressed to her, begging, taunting. It had been too long since he’d laid with anyone, and this feral monster inside him was rearing to be released.

She breathlessly moaned, and managed to breathe the words ‘bedroom’ and ‘left’ as he left a trail on her throat, and it was all he needed. He lifted her from the door, keeping her steady as he carried her to her room. He tapped the door open with his foot, dropped her to her feet, and within seconds they were pressed up against the wall. Her hands were at his stomach, fumbling with his belt as he raked his tongue against her lips. She had his trousers down and a hand on his already hardened cock in seconds, her hands pulling a groan from his lips as she worked her palm over the head.

He groaned into her kiss, hips twitching against her thrusts as she dropped to her knees, tongue wetting him down before she slipped him into her mouth. Head tilted, resting on the door as he carded fingers through her hair, holding her as she sucked his head. A string of curses hissed from his lips as she swirled her tongue over the swollen tip, leaving him keening against her lips as her name left his tongue like a prayer.

Every move she made left him aching, begging, a spluttering mess as she picked up her pace. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t tell her how fucking much he wanted to pull her off and pound her raw into the wall. His head rolled on his shoulders, getting a good look at her pretty little lips around his shaft.

She looked up, and his heavy panting hitched in his throat. Oh she was too good. Her tongue was too much, the twist of her hand at the base of his cock made him shudder as she worked up the nerve to slide him all the way down her throat, nose brushing against his stomach as she hummed. He could feel himself climbing, pressure building in the pit of his stomach, but he didn’t want this to end. He put a hand on her jaw, stopping her from finishing him off as he pulled her off his cock, it twitching as she released it from her mouth with a smirk. He pulled her up by her chin, finger wiping the spit and precome off her chin as he brought her to his lips. Hands were on her waist, and he walked her backwards onto the king size bed before he dropped too, putting all his weight on keeping her still on the sheets.

His hands ran up her sides, hands lacing together and holding them above her head as he sucked at her neck. Tongue laved across her skin, savoring the sweet taste as he dropped to her collarbone, then lower. Hands fumbled with the hem of her shirt as his tongue swirled circles over her skin, and she helped him pull it over her head. He pulled her boots off her feet, kicked his own shoes to the floor, and then dropped to the hem of the lace bra as teeth nipped at raw flesh. She arched her back, breathing heavily as he reached around, popping the clasps loose with one hand and tearing it off her body. He toyed with her peaks, sucked bruises into her skin with growls stuck in his throat as he tried to ignore the ache in his trousers. Hands kneaded her skin, her tits perfect for his wide hands. He ran fingertips down her stomach, feeling the goosebumps prickle underneath the pads of his fingers.

Her hands ran up to his shirt, tearing through buttons as she clawed the fabric, pulling it from his muscular arms the moment it was free. She viciously captured his lips, hand on the back of his neck as she arched her body to his, needy, wanting. Skin pressed together, searing, radiating as he ran his hands down her sides and pulled her pants from her legs. His heart was suddenly in his throat, his hands shook as if he was nervous. For a moment, he stared, taking in every curve of her body, every dip and crevice of ethereal beauty. Lips dipped back to her collarbone, sucking another bruise in her throat. A growl left his lips as her hands fisted his hair. He looked up, seeing her eyes trained on him with a glossy stare, teeth biting her lip as she anticipated his move, pushed him to do it.

He moved down, lips leaving a wet and sloppy trail as he moved further and further down. Teeth bit at her thigh, lips lingered on her mound, and then with a deep inhale, he dipped his tongue into her folds. She was already slick, wet for him as he teased her, waiting for a sharp inhale of breath before wide tongue laved against her clit. She reeled against him as a loud moan left parted lips, and his hands pinned her to the bed with firm fingers as he did it again, the heat and slick coating his tongue. He ran down her slit, wide tongue taking long, slow, titillating strokes as he savored her taste. He sucked at her clit, smiling in her heat as she slow drawl of his name left her lips. He pushed her leg up, gaining better leverage as he readjusted himself on the bed, hips begging to thrust, begging for the same pleasure she felt, begging for her pretty little cunt clenched around.

He got into a rhythm, and she rocked her hips in time with his movements. He let a finger drag across her slit, toying with her opening before he slid a long, slender finger into her heat. She inhaled a sharp hiss, and pushed her hips into his finger as he began to stretch her with another, and got greedy with a third.

Wanton moans dripping from her lips as she sputtered nonsense. He smirked against her, feral as he dipped deep into her. He sucked on her clit again, this time letting his tongue swirl over the swollen nub as his eyes locked with hers. Her head tilted back, the room echoed with the sounds of heavy breathing and her moans, getting louder and louder as she climbed towards her climax. He could feel her clench around his thrusting fingers, and then pulse in time with her orgasm as she rocked into him, firm hand in his hair to keep him put as she rode his tongue to her paradise, jaw locked open and singing sweet moans that left him begging for more.

Her fingers loosened, her body dropped, a gentle ‘Fuck, Charlie” left her lips as he withdrew with a light pop, her come dripping from her and his chin. He was feral now, cock throbbing as he tossed the rest of his clothes to the floor. He was on the bed in seconds. Deep, heavy breaths were in time with hers as he took her hands and stretched them high above her head, fingers laced tightly together. He could never get enough of the sight of her stretched underneath him, tits taut and back arched as he pushed her a little more. He positioned himself, and rested his forehead against hers asshe leaned up and kissed all the slick off his lips, sucking on his tongue to share the taste.

He slid in slow, the head of his cock popped in and sent him spinning. He pushed further, her tight little cunt taking him perfectly as he bottomed out right as he pushed all the way in, groaning at the sounds of her high, drawling whine stuck in her throat. He stayed still, letting her grow accustomed to him, and trying to keep his own orgasm at bay. He hadn’t been sheathed like this in so long, and she was so slick and tight that it was all he could do to not fuck her into the bed and come in seconds.

She rolled her hips and his breath stuttered, and he dropped to the crook of her neck as he moaned her name into her skin. “Jesus fuck, don’t do that,” he said, breathlessly as he panted against her skin.

“Why not?” she said, wrapping her legs around his waist and drawing him in further, doing it again to draw a hiss and a groan from his tongue.

He laughed, pressing his lips against hers as he wrapped his arms around her back. “You don’t realize how long it’s been,” he said, teeth toying with her lip.

She brushed her nose against his and smiled against his kiss. “Shut up and fuck me already,” she said, biting his lip as she wrapped her arms around his neck. The two reeled as he drew back and pushed in, moaning in the other’s mouth as he did it again, and again.

He wasn’t going to last long with her grinding underneath, that he knew. He unhooked himself, and grabbed her arms and held them over her head as he pounded into her, fingers tight and pulling her taut underneath him, the sound of their songs of pleasure echoing around the room like a chorus. He sat up, pulled her legs flush to him as he continued on, deep and fast as the feeling of his orgasm creeping up on him as he leaned his head back. She grabbed him, pulled him down by the back of his neck, and sucked him into a kiss as he dropped his hand down to her clit, swirling it under the pad of his thumb as he got closer and closer to spilling. Her pitch changed, now octaves higher as she whined into his mouth, shoulder drawing in as she let out a shudder. Her cunt pulsed around him, drawing him deeper. He picked up his pace, no longer able to fight it, her orgasm enough to send him careening for his own.

He grunted into her kiss, broke the contact and buried his nose into her shoulder as it hit him quickly, seed spilling deep inside her as he pushed through his climax. Teeth bit her neck, keeping him from moaning her name too loud as he pulsed deep in her cunt. Cock swelled, he saw stars, and he pushed into her again, stuttering a string of curses as his whole body felt like it would fuse with her.

When he came down from his own, she was still rocking on his cock, riding through another, and again as he thumbed her swollen clit through his heavy breathing. She finished just as his shoulders dropped, and he barely caught his weight on his elbow as he collapsed on the bed.

They breathed in tandem, heavy and stuttered as he buried his nose in her breast.

“I-I’m sorry-” he heaved against her, his forehead sticking to her sweat covered body. He felt bad, lasting all of five minutes, and it made him bury his head into her neck. He wished he could worship her into the darkest hours of the night, make up for the years and years of repression, of celibacy locked in a loveless marriage. He wished to give her everything he had, to his last breath of sleep.

He felt hands at his jaw, pulling him from her skin as she cupped his jaw in her palms. “Shshshhhhh,” she said, placing a kiss on his forehead before pulling him in for a deep, heartstopping kiss that made him twitch inside her. “You’re fine. We’re fine,” she said, looking deep in his eyes. He sat up, moving her legs so that he could withdraw from her. He did it slow, groaning, moaning nonsense as he drew his swollen cock deep from her. His come spilled from her, leaving a puddle of pearly mess on the bed sheets that surely wasn’t just him. He tilted his head back, letting the sting of the room cool his muscles as he collapsed back on the sheets, drawing her in to embrace as he laid his head on her pillows. He buried his nose in her hair as he tucked his legs behind hers, cock still swollen as he tucked himself into her. His hands wrapped around her, held her as close to his chest he could get as he took deep breaths, body still twitching in the aftermath. She let out a deep sigh of content, her arms pulling his tighter as she settled into him.

Nothing could ever beat this. Nothing could lure him into such a deep sense of belonging like her turning in his arms to tuck her chin into the crook of his neck. Nothing could beat dozing off into a light sleep, her curled up underneath him with a smile on her face.

Nothing could pull him away from this if he tried.

Her alarm clock blared to life, jolting him awake long before the sun would touch the sky. He didn’t even remember falling asleep beside her, legs tangled together underneath thick blankets. Her hand was still laced with his, thumb brushing her knuckles as he stirred. He laid still, eyes closed and head in a daze as she worked her way from his arms to slap the alarm clock off. He cocked an eye open, watched as she leaned back into the bed, and snuggled up to him with a smile on her face. She wrapped her arms around his chest, leaned in and kissed him through the sour of sleep. Her clock flashed 3, and his heart sank as he realized she had to get up for work.

Even in the dark, he could see her messy hair, her bright eyes warm and happy. The smile on her face widened as she settled back into the bed beside him. She kissed him again, and this time he woke, matching her lips with the same deep compassion she always showed him.

He rested his forehead against hers, not needing words to explain to her how he felt. He felt alive, he felt free, unchained. He felt wanted, needed.

He felt loved for the first time in years.

She smiled, and propped herself on the pillow when she noticed him staring. She cocked her brow, and pulled the sheets away to curl up as close as she could get, heat fusing together as they tangled together again.

“You want some coffee?”

#charlie barber x reader #kinda?#charlie barber #callmehopeless #i'm so sorry

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thegreatpapersandwich · 3 years

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Happy Holidays!!!

Salutations @remaining-head-spirits, I am happy to inform you that I am your Secret Santa for the @secretsantafrans @venelona event!!! The drawing will be included in a separate post, but for now, I wish to give you a little something Underfell-themed, and I really hope you like it!! (o゜▽゜)o☆

Autumn had always been Frisk’s favorite season: the copious, crisp orange and crimson leaves carpeting the ground in a golden-vermilion glow, all the soft and fluffy sweaters and socks, the scent of cinnamon and vanilla intoxicating passers-by to coffee shops and restaurants, the soft, brisk breeze of the encroaching winter...

Unfortunately, she was on a high-risk mission, and would not have time to bask in the season’s bestowal.

Especially given the fact she was embarking on this mission with Sans... The one monster that no matter how hard she tried to be kind, was absolutely and completely...

Intolerable.

Approximately three years back, the monsters had surfaced, and Frisk, despite having saved them, had politely declined to be the Ambassador. The monsters all had rough edges, due to having lived in such a harsh environment for who-knows-how-long, and the only way Frisk had survived was through pure Determination and an open heart. Sadly, she never really got the chance to truly get to know them, despite having tried countless times, but the silver-lining was that each of them had, for a split moment, shown their true colors, and it was those moments that had given her a glimpse into who they truly were.

Frisk had taken it upon herself to spend time and, should they accept her, dig a little deeper into the monsters she had met in hopes of calling them “friends” some day. That was until she tried to achieve such a feat with Sans. Papyrus, his brother, had been a tough nut to crack, but eventually, through the power of Italian cuisine and patience, they had bonded quite nicely, even so far as to Papyrus reaching out to her for cooking sessions and friendly chatter.

Alphys and Undyne had been quite the hard case for Frisk, given the tumultuous start of their first meeting. But again, just like with the others, Frisk not only proved herself through combat, but through her headstrong personality to give them all a chance, they deserve it, she had thought.

But Sans?

Every time Frisk so much as showed a smidgen of kindness, Sans would make sure to transform it into anger, and boy did it work. In spite of it all, she refused to give up, and time and time again, was met with animosity from this angry and self-deprecating skeleton. So much so, that Frisk truly began to question if anything would ever change for him? The others were beginning to adjust quite nicely to life in the surface, and even though he didn’t really show it much, Sans was still on edge, his guard never dropping, and his walls as high as they had been in the Underground, possibly even more so now given how humans were stronger and a threat to their existence. It was a shaky truce, but a truce nonetheless, and Frisk was only a bit relieved. Certainly not satisfied, not until monsters could be truly at peace.

Frisk high-risk mission arose when Lady Toriel had inexplicably gone missing, and Asgore had gone berserk, immediately blaming humans and threatining to declare war once again. Of course, Frisk had intervened and decided to not only be the voice of reason, but volunteered to find her and prove that humans, with all their flaws, were still worth something.

Frisk didn’t notice then, but Sans had been staring intently at the little fiery human that was now desperately trying to prevent a war between the races, and the way her expression was pleading, but not begging, anguished, but not pitiful, Determined, but not pushy. He had always assumed she was honey-potting them, or simply marinating them before she stabbed them in the back and fed them to the wolves, yet there she had stood, fists balled-up and head held high, standing face-to-face with their king, insisting on going out to find Toriel. Sans knew humans had to have been behind all this, but stayed quiet. He felt as if a lighting bolt struck his spine when the king actually conceded and not only was willing to fund her little mission, but encouraged a monster to accompany her.

This was going to be... Interesting...

Now they walked quietly down the leaf-encrusted streets, asking for any information on Toriel they could gather, and retraced her steps before she had gone missing. There was a little flower shop near her home, where Frisk decided to do some snooping. Sans stood at the entrance, eyeing the place warily, so he decided, then and there, to conduct a little experiment,

“hey doll, I think you’d better come see this, it certainly arose some questions,” he chuckled.

Frisk rolled her eyes, fighting down a laugh with all her might, “What did you find, Sans?”

Despite him having used the evidence as a test for her reaction to his puns, there really was a clue to Toriel’s disappearance.

And it was macabre, to say the least...

“A piece of her dress... with some fur still on it. A hefty chunk at that...” Frisk could feel her eyes sting, and her stomach churn. What if she had been taken for ransom? What if someone had kidnapped the once-queen to incite more hatred between the species? And... what if she was already...

“FRISK!” Sans shouted.

She whipped her head to look at him, and just as Sans was about to call her out for spacing out, the way she was clutching at the little piece of torn cloth, her expression...

“ya spaced out fer a bit, y’need to keep it together doll, we should ask the shopkeeper some questions,” Sans mumbled, making his way to the man behind the counter.

Frisk’s eyes went wide with disbelief: had he just shown... restraint?

With no luck and empty stomachs, they headed to a little mom and pop sandwich shop a few streets down, despite much protest from Sans,

“why can’t we just hit up a fast food joint? it’d be quicker and taste better too!” he had pressed.

So much for the restraint, huh? Frisk thought tiredly, “Supporting local businesses is important, and either way it’s a lot closer to our next stop than the next burger place, but you’re more than welcome to go. I’m gonna use all the daylight to my advantage.”

Sans gave a curt and dry laugh, “y’know what? i will head over that way, see ya when i see ya.” He took the quickest shortcut she had ever seen him pull, leaving her alone and frustrated.

Frisk could guess why he was so distrustful, but she was doing everything she possibly could to prove she wasn’t a bad person, but then again, the hardest nuts to crack sometimes yielded the best flavors. Maybe.

A few hours rolled by with Frisk checking stores, hotel rooms and their records, undetected, and parks. Her only lead was the cloth from her dress and a hotel record of her having stayed there less than a day, where, upon further questioning, the receptionist had seen her with someone else, and they were apparently in a rush to someplace downtown, but didn’t catch the name or location of their destination.

So there she sat, cloth in hand, eyes welling up with cold, bitter tears that felt thick and left salt-saturated streaks along her face. Her sobs were quiet, but they rocked her body into painful little shudders. Frisk had finally achieved significant progress with Toriel, even so far as to talking about her deceased children over a cup of tea and shedding a tear or two during their conversation. Toriel had been carrying such an agonizing and heavy burden for so long, no wonder she had lost her mind, or nearly had since she seemed to have recovered well-enough to adjust. Deep down, however, Frisk knew that the grief of a parent was powerful and would never truly dissipate, that was why she was completely heart-wrenched at the thought that she was put through even more pain, and possibly suffered before-

“i don’t think yer gonna find Toriel by sitting on a bench and crying yer ass off...” Sans mused.

Great, this was just what she needed: an angry, emotionally-constipated, selfish, crude, ill-mannered skeleton to come and-

He sat next to her, and gave her something in a wrapper.

“What’s this...?” Frisk took it and turned it over in her hands.

“i didn’t mean t’spy on ya, but i take it yer not dealing with this any better than us, so just take that and let’s find a place t’crash,” Sans mumbled.

Confused, but intrigued, Frisk removed the wrapping and found a little deck of cards still neatly tucked in their little box. It had a note on it:

“Stop yer whinin’ and take yer mind off’a things. after all, you were just dealt a bad hand.”

Frisk looked up and smiled at him, “Thank you Sans, this means a lot-”

“yeah, yeah, c’mon, i scouted out a few hotels and there should be one a few blocks away, let’s get goin’” Sans practically bolted from the bench,

Frisk looked back down at the cards and felt her smile soften, “I knew he was a good guy...”

Sans had arrived at the hotel before Frisk, but when she walked in, Sans was irate and making threats at the lady behind the counter,

“I RESERVED THAT ROOM AND YOU JUST GAVE IT AWAY TO A BUNCH OF ASSHOLES AND THEIR SNOT-NOSED BRATS!!?? I SWEAR I’LL FUCKING DRAG THEM OUTTA THERE AND BEAT-”

“SANS! I’m so sorry ma’am! What seems to be the issue?” Frisk shoved Sans away from the counter,

“Y-yes, well, a-a family came in with nowhere else to stay, so the room this... individual had taken was the last large room we had...” the lady’s voice trembled slightly.

“Oh... So there are no more rooms then...” Frisk slumped.

“No ma’am, we actually do have one room left, but...” the lady looked at Sans.

“But... what?” Frisk pressed, arcing a brow.

Sans growled, “there’s only one bed.”

#i know... cliche I'm a sucker for the one bed thing boy #this was a lot longer than I intended hope you like it!

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mor-beck-more-problems · 3 years

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The Best Little Pit-Stops in Texas || Morgan & Deirdre

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @deathduty & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan shows Deirdre her old haunts in Houston. You really can’t go home again, but sometimes you leave good behind.

CONTAINS: Houston vibes, softness

When the El Real Mexican Restaurant built itself out of an old two screen movie house, they’d kept the neon marquis intact, equal parts nostalgia and kitsch. In college, when Morgan was wringing out a day’s worth of food from $10 tacos al carbon and endless chips, she had enjoyed making a point of admiring the puns and jokes posted under the neon lights: We’re jalapeno these spicy tostadas! We’re nacho kidding, $5 margs when you order new loaded nachos! When Morgan brought Deirdre there on their second night in town, it read: In Queso You Didn’t Know: Closing Dec 26. We’ll cilantro you again someday. Guess you really couldn’t go home again. “And here I thought it was packed because it’s a local institution,” she mumbled.

They parked across the street between a Half Price Books and a Jack in the Box. Houston was still twilight blue at six o’clock, and she could see the shift changes at the local eateries: aprons going up, textbooks and phones coming out. In the other parking lots in sight and on the eating patios of other restaurants, clubbers strolling for a bite to coat their stomachs before hitting the streets and rainbow flags dangling limp and content from shop windows. Morgan slid into Deirdre’s side as they picked their way along the crawling traffic. She had envied those young people so much, almost in tears with how badly she wanted to be a part of them. She would never know what it was like to be that young and alive and free. But with the woman she loved pressed close, she felt a piece of what she had been aching for. It wasn’t their stuff, or even their numbers, though she did miss knowing that she had enough people who cared about her to fill a room. It was something else, something like the love they grew between each other, but not quite. “I would bring girls out here and get them to buy me entrees I could take home to refrigerate. Even if nothing came of it besides a kiss or an hour fumbling around, it was nice to have a hot dinner I wouldn’t have to cook later. And we were pretty safe out here. Girls didn’t get the same kinds of looks as guys, and this part of town is designated as the gayborhood. As long as you weren’t walking alone and looking obvious, it was fine for me. I’d cover the cheap drinks, obviously. Sometimes with magic counterfeit money but--” she put her finger to her lips. “And if things were going really bad, I could pretend to be really riveted by whatever they were screening up on the wall.” Morgan pointed, in case the projection was getting lost in the organized chaos of evening rush. “Besides having the best tacos for your buck, it was a good spot my dad liked to take me to. Not when it was like this, but when the place first opened and the lunch special had everything even cheaper and we could pass by all the fancy shopping centers on the way home. We can too, it’s really close to the hotel, actually. This time of year everything is decked out in the most incredible lights. It’s like something out of a movie. Anyways--” she smiled thin, not sure what she was trying to get at with all this local geography discourse, “It’s only fair I bring my actual best girl here, while it still exists.” She did feel a little hollow, knowing this would be the only time they were going to be here. None of her childhood homes were still standing, and the apartments she had lived in weren’t worth driving to as far as she could reckon. What else was left of the place she’d been bound to for most of her life but these transient commercial spaces? Morgan frowned as they were seated and the chip bowl was put in front of them. Despite not feeling the November warmth, she had been too preoccupied with her family drama to brood over her life being over completely. Here or anywhere else. What was she planning on doing here besides playing tour guide to her old shadows? Morgan reached for Deirdre’s hand, trying to get a read for how she felt about being here. “How are you doing…?” She asked.

Deirdre’s eyes raked over a labyrinth of people. She didn’t like crowds, usually; noisy, chaotic things. It was a sea to get lost in, a force to feel small under. But there was one tiny delight in that. She could watch the humans flutter about their lives; she would know them, their fear, and happiness and anger, and they would never notice her. All her life, she had been stuck as the observer. Though it was not a role she chose, it was one that suited her. For all the charm that rolled naturally off her tongue, there sat her own fears and insecurities, inscrutable to the fellow watcher. Things changed when she met Morgan, and she wasn’t so much a shell floating through the lives around her as she was someone living for once. “I’ve never really been to a Mexican restaurant before,” she explained on the walk there, “I’ve never really been anywhere, I suppose.” And she hoped that in the quiet of her voice, Morgan would realize just how much she’d given her. It was in that way, that despite the loss that rattled in her chest, she could summon warm smiles and enthusiastic bouts of affection. Her life began with Morgan, after all. She would not let her girlfriend’s end with old, bitter memories. For every reminder of them she could find, she held Morgan closer, kissed her longer, gripped her tighter.

The restaurant’s closing date, announced brightly with a joke in neon lights, wasn’t something she could love away.

She pressed herself firmly to Morgan. It was one part imminent closing, another part restaurant. They never visited any after Morgan’s death; Morgan couldn’t taste anything and Deirdre never ate much to begin with. And though days of stealing fries off Morgan’s plate were replaced with longer walks and frequent picnics, Deirdre wasn’t so oblivious that she didn’t know what this meant for them. What it meant for Morgan now, entering a restaurant she loved, and couldn’t enjoy fully before it would be gone forever. Though Deirdre was caught up in the spectacle of the crowd and the interior, her mind wouldn’t drift from what must have been plaguing her love. The lights above were warm-tinted, strung delicately across the old ceiling, just one scream away from littering the heads of everyone below. “Well, now I’m offended I’m not the only girl you bought drinks for with counterfeit money,” Deirdre feigned a huff, chuckling as her eyes followed where Morgan was pointing. Sure enough there was a movie playing, one she couldn’t recognize or hear, but she was mesmerized by the moving shapes beyond her anyways. Action she didn’t know the plot to, logic she had yet to unravel. There was something odd about stumbling into a movie halfway, played as a backdrop, that she couldn’t put her finger on. By the time they got their table, she still hadn’t quite figured it out. Morgan cut across the table, hand against hers, and Deirdre snapped from her daze. “How am I…” She breathed, incredulous. Then she softened, turning her hand so their fingers could intertwine. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that…?” She smiled gently. “This place is special to you, uneventful dates for free dinner aside...or perhaps, even with those. A place you came to with your father. And it’s…” Deirdre glanced around, then back at the entrance. “I could buy it back, from whoever they sold it to. I could make them keep it open. I’ve tried it before…” She turned back to Morgan. “That old antique store in my town. The place I saved up my allowance for, the place between all the pubs and houses? I tried to---well, it doesn’t matter now, I suppose. It closed. But I could save this place, if you wanted that.”

Morgan heard the quiet notes in Deirdre’s voice, a shy admittance she didn’t know how to read. Would it be better if they had some perfunctory appetizers and left? Was she overwhelmed, or unhappy? Morgan pressed Deirdre’s knuckles to her lips and scooted her chair close so they met nearly side to side in the corner. “I’m...a lot of things, but mostly fine.” She hadn’t been thinking about what it would be like to be here when she called ahead for a table, only that it was already by the Menil Art museum and the Rothko Chapel she’d shown Deirdre earlier and that whenever she thought of the Montrose area, all cramped and flourishing and safe, she always tasted the char of perfectly seasoned chicken fajita meat and the sour tang of tequila on her tongue. From here. It had seemed essential, and she’d never had a bad time there, even when she and her dad guiltily brought Ruth along for their early lunches a few times. Why wouldn’t she make room for something that had always been reliable and good? But now they were here, and Deirdre didn’t like crowds, and Morgan didn’t get anything out of the tortilla chips except crunchiness and pointy ends poking the roof of her mouth. The inside was just like she’d remembered. Rainbows of margaritas, salsas, and November ‘winter wear’ spilled all through the open eating space. The usual cowboy movies and Bonanza specials had been traded in for Christmas-y movies, even though it wasn’t even Thanksgiving yet. Morgan recognized Jimmy Stuart in The Shop Around the Corner at once. He was one of Ruth’s favorites, and this was one of the few films they had been able to agree on. It should have felt like she was falling back into old, comforting steps.

But all the workers would be out of work after Christmas. The red and green paper garland would be thrown away or sold. The building would become something else. Everyone eating here would funnel into other places, some to boring franchises, some to mom and pop places still surviving under the radar. And all the energy Morgan had shed in this place on dates and lunches and lonely comfort outings would be cut loose and aimless, a ghost of their own. And Morgan couldn’t taste anything or smell the full potency of the steaming skillets passing by or even tell how much hotter it was inside. She didn’t know who she felt more sorry for, the El Real or herself.

“You didn’t answer my question, babe,” she said gently. “If this wasn’t such a great idea in practice, there’s plenty of other places we can go and ways we can spend our evening. Or if I can do something-- I’m just checking in, and I don’t want all of this to be about me.” If not out of kindness, then for this: the more she lingered on herself, the more she felt like a ghost herself.

She softened at Deridre’s half-told story, releasing what little determined resolve she’d been holding onto. “You don’t have to do that,” she murmured. “That would be...I mean what would we even do with the place, except give it back to the old owners, I guess…” Which was a thought that did make her happy for a moment, enough that she couldn’t hide it. “I could never ask that, and it’s not like we’d get to enjoy it often…” But that wasn’t the point. The point was to let Morgan get to keep something, some place that had mattered to her. Even the schools she’d gone to were no longer standing as they once were. Was keeping it something she wanted? “Tell me more about that place of yours. I want to know, even if I can never see it. Especially because I can’t see it.”

“I’m worried about you, my love.” Deirdre replied easily, sighing with relief as Morgan scooted next to her. As soon as she could, she took Morgan’s hands in hers, firm and steady. “We haven’t really been to any restaurants since…” As her sentence trailed away, she offered a small smile, her brows furrowed with worry. “Maybe I’m just thinking about it too much. Tell me if I am, but I know how much you’ve lost in your life, and how hard things are now and I just...worry, I guess.” And it was frustrating, that they had to be seated in two separate chairs, half-blocked by a table. Al’s had booths, at least. And pie. “I’m okay. More than okay, really. I get to spend time with you, in your home, and all the places you love. I get to fill and color my understanding of you, and that’s magical to me. Knowing you always is. I’ll be okay, no matter where we go or what we do. But if I can do something for you, Morgan….” Her eyes drifted to the movie again; the action had shifted, new actors showed their faces. She knew less than she did before, and the strange, unnamed feeling crept back into her stomach. She slumped and turned back. “This doesn’t have to be about you, if you don’t want that. You know I like you…” Deirdre grinend and nudged her. “And you know I like hearing about you, but if you just want to eat some tacos and have fun, we can do that.”

In a show of good faith, Deirdre reached across and plucked a chip from the table. And then she ate it, slowly, as if it might bite her. There were a lot of things she had never tried before, and she was embarrassed that tortilla chips existed somewhere on that list. Not drenched in nacho toppings, at least. Though nachos themselves were something she only just tried this year. “These don’t taste like potato crisps, I suppose.” She swallowed, trying to dust the salt from her fingers. “We could give it to someone who wants to run it,” she offered, debating on another chip. “We could talk to the owners, talk to other people. And it isn’t really about visiting it…” Deirdre turned her attention away from the so-called “endless” chips, which seemed like they really did have an end to her, several, in fact, and looked to her girlfriend. She knew that she understood, and so she didn’t elaborate on metaphors and symbolism. “If you want that,” she whispered, “change is inevitable, I know. But sometimes you can keep something just as you knew it, just as you loved it. There’s nothing wrong with wanting that.” The story of her little store, a world of its own mysticism, was one of less hope. “It’s not interesting,” she began, “I-I told you about the old books I bought, haven’t I? The ones my mother burned. I got them from there. It was...well, I wasn’t allowed out, much or at all. But this store wasn’t so far from the farm, and yet not too close either. And the few times I had errands, I had just enough time to spare to duck inside and get lost among the trinkets. The owner never complained about seeing me there, or letting me stay.” She knew some kids who were yelled at for accused stealing, more that turned up their noses at the dust and smell. But the old man never paid her much attention, and that, she figured, was a kindness. “I never visited it much when I started highschool, but I passed it one day and noticed a sign and...I-I thought it was money problems. I stole some cash from the family--they never noticed it was gone anyway--and left it inside for the owner.” Deirdre shook her head, “he just used it to retire. Now there’s a bookstore there. It’s not a...thrilling story. Or one I like.”

Morgan bowed her head. She couldn’t bring herself to lie to Deirdre, and she wasn’t ready to say, no, I’m sad, because restaurants make me sad now, because there’s nothing for me in them and I feel awful goading you into ordering enough to make the effort of going out feel worth it. But Deirdre already knew. Maybe it was just common sense or maybe it was some deeper sense she had discovered from spending so much time with her, but Morgan was certain even hiding her face wasn’t going to fool Deirdre for a second. “Since I stopped being able to taste anything I used to, yeah,” she mumbled. Was she spoiling the evening? Was there a version of them that was already laughing and cuddling and making the most out of the tortilla chips? Watching Deirdre try one for herself almost made Morgan cry. She was trying, even with what she was carrying from the past month and a half, she was trying for her. Couldn’t Morgan try a little more too?

“You might...be right,” she admitted. “I wasn’t really thinking practically when I got the idea. And I’ve missed this place ever since I left so maybe I wasn’t even really thinking at all with my new normal brain. I’ve wanted you to see it for yourself way before I… I could’ve been more thoughtful, more careful about this.” A waiter passed by balancing three cast iron fajita skillets on his tray and Morgan imagined her mother’s disappointed face behind her, shaking her head. You know better.

She kept her fingers locked in Deirdre’s as she told her story. She didn’t speak much about her teenage years, Morgan only knew the story of the boy and his dog, her first kill, and that she took her vows at fifteen and only after was she allowed to go back to school. It seemed to Morgan like those years didn’t really exist, but had been corded and knotted around steps and demands and expectations, and Deirdre herself was tucked away somewhere, too numb and hurt to come out. But of course it wasn’t that simple. Of course she had summoned the will to be kind for someone else as long as it was a secret. She had tried, even then. “Oh, my love,” Morgan whispered. “It was still kind and worthwhile, you know that, right? You know--”

Their waiter appeared, holding his pad awkwardly, clearly torn between interrupting a moment and having to do his job. Morgan flashed him a perfunctory smile and ordered a white chocolate pina colada, the shrimp street tacos, and 2 tamales a la carte, rattling off some alterations that would make it safer for Deirdre. Then she asked for the check to be brought as soon as he had the time, even if that happened to be before the food was ready.

When he was gone, Morgan slid her arms around her girlfriend. “I’m coming up with a plan and I want to know what you think,” she said into her shoulder. “You tell me what else is bothering you, because I know there’s something. And we talk it out or we put it aside, and you tell me what you think about how everything tastes, and we don’t even have to finish if you don’t want to. And then…” She hesitated. “I know nothing is ever going to be the same for either of us, we can’t get those places or those feelings back all the way. But there is a place I had that was like yours. One that we can actually share equally. It’s a little more of a drive, but I want to show you, and be a part of it with you, if you’re still up to it. But you tell me what’s making you sad or worry besides me first. I’m just gonna wonder anyway. How does that sound?”

“No, it’s not like that--” Deirdre groaned in annoyance at the space between them. Swiftly, she pushed their chairs together, wooden bottoms clashing and finger pinched between them. She hissed in pain, drawing her purple fingertip to her mouth as her other hand settled for resting on Morgan’s thigh. “It’s not like that,” Deirdre repeated. “I don’t care about practical thinking or--Fates, Morgan, I was just worried about you. Of course I want to visit all the places you love, even if we can’t enjoy them together just the same as we would have some months ago. I’ve just been worried about you.” She swallowed thickly, fraught with concern. Was she thinking about it too much? Maybe it hadn’t even crossed Morgan’s mind until she brought it up. But, no, she knew her girlfriend well enough, she hoped. And how could she ignore small frowns or wilted sentences? Wasn’t this whole town just one big reminder of everything Morgan had lost? Was she okay with playing the tour guide, or did she muster the energy to walk just because Deirdre wanted to see everything? Or was it her mother; the meeting still stuck in her mind? Deirdre swallowed, and remembered that she didn’t need to be the silent thinker anymore, tasked with finding her own answers, she could ask. But the story of the stupid antique store lodged in her throat, her questions jammed under. “Probably not. He didn’t care as much about that store as I did, and he didn’t recognize me when I asked. It was a pointless endeavor and I spent months sick with guilt and worry about the money.” It would have been better if she left it, and slowly, the thought occurred to her about her questions too. Maybe Morgan didn’t want to talk about it or---

How long had that server been standing there? Deirdre shifted in her seat, she hadn’t even looked at the menu. It was by miracle, or the power of how well they knew each other, that Morgan ordered for her. Better, because she both didn’t know how to pronounce anything and didn’t know what she would be mispronouncing in the first place. As she’d learned recently, it wasn’t just acceptable to ask for the best thing on the menu, accompanied by their most expensive drinks. As he left, her eyes fell back on to the movie--in a new place, someone was crying now. Deirdre reached across and popped another chip into her mouth, shocked again by the crunch. She considered Morgan��s plan as she tried to chew respectably. “If you’d like me there, I’d love to go,” she turned to her girlfriend with a small smile, “but it’s not like that. Not for me. It doesn’t matter that I can’t steal the food off your plate while you’re gone to the toilet, or that we don’t do breakfast at Al’s anymore. That doesn’t---I miss it, in a way. But not like that. Not like you’re saying it. It’s not gone for me, it’s not lost. Time spent with you, my love, is always the most precious thing to me. It’s never so much mattered where or what we were doing, as long as you were happy, and I’m with you.” Her attention shifted back to the damned movie, and she frowned as she searched for the words to explain it better. “It’s worse for you, because you know what’s missing. Like a...movie met halfway. There’s dialogue and story and characters and I only know half of it. I’ll only ever know half of it. And the people…” She glanced around the crowd, caught in their own worlds, as humans so often were. “...don’t really care about the movie on the wall. Which is a shame, I bet they’d really get it if they watched it all the way through.” Deirdre sighed, slumped against her chair. “There is something on my mind, but it’s about you. And we don’t have to talk about you if that’s not what you want; if it’s too hard. We don’t have to do that. And it’s not like you’re making me sad, nothing like that at all. It’s just how badly I wish I could...fix it all for you.” She sniffled, suddenly aware that her eyes had begun to water and leak and she turned away to blink it gone. “Sometimes, I love you so much I cry about it, I guess.” Her laugh was shaky, and her humor weak. “Sorry, I’ll just, uh---”

“No, it was. It was still kind. It says nothing about you that it didn’t take, and everything about him, the part that’s wonderful is that you tried…” Morgan whispered, her words coming all out in a rush, slipping in before the subject closed. She fixated on Deirdre, letting everything else fade. The world released itself from her so fast, like it was always waiting to. She followed her gaze and listened to the crunch of more tortilla chips (so addictive, no matter what mood you were in), completely absorbed. Deirdre wasn’t far off and Morgan didn’t know if she was pained or relieved that the wrinkle knot on her forehead was because of her and not some cursed memory or dreadful epiphany. She was sniffing and blinking back tears of her own by the time Deirdre was doing the same. She untangled herself so she could wipe her cheek and the corner of her eyes.

“We don’t have to pretend. It’s okay,” she said softly. “And you’re right. It’s...I used to be in the movie. I was part of the story and everything was loud and close and intense, or, at least that’s how I understood it was supposed to be. Because I didn’t let myself act like anything more than a second string player in my own life because I was so cured and afraid. But even second string people get to have coffee and look at their special someone for a coat because they’re cold, and I’m just...not a part of that anymore. And that’s been true for the last—almost seven months now? But I was getting used to that in White Crest and I at least have people I’m a part of. Well, a couple, maybe—” Her mouth pulled into a grimace as she thought of Remmy and Nell. She pushed them away, this was hard enough already. “But everyone I used to have here died. The places I lived in are gone. Hell, my first elementary school is Costco now! I barely had an existence here, and yet that sad hopeful life seems so far and so much better than whatever it is I’m doing here right now. But it’s not just that. That would be easy. I could just tell you I made a stupid, terrible mistake and I want to go home. But I can’t, because I really do want you to have this. I don’t have a lot of anything, but what I do have feels special, because it’s mine, and I love you, of course I want to give you whatever I can offer. And you have been so deprived and shut away from the world, and look at you now, in the fourth largest city in America!”

The waiter returned with the drink and the food, and flourished out the check. Morgan caught it before it met the table and slid in her card, urging the young man to wrap things up.

“And you’re finally having tacos! Real Tex-mex tacos! And Christmas tamales, I don’t even know why they’re a December tradition, but they are! People look forward to getting bags of these like they look forward to those red Starbucks cups. You’re not just having everyday Houston nonsense, but something seasonal and special too. And I want you to be a part of it and I want to make it good. I didn’t really get to find out where all the good things are in the world when I was alive, but I know these places, I know when my lonely, miserable life was just a little better for having something hot and nice, and being surrounded by tables so crowded or just the right kind of sparse that I could trick myself into feeling like I belonged somewhere for an hour. I just—” She cut herself off and waited for her body to still, for her voice to loosen up again. She wouldn’t pretend to be okay when she wasn’t, but she wouldn’t make them a point of interest in a busy restaurant either. She waited, tears coming loose from her eyes. She waited some more, taking Deirdre’s hand into her lap. At last, with all the control she could muster, she confessed, “I don’t know how to explain the way I want to share all of my good here with you. I want you to be in the movie too, and I want to know where it’s the same and where it’s different, so it all becomes new. I feel like you understand what it’s like to be stuck on the outside, in the audience, a beat behind everyone else. And I want to show you something more and better than that. We deserve that, especially with how much shit is following us back home, if there’s anything left in me that can work my will into the world, I will show you that we can have more than watching from the fringes. And I need to be able to work my will somehow. I was born a witch and I need to know what I want counts for something and what I want is that. But I can’t share something I’m not a part of. And as horrible and selfish as it is, I hate feeling left behind. It shouldn’t even be possible, to be left behind in your own hometown, in a place you love. But I am dead to at least half of my tiny slice of world here, and that’s just what’s still standing. And I hate it. I’m finally brave enough to embrace everything there was around me and now it’s...it’s something I can only get through a screen and I hate it.” She paused again. Waited again. “But there might be something we can save, and share, and someone who would appreciate it. And when you were telling me that story, I just thought, if I can’t be alive or make this as good as I wanted, maybe I can at least save something with you. Something I can almost be a part of.” Her voice lilted up, watery with hope. “I like the idea that doing something outrageous and kind is something that we could do together.” She sniffled and smiled through her tears. “I don’t mean to be such a baby. We can talk about what’s on your mind, whatever you want to tell me or ask me. But you um, you should tell me if you like how anything tastes.”

Deirdre’s brows knit together with concern, brown eyes glistening at the mercy of new tears. She listened, and she nodded, and she opened and shut her mouth like a fish out of water as she tried to find the magic words to send the pain away. How was it, that for as powerful as a declaration of love was, the words ‘I love you’ could be so meager? Love was all she had, and yet, not enough. Her food had arrived, and their check taken care of, but Deirdre’s attention did not stir. She held Morgan’s hand tight, pressed the back of her knuckles to her cheek to take care of any tears, and paid no mind to her own crying. She shifted her fingers and cupped Morgan’s cheek; suddenly, the bustling world around them dissolved in her senses. She didn’t say she loved her, she didn’t want to interrupt, but she spoke it clearly with her body—from the warm gaze of her eyes right down to her legs, twitching to entangle with Morgan. “Houston is the fourth largest city in America?” She said eventually, lamely. And embarrassed by her inability to find the magic words, the restaurant rushed back into feeling and she turned to her food. She needed two hands to eat, just another way this restaurant foiled her; first the chairs, now the fork and knife. She took up the respective utensils in her hands and started cutting into the yellow rectangle on her plate. “I love you,” she looked back at Morgan as she swayed her food, “so much. A lot. The most. More than I know how to say, more than I can fathom. More than you can. Just—“ She sighed with helplessness, giving up on the food. “So, so, much. It means everything to me that you’re here, that you try, that you want to.” She dropped down the fork and knife, and wrapped her arms around Morgan, where they much preferred to be. “I wish I could do more for you.” Deirdre buried her face into her neck. “I wish I could go back in time and pluck you away from all that terribleness. I wish I could fix it now, with just the right words. I wish I could do more than love you. And I know that means a lot already, I know because your love means the world to me, but I just wish there was more I could do for you. I could feel it, when you were showing me around. It was like only a part of you was there, and the other was some place too far to reach—a place I can’t go. And all that time I just kept wishing I could do more, and none of that is your fault, and I promise I don’t blame you in the slightest, but by Death, I just wish so badly.” She sniffled. “You gave me life, Morgan.” And lifted her head up to meet her girlfriend’s eyes. “A real one. A good one. One I’m proud of, one I look forward to, one I can tell people about. And you’re right, I’m not in the audience anymore, I haven’t been for some time now—long before we ever landed here, and even right now. And I owe it all to you, my love. The world is so alive to me, for once. And it means something to me now. And that’s you, you did that.” She breathed with happiness, fluttering a wet laugh. “Is it bad that I almost wish it was half-dead to me too? I don’t want to be any place you’re not, even the world of feeling.”

Loss was inevitable. Deirdre knew Morgan’s life didn’t have to be ruled by it, but it would be stained. An immortal, she would lose everything all over again, all the time. And Deirdre was pained to think about it, as if her own heart had been thrust out. “I’m sorry,” she swallowed, “about everything. I love you. I want everything to be better for you, and this feeling isn’t new. When you were alive and cursed I wanted it so badly I...Fates, even if you were normal, whatever that means, I’d worry about splinters. Curse all the wood, it attacks my girlfriend, doesn’t it know she hurts?” She laughed shakily, pressing her forehead to Morgan’s. “You make everything good, my love. Always. I know your life has been unkind to you, and I don’t know how to make it all better, but we’ll figure it out together. One day at a time. Whatever we can do today that’s good, we can give whatever you want. Do whatever. I love you.” And so she kissed her, fierce and desperate and stopped only when she remembered where they were. Chased by another quick kiss, she turned back to her food and resumed her sawing.

“I know I say it all the time, but just being with you is perfect for me; more than, even. I’m so thankful that you want to share this with me, and I’m so excited for it, but just in case you don’t feel like it...or if you’ve felt like you’re doing a bad job or something...I just wanted to make sure you know the truth: I love you. Any moment with you is good and perfect, and everything I could want and more. All of this has been amazing, every second. That’s that. And, actually, if you won’t think me too dramatic to say it, there was something on my mind—“ Deirdre frowned, interrupting herself. “Why is this so hard to cut?” Bite finally freed, she stabbed it with her fork, astonished at the strangely tough exterior. “I suppose I should taste this first.”

Morgan melted into all of Deirdre’s words and touches so readily she had to stop herself from mewling out loud and climbing into her girlfriend’s lap so they could be as close as she wanted. “I don’t want you to miss out on anything, I want to feel things with you and be...alive. Somehow, just a little more. I don’t want to be where you’re not either, I just don’t know how,” she whispered, clinging to Deirdre as much as she could. If she squeezed enough, she could get the right sense of Deirdre’s back and shoulders, she could press back enough to feel her forehead. “But I am so happy that you are here, and your world is alive. I can’t tell you how much I’ve been wanting that for you, my love. It doesn’t feel like it’s as much as you deserve, I want you to have more, I am so happy that you have this.” She had just hoped that they would be able to inhabit that world together. When Deirdre kissed her she returned with even more fire and longing. She could at least pull and suck and pinch hard enough to be brought a little closer to life. “I love you too, with all I am,” she whispered, feeling lightheaded as they parted.

She was so entranced by Deirdre’s face, the gentleness in her eyes, the devotion in her smile. There was no doubting her sincerity, not after the year they’d had and the honesty they nurtured between each other, but it still seemed like a strange violation of universal order that this love in all its tender, articulate wonder could be hers. So entranced, in fact, that she didn’t realize that Deirdre was about to put the tamale into her mouth, corn husk and all, until she asked. “Oh!” Morgan startled herself out of her crying. “Babe, no, let me help.” She took the fork and prised off the shredded husk and popped the piece into her mouth. The texture was soft and familiar, even hot, still, despite how long they’d spent talking and crying and gathering interested stares. Morgan unwrapped the rest of the tamale from the husk and laid it out. “The husk is just part of how it’s cooked and served. You don’t eat it, babe. Although you could re-wrap the tamale in it and inch it down as you eat, but that’s more trouble than what it’s worth.” She leaned over and kissed the corner of Deirdre’s mouth, right where she smiled. “But when you try the shrimp tacos, I’m gonna have to insist that you eat them with your hands the way the good mother of earth intended.”

She watched as Morgan unwrapped the food, staring at the revealed insides. That would make more sense, she figured, and chewed the piece Morgan offered her. The flavour was new, but the texture was nice, pie-like, even. “I’ve never had food that required stripping first. It seems like a—“ Deirdre was going to call it a hassle. But then she chewed. Wordlessly, she cut another bite off and brought it to her mouth. She chewed, and swallowed, and went in for another again. “This is good,” she breathed. She hadn’t been expecting bad food, but she hadn’t really been hoping for much at all. She swallowed another bite, eventually putting down her utensils—as if they got in the way of her explanation. “No, this is really good. I—“ Her eyes drifted to the tacos; Morgan had made those a few times, and so she was no real stranger to them. But she had always tried to eat them with a fork and knife. It was how her family had raised her to eat; her mother didn’t like using her hands to eat, she said it was barbarian, like the humans. There was some superiority woven into using a knife to cut into toast, instead of doing what was logical and grabbing it with her hands. But that was her mother, of course. And she wasn’t here. “Right. With my hands. Like how you’re supposed to eat it.” But she’d only just gotten used to eating pizza with her hands. Deirdre contorted her hand awkwardly above the plate, alternating between various claw shapes as she tried to guess at what would be the best way to pick one up without spilling everything inside. “The only thing I’ve really eaten with my hands is fruit, and then only because I plucked it off branches, and it’d be odd to bring a fork outside. But meals, real meals, were always a fork thing. My family enjoys their etiquette.” Which, though she had explained to Morgan once before in less words, she felt like it might absolve her from embarrassment at her display of confusion at the taco. “Which was weird—“ she gave up and turned to the drink instead. “Because all other fae I knew were a lot more wild in their dining habits; they lived in the forest. It’s like my family wanted to be better than everyone, even their own community.” The piña colada was good, naturally. And bolstered by its sweet flavour, she finally picked up a taco and bit into it. “This is also good.” By the time she finished it, her smile had doubled in size.

“What I was trying to say…” Deirdre began, eager to get the words out before the food distracted her again, and it was very distracting food. “...was that I don’t want to be something else for you to lose. I know I can’t help it in some regards but...as long as you want me, Morgan. I imagine I can do that. Even if that’s more than 500 years, I could find a way to stay. If you wanted me to.” And no longer able to ignore the call of tacos and tamales, she dug back into the food.

Morgan dabbed at her eyes as Deirdre went on, occasionally shooting a wave or a thumbs up at a spectator from the surrounding tables. The attention always made them self conscious, and by the time Deirdre had her first proper bite of a taco, the world had rendered them invisible once again.

She itched to take her banshee into her arms and kiss her greasy fingers and carry her off to bed, but the surprising joy in Deirdre’s smile stopped her. Deirdre’s smile was always a little mischievous, whether it was tender or impish, there was a little curve in the corner that hid just how wide it might stretch, like a delicious secret. Even when Morgan made her laugh by surprise, that curve stayed coiled up. But now Deirdre’s smile spread like it had an appetite of its own. Looking at Deirdre enjoy her plate was like seeing her face new. “I guess this means we’ll have to make our own table rules and split the difference,” Morgan said. “I wouldn’t mind picking fruit with you sometime. You must know all the best spots back home.”

Morgan couldn’t help but reach for her banshee as she gave her reassurances. Even more than five hundred years. Even as long as Morgan might last on the face of the earth, Deirdre would wait until they might be together. When Deirdre paused to wipe her mouth between bites, Morgan took her face between her hands instead and kissed her, firm and steady as a promise. “I won’t hold you to that, if only because there’s a chance I’ll never stop wanting you, however many years I last. But thank you.” Kissed her again. “Thank you, my love. Now come with me. I know just the place I want to save with you.”

The bookstore was an hour away from midtown. Morgan cruised through the eight lane freeway with ease, slipping off and taking the quieter back roads when she sensed traffic getting heavy without distress or comment. The night sky blazed orange with light. Even when they’d left the construction zones and the sentinel lines of streetlights on 290, every grocery store, shopping center, and movie-plex had its own cluster of lamps blasting away the shadows. The commercial strip Morgan took them to was small, with no lights save for the ones inside and two flickering orange poles from the city. The names of the shops were all painted on the windows and awning, personal and to the point: Kelly’s Tea Room, Macey Family Fitness, Acre Wood Hunting Supply. The one Morgan parked in front of was named Twice Told Tales.

Like any good second hand bookstore, the charm of Twice Told Tales was in the mess. Wooden shelves, clumsily constructed, bowed and slumped against the walls, their over-stuffed shelves dribbling paperbacks out the middle. They looked like sleeping old men whose shirts had come loose. Toys from the children’s section at the back corner littered the floor: plush dolls and generic blocks from the dollar store, mostly, with the occasional donated Disney princess or superhero action figure, fists raised, ready to light up as soon as you stepped on them. There was an old fashioned bell rigged to the door, chiming happily as they entered. Morgan laced her fingers through Deirdre’s hand and started weaving through the shelves on her old route, fiction first, then fantasy and science fiction, then romance, then the children’s corner, and back up through science, math, and then art and art history. There was no one else shopping and the woman who ran the store was nowhere to be seen, probably doing office work in the back, but Morgan kept her voice hushed all the same, as if she might shatter the place if she spoke too loudly.

“See, my family had this idea to conserve the energy we put out into the world as a family as much as possible. I thought it was because they valued being intentional with your actions, a lot, but it was probably just a way of trying to minimize the curse. Like, how much can you suffer if you don’t have that much going for or against you, right? The answer turned out to be ‘still a lot’, but they tried. And, anyway, the part that affected me was no buying books new. Or many books in the first place. Fortunately inter-library loans are a thing so I wasn’t completely deprived or anything, but getting to have a book I got to love and keep for as long as possible was a…stars, ‘treat’ doesn’t cover how excited I was. Yes, it was a special occasion, only a few times in the year. Birthday and Yule, and maybe one more time if I could prove and argue that I had been really, really good and had earned it and swore up and down not to let it become too much of a distraction.” Morgan sighed, her eyes reflecting the streetlamps like tiny stars full of wishes. “One of the books was Anne of Green Gables, I remember it because the copy was leather bound and there was this incredible, full color illustration of Avonlea inside and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and I’d bring the book to bed with me just to look at the picture and imagine being there. Literally falling asleep with my head on the cover. And I got that one, and any other books from that period of time here and… Frankie!” A young looking tabby, about Moira’s size, leapt down from its roost on a shelf and presented itself for them. Meowing so calmly, it seemed to be offering customer service. “It’s not the same Frankie I knew, obviously, but the lady here just keeps adopting tabby’s and naming them the same.” She looked up at Deirdre, giving her hand a squeeze. Was she really here with her? Did she feel how special this place was? Did she like it?

“I’d like it if you never stopped wanting me, I hope you won’t. Because there’s a good chance I won’t stop wanting you either.” Deirdre smiled softly. The food was done, delicious to the late bite, and she welcomed the Houston night air into her lungs. She didn’t know where they were going, she never really did. But it wouldn’t have mattered if she knew the place by heart or in casual passing, her excitement bubbled and overflowed like milk in a pot. Her version of simmering down was trying to read road signs as they blurred past. Morgan drove like she was going home, even in White Crest there was still some double-checking of street names, trying to decide if it was a left or right turn. She peeled off the giant freeway into an exit Deirdre hadn’t even noticed, though she had occupied herself with softly commenting every odd observation—some witty, some nonsensical, some common sense. She wasn’t so much talking to Morgan as she was letting her brain run loose. Beyond them, her pot continued to boil.

For all that she imagined of the place, their destination was better. Their destination was always better. Her eyes danced over every book spine, every dusty shelf. She almost wanted to tell Morgan to walk slower, she needed to commit it all to memory first. She needed to think about where Morgan stood before, what books she touched, and if they were still here for her to run her fingers over. In her awe and excitement, she hadn’t even remembered the name of the establishment. They should go back out, and come back in, let her revel in the chime of the door. How many times did it jingle for Morgan? Could she know? The store was cramped, every inch filled with something. She thought of the massive freeway, and tried to figure how many of these stores could fit in there. Then she listened. She looked to Morgan, and then back around the store. Between the shelves, did a younger Morgan skip with excitement through the sections? Did she look up, brows furrowed in concentration as she tried to pick out the perfect book—the best book. If she only got just one, it had to be good, didn’t it? But how could she pick, faced with options that literally fell off the shelves for her. Deirdre imagined Ruth in the corner, impatiently tapping her foot. Or maybe it was Hector, as excited as his daughter. Did he pick titles off the shelves that he thought his daughter would like? Did he marvel at how something so simple, so inconsequential, sparked such innocent excitement in her? Did he feel guilty? Deirdre turned back to Morgan, just quick enough to catch the expression on her face. Guilt, she decided. He could have made a world where she made that face all the time. Deirdre felt herself wanting to herself, she couldn’t imagine anyone feeling any different. What monsters those creatures must be, that would ever deny Morgan this.

Frankie interrupted them, which was all the better for Deirdre, who knew her eyes were watering. She laughed shakily, turning her head to hide a sniffle. “You’re so happy,” she sniffled again, trying to cover this one up with a cough as she met Morgan’s eyes. “It’s the most beautiful sight.” She greeted it with a kiss, as if thanking her lips for smiling. And another kiss to her temple; for her eyes, which glittered with brilliance. And then another, to her lips again, simply because she enjoyed kissing Morgan and wanted one more. She reached out slowly to the orange cat with a soft smile, letting it sniff her fingers. “I like Frankie,” she proclaimed, the cat hadn’t done anything in particular to earn such praise, but Deirdre had long since forgotten that she wasn’t supposed to like animals. Whatever happened in White Crest, whoever she was there, whatever she was under the thumb of rules, it was as if that woman’s skin had been lifted off her shoulders. She felt free, happy. “So I have Anne of the Green Gables to thank for the fact you’ve read the same old books I have.” Though Morgan had read more, obviously. “How did you pick books out?” She asked finally, pulling one off the shelf for herself, knowing she’d never be able to stuff that thing back in. She flipped through its slightly worn pages; someone had dog-eared a passage, and Deirdre stopped to look at it, wanting to know what someone thought was special there. “There’s so many books,” she continued, “how did you pick? Was it the prettiest cover? Did you read a couple of pages tucked away in the corner?” Show me, she was asking, in much more words. She wanted to know. She wanted the place where Morgan was happy, and the only problem she had was picking a good book, she wanted that world to be the one they knew best—like a full-color illustration of Avonlea. She wanted the gentle strokes, the soft greens, the wide fields and the old-fashioned house that always looked warm and cozy. She wanted to say they could have that. “My mother always thought second-hand books were tacky. Like the humans didn’t even care enough to keep them in the first place. The books I got from that antique store were all previously owned, just like everything else in there. That, itself, was a story. When it was replaced with a bookstore, even if I spent my time there, I never wanted to take a book home.” For various reasons, some that included an angry mother, hateful of personal possessions, others that could be summed up by the dog-eared corner that she pointed to. “People do care, don’t they?”

Morgan wiped Deirdre’s cheek and took her hands once again. “I am unspeakably, dangerously happy,” she said. Laughter bounced on the edge of her lips as she kissed her back. “It’s this place. And maybe a little bit you. Or a lot a bit you.” Frankie padded over to them and brushed against Deirdre’s legs, giving them a polite meow of inquiry again. Morgan scratched the cat’s ears and let it get a sniff of her, beaming as it purred and asked the same as Deirdre. “Frankie likes you too, I think. There’s something about bookstore cats, they just know how to develop an excellent sense of character. Maybe it’s the place.This is a room where things that are lost or unwanted go to belong together and find new homes. It feels nice because anything can have a space here, even people, just by turning up. I think people who don’t get that are just missing out. People do care, yeah…” Her voice trailed off in a whisper, awed and thrilled by the wonder bubbling up in Deirdre. The emptiness and the drab fluorescent lights and the cheap peeling tile under their feet transformed themselves just by being reflected in her face.

Morgan came back to herself with a sheepish grin. “If I can tear you away from your new best friend Frankie, I’d like to show you how I picked out my books….” She reeled her tight into her side and laid their hands against one another, hers on top, guiding it toward the spines. She walked them back to the front of her path, in generic fiction and literature, and hopped onto her toes to steal another kiss. “So, it may be shallow, but I did, to a certain extent, look at their covers. But I also--don’t laugh--tried to feel them. Their textures, their softness, but also their energy. I’d look, and I’d brush my fingers along the spines, up and down and zig-zagging to make sure I got the ones turned sideways too.” She guided Deirdre’s hand as she spoke, teaching her fingertips how to glide over the different shapes and sizes. “I knew I had something promising when my eyes and my hands aligned. Like when you look at someone you love, when you spark inside. If the energy is right, it feels like that, but quiet, it’s just a possibility of that, there’s something inside that wants to become a part of you, but you don’t know if you want it back yet. So then, and only then, I’d pick it out and read a few pages.” She looked at the shelves around them and the steady path of Deirdre’s fingers, and back to her love again. “What feels good to you, Deirdre?”

Deirdre put her book down, she felt guilty for not slipping it back in its place for a moment before her worries—big and small—were swept away by Morgan. “Oh, my love,” she laughed, kneeling down to give Frankie better attention. She was rewarded with the cat weaving between her legs. “You said that about the shelter cats too.” She glanced up, beaming. “And those strays that followed us around that one day. And, just about any animal we come across together.” It occurred to her then that Morgan had never really been speaking to the wisdom of the animals, but of Deirdre’s character. She flushed, and continued to dote on the taby. “But maybe it’s this place. I like this place.” It smelt questionable, like dust and books and something kind of like mold—maybe a byproduct of the Houston humidity. It looked like it’d been robbed; upturned, downturned, spread out like a sloppy storage room. The walls, shelves and floor were as worn as the books. And yet, charming. It wasn’t carelessness that led this store to its current state. It was worn by touch and love, claimed by time, plagued by too many treasures to fit between its shelves. It did need a little saving, a little fixing up, then it’d be just right.

“Mm, I don’t know. Frankie and I are getting along so great.” Her lips curled with mischief, easily awash with eagerness at Morgan’s offer. Even she couldn’t keep up her teasing under the promise to be shown—led—into Morgan’s world. “Okay,” she brushed herself off and stood up. “Show me.” Deirdre smiled and listened. “I’m no witch though. The only energies I feel are death, and I’m not so sure I want to pick a haunted book…” Now, one with a bone stuck between the pages would be nice, but human bookstores usually didn’t offer that. Though she didn’t think it would work for her, she followed Morgan’s steps. She imagined herself as the little girl, beyond excited to have something of her own. What would she pick? Her fingers brushed over the spines of dozens of books; soft, smooth, wrinkled. Some with indented titles, carved into their covers. Others with the embossed kind, some with glitter. All of them wanted attention from her, not unlike the threads of death she could feel at a cemetery. The glory of stories was that she could tug on any one, and be led into something new and exciting—a different world. Books and visions had that in common. So, she waited, she ran her fingers carefully along more books, considering each one. What feels good to you, Deirdre? She paused, fingers pressed to the spine of a humble book. Its title was not long or flashy, not indented or embossed. The book was not thick, though not so small it got lost sandwiched between larger company. What stood out to her most was where her fingers had landed: they obscured the rest of the title, leaving only a red M. There was only ever one thing that felt good to her, every time, without fail. The book was unassuming, but Deirdre grinned as though she found treasure. She pulled the book from its place, flipping it over in her hands so she could look at the cover. From there, she knew she’d chosen the right one. “She looks like you,” Deirdre commented, tilting the book to show Morgan the little girl on the cover. She had brown hair, a blue dress and stack of books, sitting as though she knew more about the world than she ought to—possessed of great, Morgan-esque quality. “Matilda,” Deirdre read. “This one feels good.” Good felt like Morgan, after all.

Morgan squeezed Deirdre as she picked out her treasure and melted with delight just looking at it. “She looks like you,” Morgan said. “Straight hair, dark eyes, and so rapturous and intense in her expression. It’s kinda like your face right now.” She brushed her fingers over Deirdre’s features as she spoke, caressing each corresponding piece of evidence to her argument. Confident she’d made her point, she jumped up to kiss her girlfriend’s cheek again. “Matilda had to hide her books from her parents too, you know. They didn’t appreciate how kind or thoughtful she was, so she--” Morgan caught herself, biting her lip. “If you don’t know the story yet, I won’t steal the satisfaction of the ending from you. But it’s good. My copy was a lot more heavily used than this one, practically falling apart, but it was one of my favorite books growing up. I actually committed myself to learning levitation spells because I wanted to be just like her. And you know--” she brushed her hands over the book cover. “I can feel the good vibes from this book too, even like this. Come on.” She rushed them to the counter and rang the service bell, fighting back delighted giggles. “Hello! Mrs. Benson!”

The woman who came out the back was decidedly not Mrs. Benson. She was around Morgan’s age, with a suburban mom bob and clear frame glasses. “Can I help you?”

“O-oh.” Morgan’s smile fractured and she thanked the universe for her lack of blood flow. “I just um...we’re ready to check out, if that’s okay. I’m sorry I yelled I just, I used to come here a lot. I didn’t know Mrs. Benson super well, and I guess she had to retire eventually, but she was a really nice old lady and I was just hoping to say hi or something.”

The woman’s face broke into a laugh. “Morgan the Gorgon! I’m sorry, that’s so inappropriate of me, but it’s you, right? It’s me, Shelley! We had Chem together!”

While Morgan remembered that name being chanted at her as she was chased down the stairwell and pelted with cans and paper balls, she didn’t remember Shelley, exactly. Was she and academic rival? Had she been someone Morgan had tried to impress with tarot readings and custom crystals? The high school girls blurred together, and the innocence of that time mingled with the pain, like indigestion flaring up in your throat after swallowing a cheesecake. “Hey!” She said. “How--wild! Seeing you here! What made you pick up the torch for this old place?”

“Well, my mother, bless her heart, doesn’t have a head for business, but the last thing Memaw wanted was for the only used book place out here to get bought up or disappear. Lucky for me, I managed to learn a thing or two from her before she passed.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Morgan murmured.

Shelley scoffed. “She’s smiling down from heaven at us. I mean look at us. Look at you! That’s a high fallutent city girl if I ever saw one. Both of you!” She reached out to take Deirdre’s hand and shake it, reintroducing herself as if the last minute didn’t count on account of not being personable enough. “Memaw would be so pleased,” she went on. “You were her favorite of all the regular kids.” Shelley nodded towards an exposed wooden post filled with polaroids and printed pictures of smiling children through the ages. Only two had managed to get frames on them, one that was clearly a younger shelley, posing with her grandmother, and one that made Morgan gasp: unmistakably her. She clutched Deirdre’s arm tight. The girl in the picture was so cringingly embarrassed, not just at the occasion (The Best Reader of the Year award, which amounted to a cheaply printed certificate from Office Max and a free book) but at her own happiness. The promise of a free book, a gift that had been earned in the structure of rules and work had filled her with so much excitement. It was as certain as a spell. Better, even, because she hadn’t even needed to believe, she just had to max out her library card reading more than the other kids and report everything to Mrs. Benson. It didn’t occur to her until she saw the apathetic faces in the gathering that this wasn’t a very enviable achievement. But by then it was too late, and however much she tried to stay aloof as the other eleven and twelve year olds, she failed, miserably. “That’s me,” she whispered. “Deirdre, it’s me.”

“Simpler times, huh?”

Morgan nodded, her attention still stuck on the picture. The attempts to make a slightly oversize shirt look cool, the sweatshirt tied around her waist, the permanent stains on her thrift store jeans. It was all so wrong and brought her so much trouble then, but from here, she just looked like a child. A girl still growing, twisting herself crooked trying to get something right.

“Would you like this gift wrapped or anything, ladies?” Shelley asked.

“But that sounds like you,” Deirdre argued with a soft whine. She eyed the cover again, unable to see anyone but Morgan, with her books, underappreciated for all the intelligence and kindness that existed within her. But Deirdre’s argument leapt out of her in a yelp before it had formed, swept away by Morgan. She laughed her surprise, placing the book on the counter. Though she’d been reading more with Morgan around, she had never felt excited to read a book she picked out since she was a child. She ran her fingers along the fraying edges and thumbed the pages. In a different world, she might have been embarrassed to be reading a children’s book. In this one, she was thrilled. Deirdre bounced on her heels, grinning as she waited.

Her smile gave way to one more tense, more confused. No one told her what a Memaw was, but she managed to put it together herself. She shook Shelley’s hand, momentarily considering snapping a finger for her revisiting of a clearly tasteless nickname, and introduced herself quickly. “Deirdre,” she managed, before Shelley was off to the next thing. Her eyes followed Morgan’s, and Deirdre nearly forgave her for mentioning the gorgon thing. “It’s you,” she whispered back, reaching up to pluck the picture off its nail. Matilda was fine in her cartoon form with her long hair and book pile, but this was the real Morgan. Deirdre’s grin grew back. “Can we get a copy of this?” She asked, interrupting Shelley. “Or keep it, I suppose.” She turned to Morgan, asking silently for her opinion. “It’d be nice if Morgan could be up on that wall forever, reigning over all the other children. But original photos have a particular charm.” She continued to smile at her girlfriend, held close to her. “What do you think?” She whispered, exhibiting great restraint in simply squeezing her arm instead of kissing her like she wanted. There was another question, about how much exactly Shelley should know about their relationship, or if Deirdre should make it a point that she came out of this interaction thinking they were just really good friends. “Don’t worry about gift wrapping it,” she finally addressed Shelley’s question, leaning across the counter. “I did want to ask something about, hm, donations.” Her eyes trailed over the peeling tile, the chipping paint, the books overflowing into disorganized stacks. Then it settled on the emptiness; book stores were not the most popular visit during the night, but she could almost reason it wasn’t the most popular visit full stop. “For the store.” She offered Shelley a bright, winning smile. “If Morgan wanted to put something forth, in her name. She could do that, couldn’t she?”

“If you want it it’s yours!” Shelley said. “All the kids in those pictures are old like us or moved away. Not much to appreciate. And I’m running out of room for the new kids…” Shelley went on longer, explaining who these children were and how often they came and what her ideas were for posting their pictures, but Morgan didn’t hear. She picked up the framed photograph, fingers brushing over her frizzy hair and her sloppy oversize shirt tucked into her stiff jeans. She didn’t wear grunge well, but at least the 90’s were kind to her Goodwill wardrobe.

“Thank you, Shelley,” she said. She tucked herself close to Deirdre, leaning her head on her arm as she broached the subject of donations. “We would,” Morgan tacked on. “It could be anonymous, of course, but what my girlfriend is trying to say is that we would like to give you something toward keeping this place open for another generation or two, and maybe even a facelift, or a more advantageous location?”

Shelley’s eyes widened at the mention of girlfriend, but Morgan forgave her when she didn’t comment. Shelley gestured to a donation jar, admirably half full but not exactly promising for the long term. “We’re always accepting donations at Twice Told Tales. Check is fine, if you, uh, ladies are feeling extra generous.”

“Perfect!” Morgan said. “But what would it take, do you think? Would sixty thousand help you guys out? Or a hundred thousand?”

Shelley blanched, trying to figure out if Morgan was being serious. “Are you...Well, it would certainly go a long way, a very...if mean, if you’re serious, then...I could check the books and give you a more comprehensive estimate, but I couldn’t possibly…”

“We’ll start with the book--” Morgan fished seven dollars out of her wallet and handed it to the woman. “Keep the change. And I’ll set you up with a hundred thousand now, and you can email me about what’s best for the store.” Morgan happily wrote out a check and stuffed it into the jar. “And, well,” Morgan looked hesitantly at Deirdre, trying to ask for her approval in advance, “If you don’t mind, babe, I’d like a plaque or something, with both our names on it. You can call us donors or patrons, I don’t really care, but I want people who come in here to think of Deirdre too when they think of this place.” She stuffed the check in the jar. “Can we make it a deal? A little extra funding for the store in exchange for its continued upkeep and care, along with a little recognition?” Her eyes flitted to Deirdre again, adding emphasis on the deal. They could make this different. They could make this one good thing stick, and for once, a legacy didn’t have to be something shrouded in pain and suffering.

“We?” Deirdre blinked, eyeing Morgan. She didn’t correct her, or argue, but in her silence she asked if that was okay, if Morgan was sure. This place was special to her, and it would be kept alive through her kindness. Deirdre thought herself an accessory, at best. But when Morgan didn’t correct herself, Deirdre stood up straighter and nodded. “We would,” she repeated, and pressed a kiss to Morgan’s temple as she so desired. If Shelley had any real issue with it, she certainly couldn’t after their hefty donations—and maybe that was a justice of its own sort. “Think of…” her voice caught, and she looked at Morgan for the second time with confusion. “A-a plaque would be nice,” she swallowed. Nervous not because she disagreed, but because the generosity of it, the thoughtfulness, had made her heart warm in a way that always startled her. “If that’s good to you, Shelley.” She smiled, “it sounds perfect to me.” All she had on her was a few hundred she planned on paying for the food with, and so she simply stuffed that into the jar, careful to avoid the cheque. Her gaze fluttered to the different places their plaque could lay; on the wall where the picture once was, by the door, in the corner where people would wander to read. They would know this place was special, if they didn’t get that already. They would know two women cared deeply about it. This place was good already, it didn’t need their money for that. But it would be better because of them, and it wouldn’t face financial struggle in a way so many other businesses fell victim. They could leave good in their wake. “You know, Shelley the smelly—” Deirdre grinned; and maybe some petty revenge too. “Did they ever call you that in highschool? Terrible name, really. Anyways, I know you have a lot of great ideas for this store. So why don’t you figure out how much they all cost and we’d be glad to finance them. The next time you visit your grandmother, will you put some extra flowers in for us too? Tell her we said thank you? I know she’s already been able to rest easy with her store in such good hands.” Her gaze raked one last time over the tiles, the walls, the shelves and the messy books; whenever they returned, there was no telling what this place would look like. Her heart throbbed for the scenery to be lost, but not all loss was bad. Some of it was merely change—like the tides of life and death.

Deirdre pulled closer to Morgan. They could save something, they could make it good, and she kissed her girlfriend, free. She repeated, “do we have a deal, Shelley?”

Shelly nodded, stammering out her agreement. She was so stunned, the dig at her name didn’t even phase her. “Yes, that’s, sounds great. Deal!” She didn’t have any sense for the magic threads wrapping around her words or the delight that burned through Morgan as the agreement was sealed.

“You’re a good woman, Shelley,” Morgan said. “Thank you for letting us help. You take care now, alright?” Her voice drawled softly as she picked up the old parlance of her childhood. She spared Shelley one more smile, more than a little satisfied with her own magnanimousness. She left on Deirdre’s arm, keeping her cool sense of superiority until they got back to the car. When they were safely inside, Morgan took Deirdre’s face in her hands and kissed her hard. “I love you. Thank you for doing that with me. I know it’s just one little store, but it’s part of my home now it’s a little bit mine and a little bit yours too. Something good is ours. Not the worst way to end the night, right? How do you feel…?”

“Thank you for sharing it with me,” Deirdre breathed as they parted. “You didn’t have to, but I’m so glad you did. It’s a special place, it really is.” She reached for Morgan’s hands, eager to take them in her own, tight in her grip. “I feel happy,” she confessed, unafraid of what it meant. To them, happiness was a dangerous thing, even as often as they felt it. They knew how easily it could be taken from them, how the robbing of it could come disguised as righteousness. But there, right then, Deirdre was happy despite it all. If Ruth was somewhere, scowling at her daughter for such flagrant displays of selfish delight, Deirdre hoped she could see how much they didn’t care. “Thank you,” she repeated, “for everything, for all of tonight. For bringing me to the restaurant, for showing me this store...for letting me come along for this trip, even. I’ve loved seeing your home, Morgan.” She grinned, reluctant to part but aware that at some point, they really had to get back to their hotel. Not for rest, but because there was love she simply couldn’t share stuffed at the front of their rental. “Fates, I’d be fine if you had more planned, but I’d really like to take you back to the hotel…” She leaned across and kissed Morgan earnestly, in a way she thought might make Shelley blush if they were still inside. Parted, she grinned with a tease. “...to do some chaste reading.” She waved their new-old copy of Matilda around. “And to make love to you, either-or.” Deirdre leaned back into her seat, gripping Morgan’s hand. Whatever laid beyond them, and back home in White Crest, they’d done good here. And with luck, they could do good elsewhere. A legacy that was more than loss and pain was suddenly something Deirdre wanted, and something else she felt like she could have. She had Morgan to thank for that, she had Morgan to thank for a lot of things. “I love you,” she smiled; for now, those three words would have to carry the weight of it.

#the best little pit-stops in texas #wr deirdre #wr chatzy #wr deirdre chatzy #wickedswriting

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